Chapter 14
"She looks lovely," Imrahil murmured to his daughter as they stood side by side, eyes on Lady of Rohan as she stood beside her brother. Her father was correct, Éowyn was stunning in her pale pink gown, hair braided in two matching plaits over her shoulders. Lothíriel nodded with a small smile, watching the blonde woman clasp her hands before her as they awaited the final guests to arrive at their seats.
The hall was set up slightly differently this evening, the table on the dais set back to allow Éomer and his sister space to stand and address the host. Folks were arranged at their tables facing the siblings, standing as the minstrels played off to the side. It was a crowded hall with the Elves and Gondorian host and the summer heat was only vaguely less stifling in the evening.
"Friends," Éomer began as Meduseld quieted. He was dressed in a burgundy tunic, trimmed in traditional Rohirric gold, dark pants and a thin green mantle. Though no crown sat on his brow he appeared kingly as he surveyed the crowd, a shadow of a smile on his lips. "We are honored by your presence, my sister and I, as we lay Théoden King to rest. My uncle's greatest pride was his family and my sister was beloved by him. It is my great joy to announce Éowyn, daughter of Éomund and Théodwyn, has found love and happiness with a man of great esteem and bearing. I bestow, before our friends, my blessing to Éowyn and her betrothed, Faramir, Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor."
The host applauded as Éomer extended his hand to Faramir, who stood beside Aragorn. Her cousin pressed his lips together nervously and ascended the two steps to join the Horselord. The King of Rohan joined the hands of his sister and Prince as the witnesses clapped, and Éomer stepped away, eyes on the pair. Lothíriel smiled and raised her clapping hands as Éowyn and Faramir looked to the crowd, lifting their joined hands slightly. Aragorn then joined them on the dais and the three bowed as the hall became silent once more.
"We rejoice that a son of Gondor and daughter of Rohan have found love. Let this union be a herald of the years and generations to come and peace we have achieved for our lands."
Another round of cheers and applause as Aragorn and Éomer backed away so the couple could bow, first to them then to the crowd. Tears gathered in Lothíriel's eyes, surprising her. They were borne, she realized, of sadness that Boromir, Finduilas and Éowyn's parents were absent from this joy. She had not expected to feel such a complicated rush of emotions but to behold her cousin and friend's faces, full of love and warmth, she grieved what had been lost to get to this place.
As silence settled on the hall the Princess realized there was more than just the betrothal to take place. Éowyn released Faramir's hand and he moved to stand beside Aragorn as his affianced turned to her brother with a nod. Éomer pivoted on his heel and reached for something obscured on the table, retrieving an object covered in a brown cloth and joining his sister as she addressed the crowd.
"Thank you, my Lords and Ladies. As we will be parting soon Rohan wishes to honor the courage, bravery and friendship of our most treasured knight," she announced in a strong, clear voice. "Meriadoc Brandybuck of the Shire."
Rustling and whispered voices followed as room was made for the Hobbit to leave his table and ascend the steps. For his part Merry appeared both surprised and touched by the summons, approaching the siblings with a small grin, eyes moving between the pair. He bowed before them and they genuflected in return. Éomer gave the item to Éowyn, and removed the covering as he did to gasps and murmurings. In her hands was a horn wrought in silver, engraved with horses and slung with a green baldric. The shieldmaiden presented the horn to Merry with a smile.
"Behold, the Horn of the Mark – an heirloom of our house. We offer this as a gift of fidelity and friendship to you, a Knight of Rohan."
"Ever shall it commemorate your deeds in the War upon the Pelennor Fields," her brother added with a smile. "And ever shall we know you as Holdwine of the Shire, a Knight of the Mark and dearest of friends."
Merry accepted the horn with wide eyes, looking first to the siblings then to his Hobbit companions. Cheers went up as he held the horn aloft, lowering it to brush his shoulder across his cheek. He bowed again and accepted Éomer's arm in the greeting of warriors. Lothíriel clapped with the rest, a wide smile on her lips as he returned to his table. Éomer then nodded to the staff that the feast may commence as guests were seated.
"That horn isn't in the Rohirric style," Amrothos stated as the dinner started. He looked at Elfhelm sitting beside Imrahil.
"Nay, you are correct," the captain replied. "It is one of the famed items from Scatha's horde, come from the north with Eorl. It is Dwarven-made, if the stories are to be believed."
