Chapter 7
Upon taking her brother's arm, the trio were led down the vestibule. It seemed Faramir and the Hobbit's quarters were also on this wing. They departed the building entirely and walked along the stone laid path to the front of Meduseld once more to be properly introduced for the feast. A warm breeze moved through the valley as they awaited their turn, positioned behind Faramir and another Lord of Minas Tirith. Ahead of them the Elves had already moved into the Golden Hall. Apprehension settled in her chest as they ascended the steps, though she was perplexed by it. What was there to be apprehensive about? Inhaling deeply the Princess willed the feeling to stay put as they walked under the mantle of Meduseld.
"Hail, Lord Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth. Hail Lord Amrothos and Lady Lothíriel, of Dol Amroth." The herald called out as the trio, followed by Evandor and the other Swan Knights walked down the aisle. Standing at the dais was Éomer, his eyes on her as they approached, though they shifted to the men after a moment. Éowyn stood to his left, Aragorn to his right. The Prince and his children bowed low as Éomer raised his cup to them with a small smile.
The finery he wore caught her off guard, though she ought to have expected it given the event. A dark green tunic trimmed in gold with a golden belt. The sword was at his side, though it was adjusted at his waist in a less prominent position. A burgundy mantle was gathered and pinned on his left shoulder with a brooch, fashioned in the likeness of Firefoot. His hair was loose this night – a crown of gold for the young King.
They were seated just below the dais, Faramir, the Hobbits, Gimili and Legolas at their table along with members of the Rohirric court. Across the aisle sat the Elven host. Once everyone was assembled Éomer greeted them from the head table.
"Lords, Ladies; Rohan welcomes you," he called out, voice solemn in the hushed hall. "We honor you and the journey you undertook to join us. We mourn the victorious dead and hail their leave taking from our halls."
"Hail!" came the response in unison.
Once the meal began Lothíriel felt the hesitation in her heart disappear, especially upon realizing Elfhelm was seated with them. He greeted her warmly, switching seats with Faramir so the latter could be closer to Éowyn's table. Joining the Horselord was a woman about Lothíriel's age, her tresses fashioned in chignon of braids. Her hair was a darker shade of blonde, hints of red and rose gold warming her complexion.
"Lady Lothíriel," Elfhelm greeted her across the table as she raised the chalice of wine to him. "I'd hoped you would join the host! I present my wife, Lady Roswitha of Upbourn."
"Welcome to Edoras," the woman stated kindly, raising her glass as well. "I have heard much about you, Lady Lothíriel!"
"Well met, Lady Roswitha," the Princess replied with a smile.
"Ros," the woman replied before taking a drink. "What a journey you've had!"
Lothíriel felt immediately at ease, spending the rest of dinner talking to the pair, Amrothos joining in occasionally. Minstrels played, barely discernable amongst the steady hum of chatter in the hall. The Princess learned the couple had their son a week after Elfhelm returned with the Rohirric host and they were residing in the capital until Éomer was crowned.
"Where will you go after?" Lothíriel inquired as a servant took the empty plate from her.
"It depends," Elfhelm replied. "The King will decide where I am of greatest use."
"I don't think we'll be leaving Edoras any time soon," Ros put in with a smile. "He'll be at the King's side for a long while, I suspect."
"There's no certainty of that," her husband clarified as Ros shook her head with an affectionate expression. "I go where my King commands me."
"You've served him faithfully as long as I've known you," the Princess replied before taking a sip of wine. "I'm sure you will be rewarded for it."
"He will," Ros agreed with a nod. "Besides, wee Ordred has already taken a liking to his apartments in Edoras."
"Ordred or his mother?" Elfhelm inquired as his wife laughed lightly and shrugged, leaning gently against her husband.
Lothíriel smiled at them, delighted in Elfhelm's happiness and the kindness of his wife. Dinner concluded and the guests were encouraged to remain for ale as tables were moved to the edges of the Hall and casks were arranged. The music became decisively louder and more jovial as goblets were replaced with tankards. Ros linked her arm with Lothíriel and lead her to a barrel.
"Summer ale is just fine for a night like this – sure and you'll have enough of it by the time you leave – but you must try the methelglin from Snowbourn," the woman explained, accepting a mug from the lad manning the cask. She handed it to the Princess before accepting her own. It had a heady scent, spicy and sharp.
"It's mead?" she inquired, Ros nodding with a smile.
