A/N:
Trigger Warning – SA
Chapter 27
"That's the last of the Goldenbell," the healer's apprentice announced regretfully, holding the jar aloft. Once filled with golden petals the vessel had only debris from the plant. "Alas, I've only completed three of the liniments the master asked for."
"Let me see," Lothíriel answered, discarding her stitching of a sling and approaching the table to join the boy. Indeed, there sat three of the five pots containing tallow mixed with the various herbs, the other two uncorked and empty. With a nervous glance at her the apprentice, who was perhaps in his twelfth summer, set down the empty jar and began checking the hanging herbs strung above the table.
"Will dry Goldenbell suffice, m'Lady?"
"Not for a burn ointment. The freshness of the petals is required, the healing properties released when we mill and preserve it in the salve."
"I'm a mouse on the gibbet if Master doesn't have these by day's end," the boy muttered, sinking onto the stool he'd occupied earlier.
"What other chores does he expect from you today?" four more tasks were laid out, each tedious but not terribly difficult. Lothíriel nodded and clicked her tongue, lifting the empty jar he'd left on the table.
"I'll harvest the Goldenbell. It's abundant in the woods beyond the field. Need we anything else to refill the stores?"
After several minutes of inventory the apprentice and Princess had a short list of herbs and plants she could easily collect in the vicinity of Cormallen. She arranged a beveled reed-cutting knife, squares of cheesecloth and small jars in the oblong basket and assured the boy she'd inform the master and return before late afternoon.
Checking on the patients, including a slumbering Erchirion, Lothíriel made good on her word to speak to the master healer, a makeshift warden in the camp, before departing the tent. The sun was at the highest point in the sky, warming her skin beneath the kirtle. The host remaining after Aragorn and Imrahil's departure was spread out across the large field and it felt almost quiet walking down the makeshift lanes.
She intentionally took the long way to the edge of the camp where the small wood divided the field from the Anduin, hoping to see a friend she might coax to join her. Although she very likely heard Pippin at one point she was not met with any familiar faces as she reached the border of the encampment. Tucking the basket in the crook of one arm she greeted the guard at the edge, his silver helm shining brightly as he turned to look upon her.
"Hail, Lady," he stated, glancing at her basket.
"Good afternoon. I am on errand for the healing master to replenish our stores. I need only a few herbs and plants."
"How far will that take you, my Lady?"
"Just about the woods thither."
"Shall I call for an escort?"
"Nay," she replied with a kind tone, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked at the tree line before them. "I needn't go far. If I cannot find a plant beyond this vicinity I'll come back for an attendant. Thank you, though."
The guard looked uncertain for a moment but she added a bit more sweetness to her smile. While she would not travel far afield without a guard, the wooded edge of their camp seemed reasonable enough. And there were enough armed men nearby that one cry would bring an entire garrison.
With a nod the guard let her pass, an appreciative smile applied to her lips as she walked away from the camp. The shade of the woods dropped the temperature significantly, Lothíriel's sun-warmed skin cooled under the canopy. She began the hunt for herbs, finding the first two barely a few paces from the field.
She kept a leisurely pace as she walked along the deer path cut between Cormallen and the river. It was narrow but occasionally she spied hoof prints from the host's horses and figured it would allow her a quick road back to the camp. She deviated from the path to seek out her quarry but always returned. Her basket was nearly filled, and it had taken less than a bell. The last herb, however, was proving a bit more difficult. She'd spotted the leaves of henbane when they made the trek from the river to the camp a few days prior but now it evaded her.
Pausing to swivel her head, neck cramped from gazing at the ground, Lothíriel pulled the linen hood off and tossed it into the basket at her feet. She wove her fingers through the dark hair at the crown of her head, massaging her scalp. She could feel wisps and frizz from the heat ruining the careful plait she'd put her hair into and knew she would need to re-braid it when she returned. Pulling a pair of pins from her pocket, she put them between her teeth and coiled the dark plait into a bun at the nape of her neck.
She'd secured one fastener into the chignon when the sound of approaching footsteps in the underbrush caused her to turn. Grey eyes were met with bright blue; Lord Baranor approached, pausing to offer a half bow. Her hands were still holding the bun in place, a hairpin between her teeth as she dipped into a polite curtsey. Attaching the second fastener she moved to pick up the basket once more, greeting the Lord with some degree of hesitancy.
"Lord Baranor."
"My Lady," he replied with a charming smile. "I was given word you were here alone."
"Given word?" a single brow arched unbidden, disbelieving that he didn't pry for the information.
"The sentry informed me you were wandering the woods without a guard." He paused to gauge her reaction. Lothíriel did not deny or rebuke this, instead canting her head slightly in acknowledgement, though she privately took offense to wandering. "I would not be so dishonorable to leave you out here on your own."
"I am completed in my task," she responded with a lift of the basket. She'd forgo the henbane to get away from him. He studied her for a moment before grinning and nodding.
"Then let me escort you back to camp."
Lothíriel could not figure a way out of this. Had he been watching her so he might catch her alone? She felt more irritated than concerned as she reluctantly accepted his hand. He also reached for the basket but she tilted it away with a sidelong glance.
