Chapter 15
"You look like a princess," her brother commented as he extended an arm to Lothíriel. She accepted it with a smile, her other hand straying to her hair to ensure the pins fastening the plaits were secure. She wore the dress Amrothos had indicated a few nights prior would be best for the coronation, its dark blue contrasting against the greens, browns and golden hues of Edoras. It was a modest cut with white piping along the edges of the fabric. It was intentionally reminiscent of the Dol Amroth sigil in hue and style. The siblings were matching in their colors, with white accents and silver circlets on their brows. Amrothos had dark bracers on, the swan stitched into the soft leather gleaming in the sunlight.
"Thank you," she replied as they walked toward Meduseld. Éomer's coronation was midday and both he and his sister had been behind closed doors for the morning. Anticipation stirred in Lothíriel's belly, dismissing her appetite and leaving her feeling restless. She soothed the anxiety by reminding herself she still had a day before their departure to seek Éomer's counsel.
The siblings took their place beside their father in Meduseld, the Swan Knights at their back. Tables and benches had been cleared completely from the Golden Hall, the courtiers and guests lining an aisle from the entrance to the throne. At the end stood Éomer, dressed in burgundy vestments and a green cape. He rested a hand on the sword hilt at his waist, eyes trained on the entrance of Meduseld.
Once the guests were assembled, Mithrandir then Aragorn and Arwen processed the aisle, a wave of bows and curtseys in their wake. They took their place beside Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel and the Elven twins on Lothíriel's side of the aisle. The Elf, Legolas, and Dwarf, Gimli, stood on the opposite side with the Hobbits. Elfhelm and other members of Éomer's éored were placed behind them, followed by the rest of the Rohirric court. Lothíriel and her family were near the front, able to see the dais, but obscured by the Elves, Mithrandir and Aragorn ahead of them.
At last the music quieted and a hush fell over the hall as servants distributed glasses and mugs to the gentry. From the left of the throne came Éowyn, dressed in a white gown with a golden belt and circlet. In her hands was a cup embossed with horses, her gaze on her brother. She stopped before him and the minstrels arose, singing high and loud the names of past kings. When Théoden's name was called Éomer took the cup from Éowyn and drained it. Éowyn's voice rang out as she faced the gathering:
"Hail, Éomer, King of the Mark!"
"Hail!" came the response as the cups and mugs were thrust forward. Éomer's empty vessel was raised in response and then the host drank. Éowyn then turned to the throne behind her brother, where a crown sat, unseen by Lothíriel until that moment. She took it in her hands as Éomer knelt on one knee before the standing crowd. The shieldmaiden lifted and lowered the crown to his brow.
"Hail!" cried the Rohirrim as Éomer stood and canted his head. A moment of silence followed before the minstrels took up their instruments.
Éomer gave Éowyn his arm and they walked down the dais to the aisle, nodding to folks as they passed. The King's hazel eyes caught Lothíriel's and she held her breath. His expression softened a fraction from the stoic visage before shifting back. She held his gaze as long as he permitted, bowing his head toward her as she offered a small smile. The siblings passed by, exiting the Golden Hall to greet the citizens of Edoras. Lothíriel and her family remained in Meduseld to avoid crowding the veranda, Aragorn and the Elves following the King outside.
"Is it traditionally a woman who crowns the king?" Amrothos asked their father as folks began filing out.
"I don't believe so," Imrahil answered. "But Éomer was clear in the conversations I was privy to that his sister anoints him. Though I don't think all members of his council were in favor of breaking tradition."
"I suspect he'll be going against convention in more than just that," the Prince's son commented with a grin.
"They seem like an ill-tempered lot," Faramir added from beside Imrahil. "I wonder if they won't cause problems for Éomer."
"He is both wise and magnanimous; considerably so, given his youth. But I expect that part of his kingship will be a challenge." Imrahil spoke as he led their group from the Golden Hall outside where Éowyn and Éomer were greeting minor members of the court upon the steps. "But he seems bound for greatness."
"Are there more events planned?" Amrothos inquired, rubbing the back of his neck with a glance to Meduseld. Lothíriel's brows rose, recognizing her brother's tell.