"I reckon it's better for a colder day, but you cannot depart Rohan without having a taste." At her encouragement Lothíriel took a sip. It was certainly mead, the heaviness settling on her tongue and sliding down her throat like honey. But it had an intensity to it she wasn't expecting, the spices hitting her only after she'd swallowed. Dark brows rose as she met Ros' gaze.
"It has quite the aftertaste."
"Aye. And, I'll tell you, it's our King's preferred drink. Though you didn't hear it from me."
"Lothíriel!" The women turned to see Éowyn moving through the crowd in their direction, both curtseying as she stopped before them. The Lady of Rohan greeted Ros with a cant of her head before pulling Lothíriel into an embrace.
"I'm glad you've come," she murmured before pulling back, hands resting on the Princess' upper arms. "It is good to see you."
"And you," Lothíriel greeted warmly. "You look in excellent health."
"Thanks in no small part to you. She was my chief healer in Minas Tirith," Eowyn added as Ros nodded.
"I think there is another to thank," the dark-haired woman replied wryly. The shieldmaiden's cheeks flushed and she smiled, gaze dropping.
"I should greatly desire to meet him, for all I've heard of him," Ros put in with a glance around. Lothíriel took another sip of methelglin as the women searched for her cousin in the crowd.
"Ah, there," Éowyn stated, craning her neck to see amidst the bodies. "He's with Éomer. Come."
She took Lothíriel's hand and began weaving through the people, Ros following behind. The Princess gripped the tankard, trying to avoid its contents sloshing over the side as they slipped through the crowd. At last they arrived, greeting Éomer and her cousin in short order. Once they were together it seemed Faramir and Éowyn had only eyes for one another. He was introduced to Ros, who was as charming as her husband, asking questions and putting the normally shy Faramir at ease. As they chatted Éomer shifted his stance slightly to speak to Lothíriel.
"She's already got you drinking methelglin?"
"Yes," the Princess replied lifting the mug slightly. "I fear it's more potent than the ale."
"Significantly so," he confirmed dryly. "Was the rest of the ride from Aldburg tolerable?"
"Indeed. It was a shame we had to make such haste for I would've enjoyed seeing more of your home."
"I am sorry I had to depart the company but –"
"No apology needed," she injected with a smile. "I'm sure you had other things on your mind besides giving me a tour. You are hosting the most renowned folk of Middle Earth."
"Yes, do not remind me," he answered with a furtive glance around. "I can only hope the accommodations are to everyone's liking. Meduseld was not built with the thought that Lord Elrond or the Lady of the Golden Wood might be dwelling within its walls."
"Worry not," Lothíriel intoned, placing a hand on his forearm instinctively to reassure him. "The Golden Hall is as beautiful and grand as the stories. Your guests are honored to be here." Éomer looked down at her hand and it took all her composure not to snatch it away with embarrassment. She had no business touching a King with such insouciance, especially at such a gathering. Instead, she merely switched hands on her mug. Éomer's brow furrowed slightly and he shifted his gaze, glancing then to his sister.
"Was your cousin as doe eyed as my sister awaiting their reunion?" The change in subject was welcome and Lothíriel nodded readily, brows raised to punctuate her confirmation.
"Likely more so. This day could not come soon enough for Faramir."
"They're lovestruck if I've ever seen it," Ros commented, catching wind of their conversation and moving closer to Lothíriel. Faramir and Eowyn were talking to someone else who'd approached the pair, but they could scarcely keep their eyes off each other.
"Ros – Lady Roswitha," Éomer turned to face Elfhelm's wife, adjusting his expression from familiar to formal. "Would you be kind enough to take Lady Lothíriel to meet the Lords and Ladies of our court? I regret being unable to this myself, but you will be in good hands." He smiled apologetically to the Princess before bowing. The women dropped into curtseys and nodded. Éowyn and Faramir were occupied by the Elves who'd joined them, so Ros took Lothíriel's arm once more, guiding her about the hall.
"You'll surely meet most of the court in the coming days, but I can point out a few important ones. That's Lord Haleth and Lady Cerdwyn of Harwick," she gestured to an elderly couple before indicating to a group near the dais: "The woman who looks like someone pissed in her drink is Lady Aldwena, widow of Garlef who perished in Gondor. She's insufferable if she catches you alone but shouldn't be a bother in a group. There's Lord Iwoen of Aldburg and his daughter, Dera. Next to them speaking to the King of Gondor is Lord Fréaheort and his wife, Wídwyn. Their daughters just married Men of the Mark, though I suspect Wídwyn had hopes of marrying one of them to Éomer – er, the King, once the heir died at the Fords of Isen."