"A fine gift, indeed," Imrahil commented. "Well deserved."
This feast felt more like a celebration than the prior two nights, folks raising their mugs and glasses to the newly betrothed couple and praising the Hobbits. It was a welcome change from the somber atmosphere of the previous dinners. Lothíriel spent the evening with Ros, Elfhelm and her brother, mindful not to insert herself with Éomer, Éowyn or Faramir, knowing her time would come. But she could not help glancing at the dais where the soon to be crowned king sat, unable to resist finding him throughout the night.
Occasionally their eyes met and she was privately concerned by the guarded expressions and shielded gaze he wore. Grief lingered in his eyes, and she wondered if the weight of tomorrow's coronation impeded mourning for his uncle. She also questioned throughout dinner if their exchange of feelings ought to wait to avoid more pressure. She sorely wished to speak to him; understand better how he was fairing with the changes and responsibilities he was accepting. But it was not to be – courtiers from both Rohan and Gondor were a steady stream at the head table to congratulate Éowyn and Faramir and Éomer was much engaged with Aragorn during the meal.
The celebration after was both raucous and jovial, Elven minstrels replaced by the thumping beat of drums and pipes. The floor was cleared of tables to allow for socializing and lively dances (mostly encouraged by Merry and Pippin's carousing). Lothíriel found herself clapping along as the jigs became wilder and extra barrels of ale were brought into the hall.
"My feet hurt just from watching them!" Ros cried to the Princess, though they sat close together. "Surely the Halflings are exhausted!"
"Not them," called Samwise, sitting opposite the women as they watched Merry swing Pippin by the crook of his arm. "They'll shut this place down if you let them, my ladies."
"I'm glad of it," Ros answered with a grin. "It's been too long since Meduseld beheld such joy!"
"What?" The Hobbit leaned across the table, ear tilted toward them.
"Worry not," she called with a wave of her hands. She raised her empty mug, looking first at Samwise, then Lothíriel. "Refills?"
Both nodded and she collected their vessels. Once she departed the Princess scooted further along the bench to join the Hobbit so they were directly across the table. Frodo had departed some time ago, leaving the gardener to watch over his companions with a wistful expression. Lothíriel studied him for a moment as they awaited Ros. The music came to a slow end as laughter rose in its place.
"How shall your welcome be upon returning home?" she inquired, leaning close to the blond halfling, who tilted his head toward her.
"Understated, if I had my way. For Mr. Frodo's sake, you see." He paused to look at her with a slow smile. "But it will be something else, I wager. Folk'll be hard-pressed to believe what we've seen and endured. I can scarce believe we've been gone so long."
"You return heroes and beloved by many across the lands of Elves and Men."
"Ah, that sort of thing doesn't matter much to Shirefolk. Engaged in our own affairs, are we. But coming home seems a strange thing after all we've seen. Do you suppose folks return to the way things were after such great tragedies, my Lady?"
"I don't know," she replied honestly, grey eyes meeting his, raised brows displaying her surprise at his question. "I don't think things can return. Not fully, at least. But perhaps, with some hope, your lands remained untouched and your people unmolested. Perhaps it will just be the four of you who return with memories."
"It certainly might be so, my Lady," the Hobbit answered quietly, gaze returning to the laughing Merry and Pippin. "Least I can be assured they haven't lost their joy, for all the darkness of our journey."
"And you, Master Gamgee?" she asked with a slight smile as he looked back at her, his brows rising with interest. "How have your trials changed you, if you don't mind me inquiring?"
"Not at all, my Lady. I've been tested, sure enough. In more ways than I can count." Samwise's expression fell as he looked at the table between them, considering his words and errantly playing with a button on his waistcoat. "'Suppose I've come out of it a bit braver than I went in. More assured. Is that what you mean?"
"Yes," she responded as she caught sight of Ros approaching them through the crowd. "Thank you for sharing that with me. I have found Hobbits a wealth of insight and warmth – you are no exception. My only sadness is our parting ere the King's coronation. I should've liked more time."
"You and I both, my Lady," her companion replied earnestly as Ros joined them, distributing mugs and catching the last of their conversation.
"You are most welcome in Rohan," the blonde woman remarked with a wide smile as she sat down. "I should hope you'll visit in the years to come."