"An early feast, I believe," she answered with a sympathetic smile. "Don't go rummaging in the kitchen yet."
"An early feast to leave plenty of time for merrymaking," Faramir confirmed, clapping Amrothos' back. "So fill your stomach mightily. Éowyn tells me coronation feasts can last well into the night and they've reserved the best wine and ale for tonight."
"Then let me take a brief recess and nap before the festivities. Sister?" Amrothos offered his arm to Lothíriel. With a glance down the steps to Éomer the woman nodded. They descended together, leaving Imrahil and Faramir chatting on the veranda. The pair approached Éowyn and Éomer, who turned from their conversations and bowed to the siblings. Amrothos and Lothíriel offered deep bows in kind.
"Hail, King of the Mark," Amrothos began with a smile. Éomer extended his arm, which the Prince's son gripped firmly. "I hear tell of late-night revelry."
"Indeed," Éomer replied with a glance to Lothíriel. "I hope you are both prepared for the festivities."
"We'll endeavor to keep up with the Horselords," Lothíriel answered with a smile.
"There will be plenty of food and ale," Éowyn added. "And opportunities to talk of the future." Both Lothíriel and Éomer looked at her with astonishment at the brazenness of her words but the shieldmaiden ignored them and continued. "I hope our guests will delight in the merriment of the Golden Hall in a time of peace and celebration."
"I much anticipate this," Amrothos assured her. "But I must retire now for a spell if I'm to be drinking the Rohirrim under the table tonight."
They parted ways, Éomer and Éowyn obliged to continue their progress of greeting their people as Lothíriel and Amrothos made for their apartments. Once they were installed, her brother made quick work of falling asleep in his room, his soft snores echoing in the main chamber. Lothíriel began the work of unpinning her hair to prepare it for dinner, knowing she would need her maid, Elayn's, help. A knock at the door caught her by surprise and she called out to allow the person entry, leaving a portion of her hair undone and the other secured about her head.
She was startled to see Elven servant appear at the door, bowing before the Princess and announcing Queen Arwen. Elrond's daughter materialized in the doorway as Lothíriel dropped into a low curtesy, the servant moving silently into the hallway.
"Forgive me, my Queen," Lothíriel murmured. "I was not expecting company. My brother and I were taking rest before tonight's festivities."
"You needn't apologize," Arwen replied with a warm smile as the Princess indicated they sit at the table. "I don't mean to intrude on your time, Lady Lothíriel."
"You are most welcome."
"You are kind. I had hoped to speak with you more during our time in Rohan but I have been occupied." Arwen paused as Lothíriel waited patiently, curiosity barely concealed. "I wish to extend an invitation to you. That you might attend my court in Minas Tirith. I cannot retain my household from Imladris and will need to adapt to the Gondorian customs and ladies in my retinue. It has been a mighty adjustment for me."
"I can only imagine."
"I enjoyed our time together on the road and find you both a sound companion and someone who might assist me in acclimating."
"You offer me a great honor, my Queen."
"I am told you may have lingering ties here, though." The Elf smiled knowingly and Lothíriel blushed with a slight shrug.
"I confess, I do not know my future yet."
"Then let this offer stand as another opportunity for you, Lady Lothíriel. I would be pleased to welcome you to Minas Tirith and into my personal retinue. Your father is already a member of the King's counsel so you would not be alone in the White City. But if fate takes you in another direction, then we need speak no more on it."
"I am humbled by your trust and confidence in me. I will consider it and give you an answer upon the leave-taking of the host from Rohan."
"Thank you," Arwen replied as they both stood. Lothíriel bowed as the Queen walked to the exit. "If your future leads you to a different path, I will rejoice in your happiness."
TTTT
Dinner was ready several hours earlier than the prior meals, guests invited to the Golden Hall while the sun hovered well above the horizon. Lothíriel and her brother remained in their attire from the coronation, though both redesigned their hair. Amrothos wore his in the style of Dol Amroth, the hair pulled from the edges of his face into a small braid down the back of his head, the rest of his dark hair loose about his shoulders.