"I can carry it," she quipped with a frown. She did not like his attentiveness and even less his blue gaze as they skimmed along her person. They were near enough to the deer path that she could see the parting of the trees and quite close to the field beyond. If she could suffer his nuisance to get back to the encampment she would confer with any number of the men who expressed disgust and displeasure with Baranor to assure this did not happen again.
"I confess I do not understand your reluctance," Baranor announced after a moment with a scowl, stopping their forward progress and surprising Lothíriel with the shift in tone. She turned to face him and slipped her hand away, brow furrowed as he regarded her with simmering displeasure. "I have only ever been humble and courteous in my comportment and it seems you've kept me at length."
"Length befitting our stations," she answered with a bemused expression, unsure what he was angling at. He grunted at this, crossing his arms over his chest.
"These games are tedious, Lothíriel."
"I'm afraid I do not know what games you refer to."
"You would welcome me with one glance and rebuke me with the next. I grow weary of the ambiguity."
"It is ambiguity of your own making," she replied guardedly, feeling a tightness in her lungs as he leveled his cold gaze with hers. If she convinced him she was not worth his attention he might look elsewhere. "Not once have I given leave that you should assume is more than polite discourse."
"Polite discourse?" he repeated sharply with seemingly genuine disbelief and ire. "My Lady, your very glances are heavy with intent. Have I not been on your mind as you have been upon mine? The day you tended to my arm it was evident you were enticing me to further our relations. And now you push me away like a disobedient hound, though I only seek to please and avail you."
Lothíriel was at a loss, stunned to momentary silence by the man's testimony. She couldn't tell if he truly believed his words or merely meant to justify his behavior. The woods about them were strangely quiet and she felt the closeness of the trees pushing in against her. She knew in that moment she had to evade Baranor's company and never again find herself alone with him, her father's warning suddenly replaying in her head.
"We ought to return," she started with a glance in the direction of the field, focused on maintaining a measured tone to not alert him to her growing dread. "This is hardly a discussion we can have in such a manner."
"Yes, we may go speak to your father about it when he returns. He will give further credence to my account."
"My father?" Lothíriel halted, glaring at him with unconcealed confusion and disdain. It was this reaction that caused Baranor to smirk and shrug lightly.
"Of course. He and Lord Húrin are the architects of our courtship, after all."
"We are not… you are mistaken!" her heart pounded heavily in her ribcage as she tried to make sense of his words. She fought to keep her tone level and guarded, the urge to panic coursing under the surface.
"Courtship is a nicety, really," he continued, his voice softening as though he were explaining a change of the seasons. "Informal betrothal? Expected engagement? I suppose there isn't a term for it."
"We are not betrothed."
"Lord Húrin was given assurances by your Lord Father that his service to the city would be rewarded with a marriage for his only unwed son."
"You are not his son," she reminded him, struggling to follow his logic.
"Nonetheless, Húrin secured a valuable marriage for me. And you are the only woman of age and of the appropriate breeding for my station. Imrahil knew this when he accepted the accord. Perhaps that is the clarification you require to adjust your conduct around me."
"I will not accept this until I hear it from my father," she stated, barely capable of a polite tone as she turned away from him. Disbelief clouded her thoughts as she resumed picking her way back to the path.
A hand around her arm arrested then pulled her back as she turned to face Baranor, basket falling with a thud. He jerked her into his arms, expression assured as he brashly attempted an embrace. Lothíriel stepped back, pushing her hands against his chest in clear displeasure and effort to leave again. The man scowled then, his hands on her upper arms as he pivoted her to the side, shoving her back against a tree and closing the distance between them.
His mouth covered hers, not quite aligning with her lips as he kissed her, his teeth raking across her skin. His hands both pushed her against the bark and tightened around her arms as his body confined her between him and the tree. She twisted her head to the side, lurching against his restraint. One hand released her arm and shot up to her neck, his thumb and finger holding the corners of her jaw still as he applied pressure against her throat.
Her breath was trapped as he bit the edge of her lower lip, sharp pain bringing tears to her eyes. Shock and fear held her in place as he pulled his mouth away, keeping their faces close. The hand around her neck slackened a fraction as his other released her arm, a finger catching the tear that trailed down her cheek as she shut her eyes.
"Was that so difficult?" he breathed against her, his body still pressing her into the tree as she opened her eyes. His knee and thigh attempted to wedge between her legs as he pinned her to the trunk. He looked down at her chest and she tried to will slower, less exaggerated breaths, trying to minimize her movements. He looked back up, lust fading in his gaze, and pulled away slightly.
"You'll forgive the suddenness of my passion, my Lady. I didn't mean to leave a mark." He smoothed a thumb along the left corner of her lip to the location he'd bitten. Despite the apology Baranor was smiling and his tone was conversational.
After what felt like an age he extracted himself from her, releasing her throat and stepping back. She stood stiffly against the tree, knowing she should flee. But all she felt was resentment and shame that she hadn't employed the defensive techniques her brothers had shown her over and over again. Baranor wiped his hands together and put more distance between them.
"When your father arrives we can discuss our plans further," he commented pleasantly. "I suspect he'll be relieved to know you are so amenable to me. To think, you could hardly keep your hands off me. It will set his mind at ease that he gave his approval. I'll leave you to make yourself presentable. We must be careful of these interludes, my Lady. Folk will talk."
Walking toward the path Baranor departed her, the woman now alone with her shaking breath in the quiet of the woods.