"You needn't stand on propriety with me," Lothíriel put in. "Elfhelm said he grew up with the King and his sister. Did you as well?"
"Yes," Ros replied with a relieved nod. "I was a playfellow sent to Éowyn when we were girls. I have known them both for most of my life. It will take some adjustment to refer to them with formal titles. I appreciate your leniency."
"Of course. I fear I'll be at your mercy remembering all these names," the dark-haired woman confessed with a glance back at the group of Rohirric nobles.
"You don't really need to know them. I have no doubt Éomer wants you to feel at ease here. He asked that I invite you to court tomorrow as we finish the final stitching on the burial shroud for the late King."
"Oh! Is that customary?"
"Not to have outsiders," Ros answered as they continued walking, raising her voice here and there to be heard over the din. "Funeral shrouds are traditionally sewn by the dead's womenfolk, sometimes by other higher ladies of court if the deceased was royalty. But Éomer and Éowyn, have invited you, the Queen of Gondor and Lady of the Golden Wood to join us. Both in deference to your nobility but also as a sign of welcome and reverence."
"I am honored."
Ros stayed by Lothíriel's side for the remainder of the evening, for which the Princess was grateful. She had hoped to find Éomer but he was ever in the company of others, Lords Iowen and Fréaheort in particular. For his part Éomer looked uncomfortable with the ongoing socializing and small talk. He caught her gaze across the hall several times throughout the night, a slight smile on his lips once their eyes met. As the night wore on Lothíriel found their occasional exchange of glances a relief from interacting, hoping each one wouldn't be their last. But the time came to retire, Ros and Elfhelm departing first to return to their son. Lothíriel stood then with Amrothos and Evandor, each with a mug of ale as the crowd thinned considerably.
"I'm impressed with your self-control," the Princess remarked to the men who paused in their drink.
"Well, there's an impending burial ceremony," Amrothos explained before finishing his swig. "Can't risk being labeled a drunkard before the funeral."
"After, though… then it's practically expected," Evandor chimed in.
"Trust me to be far from the aftermath," she commented with a grin. The trio finished their drinks and Amrothos offered his arm to his sister. Evandor bowed to them, his lodgings in a separate location from the gentry. She caught a look shared between the men but looked away when her brother turned his gaze back to her.
"Shall we, sister?"
"Yes. I need to sleep if I'm going to be useful tomorrow."
The pair said their farewells to the remainder of folks in the hall, bowing briefly to Éomer, who was now in deep conversation with Aragorn and Mithrandir at a table. He canted his head respectfully, gaze lingering on Lothíriel before returning his attention to his guests. The Princess swallowed her disappointment as they departed the hall. Amrothos gently bumped against her, drawing her attention as they walked.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes. Just… lots of ale. And talking."
"I have a feeling that will be the majority of our time here. If you prefer to be excused after the feasts I'll walk to you back."
"Thank you. No, I think I can weather it. Father will be thankful of all this practice in courtly etiquette."
"For both of us," he agreed with a smile, their path under the moonlight sky slowing. "Without Chir and Elphir we're left defenseless. Although the court of Rohan seems far less competitive and malicious than Minas Tirith, if tonight is any indication."
"One can only hope, though King Elessar and Queen Arwen will surely put a stop to the vicious rumor mill that was Denethor's court."
"Probably."
"I'm glad Ev decided to join," Lothíriel remarked offhandedly as they neared the apartments' entrance. Two guards stood at the doors, one stepping over to grant them access. Amrothos said nothing, nodding his head to the guard as they entered. Once inside he shrugged lightly, voice rendered to a quiet murmur as they entered the vestibule of the apartments.
"It's his job."
"Yes, but there are more than enough Knights willing to attend us, especially since he was so recently on duty during the war."
"Ev's responsibility is to our father, Lothíriel. He's following orders."
The woman stopped to look at him. Amrothos did not meet her gaze, instead pausing when she halted before continuing to walk without her. Brows drew into a frown as she caught up to him, feet treading softly in the carpeted corridor.
"Why so boorish?"
"It's… I'm not," he answered, tone adjusting a degree kindlier as they reached the door to their chambers. He turned to face her before they entered, expression now more recognizable in its geniality. "I'm glad he's here too. He's a good friend."
With that her brother opened the door and left her in the hall, bewilderment in his wake.