"We've more invitations to far off lands than we know what to do with, Lady Ros," he answered with an appreciative lift of his drink. He was silent for a few moments before adding: "But it is a good problem to have – friends in so many places. If'in you'll excuse me, my ladies, but I ought to round the lads up." The women raised their mugs to Samwise as he stood and bowed with a grin. They watched him depart in the direction of Merry and Pippin, the hall quieting some as the Hobbits began bidding their goodnights.
"Not to pry," Ros began pleasantly, focused on removing foam from the rim of her mug, "but have you and Éomer had a chance to speak?"
"No," Lothíriel replied with a hesitation, glancing at the other woman who let the silence hang suspiciously before speaking.
"You know… I can lock him in the armory tomorrow morning if that'll afford you a moment alone."
"No," the woman laughed as Ros glanced at her with a simpering visage. "No, that won't be necessary. We'll speak after the coronation, I'm sure. I needn't add worries to him right now."
"If you weren't so ideal for him, I'd be vexed by that answer." Grey eyes met hers with puzzlement as she took a sip of ale. "You are right, though. He does best when given space. Though I'd wager he'd rather be taking long strolls with you under the moonlight than cloistered in meeting halls with those cantankerous advisors. Not your Lord Father, of course." Lothíriel dipped her head in agreement as Ros continued. "All the same, you cannot leave Edoras without having words with him, if I may be so bold. Neither Elfhelm nor I nor the Lady Éowyn herself will permit him to lose you again."
"Again?"
"Well, when Elfhelm and I heard how he saw you off after the war, per Éowyn's report, we nearly sent him back to Gondor. He told his sister he bid you farewell with no implication of further commitment betwixt you."
"Not exactly," Lothíriel replied with a glance to the dais, disappointed to find Éomer was no longer there. Looking back at her friend she offered a nonchalant shrug. "We took our leave with a promise to see each other again with the procession."
"But no declaration of love or devotion?"
"… No."
"Then that is what I mean!" Ros placed her hand on Lothíriel's forearm where it rested on the tabletop. "He is not permitted to let you slip through his fingers. Even if you aren't plighting your troth this visit, he ought to at least make an oath of love, as we can clearly see he harbors such affections for you."
Silence fell between, contrasting the still loud atmosphere. Lothíriel wasn't sure if she felt bolstered by Ros' words or uneasy with the implications. She desired to learn Éomer's heart and share her own with him, but she could hardly force him to speak in private. Only trust he would find a way to make good on his word to talk. Éowyn's words from earlier echoed in her head, then, giving her pause. Was this empty yearning? Was Éomer her Aragorn? Swallowing her discomfort with an overconfident drink from the mug, the woman wiped a small excess from her lips as Ros removed her hand from Lothíriel's arm, smiling apologetically when the Princess met her gaze.
"Forgive me for overstepping. It is not my place to design your interactions with Éomer. I am just… I hope you two will have the opportunity to consider your futures. I know we are newly met, Lothíriel, but I feel certain that you and the King would be blessed and would find much happiness together. If that is what you want."
"It is," she breathed, barely loud enough for Ros to hear but she nodded and leaned closer to Lothíriel.
"I will help however I can. Éomer is embroiled in politicking so he may need encouragement. Will you tell me if I ought to poke him in the right direction?"
"Yes. Thank you, Ros. I am grateful for you."
"Of course. As much as I want Éomer to be happy I will be losing a dear companion when Éowyn departs. It is in my best interest to ensure another friend is installed in Edoras, for my sake!"
"A reason worthy enough that I should demand his attention to this matter at once," the Princess confirmed with a smirk. "Though it has been challenging enough to catch his gaze, much less talk. He is engaged in so many meetings."
"Indeed. I wouldn't be surprised if his advisors were made nervous by the Dunlending camp you four found yesterday. That's the last thing he needs so soon after his ascension to the throne."
"Will you tell me plainly – are they such a great threat? I cannot get a clear answer."
"I don't know," the other woman confessed, tucking a lock of honey-colored hair behind her ear. "It is unclear what their numbers are and if they are still motivated to their usual mischief in the Mark."
"I shall have to learn more of the histories of the Rohirrim and Dunlendings. I confess I was not given a hearty education on Rohan."
"That's alright," Ros replied before taking a sip of ale. "I hardly knew what Dol Amroth was when Elfhelm told me about you. A city, certainly. But not much else. Let that not cloud your thoughts – focus on your conversation with Éomer. The rest will fall into place as it should."