The Princess allowed Elayn to dress her hair in the fashion of Ros and other ladies of the court, a thick braid over her shoulder with smaller woven plaits gathered in a bun. About the braid Elayn had woven a narrow strip of dark blue fabric matching the dress. Had they been in Dol Amroth Lothíriel would've had her hair loose with only a thin circlet of silver or gold to smooth the dark tresses. But she marveled at the beautiful braid, complementing the maid profusely.
This evening, she ate with her brother, the Hobbits and her Rohirric companions, Imrahil seated with the Lord Elrond and the other Elves. Éowyn and Faramir sat together with Aragorn, Arwen, Mithrandir and Éomer at the head table. The feast was abundant, even Amrothos complaining at the end he hadn't the stomach to continue. Toasts were made and frivolity ensued, along with the constant refilling of drinks. Éomer awarded titles to his men, naming Elfhelm Marshal of the East-Mark. Lothíriel raised her glass with a smile to her friend, who canted his head in deference to Éomer, then to Ros, who was beaming. This was followed by other honors and accolades from the king, each one met with a hearty drink of ale or wine. By the time the dinner concluded most folks were well into their cups, roused to dance and sing.
Lothíriel stood with Ros and Elfhelm as the tables were cleared away and barrels of wine and ale appeared. The music became louder as guests moved to fill the empty floor, laughter and songs filling the hall. The Princess caught sight of Éomer, finally alone as he stood near the throne, eyes surveying the crowd. His gaze settled on her and she smiled at him, hoping he would give her a sign to approach. Instead, his eyes appeared brimming with sudden tenderness and pain as he beheld her and Lothíriel was puzzled.
He looked ready to move towards her, pivoting his body in her direction when he was halted by the presence of another. Both he and Lothíriel looked to the side as Dera, daughter of Iowen, approached the King with a small golden cup in her hands. At their distance Lothíriel could not discern the detail of his expression but Éomer did not smile, lips pressed together as the woman bowed before him, offering the cup. Some in the crowd were alerted by this display, eyes moving to Éomer as he stood silently before Dera.
The blonde woman said something to him, though Lothíriel could not hear it over the music, but she watched Dera raise her gaze to meet Éomer's, expression adoring. After what felt like an age he held his hands toward her, accepting the cup. Applause and shouts from revelers followed but all Lothíriel could hear was the beating of her own heart. She was dazed, unsure if she understood what just occurred.
She looked at Ros and Elfhelm, and both wore worried and confused visages. Grey eyes swept the hall until she found Éowyn, not too far from her, standing with Faramir. The shieldmaiden appeared first bewildered then furious, brows creasing as she said something fiercely to the Steward, who shook his head in response.
Lothíriel looked back at Éomer, her heart plummeting as she beheld Dera's hand on his arm, the cup in his other hand. Members of the court were approaching them, bowing and speaking with deferential expressions. They were moving through the crowd together, his countenance guarded but patient as they worked their way through the guests. Lothíriel realized Ros was grasping her arm, speaking to her. The Princess turned to her with a blank expression, her friend's worried visage meeting her.
"Shall we not go outside? It is so stifling hot in here, isn't it, Elfhelm?"
"Yes," came her husband at once, putting himself between Lothíriel and her view of the King, gesturing to the exit. "Let me escort you both –"
"Lady Lothíriel!" came a voice behind the Marshal, at which he seemed to visibly wince, stepping haltingly to the side and around to face Dera and Éomer. "Lady Ros! Lord Elfhelm," she continued with a wide smile on her lips. The women bowed stiffly; Ros unable to smile as Lothíriel plastered one to her lips.
"Lady Dera," she murmured as the woman released Éomer's arm and reached for her hands.
"I cannot tell you the elation in my heart," the blonde woman cried, pulling Lothíriel closer so they could hear one another over the din, her hands grasping the Princess'.
"How came this to pass?" Ros inquired, looking first to Dera then Éomer, who did not meet her sharp gaze.
"By great providence. Though I hold Théodred's memory close, and I am grateful the King sees in me a wife and Queen of the Mark! And it was so quickly devised I had not the time to share my good fortune with you both."
"Thank you for sharing it now," Lothíriel murmured politely, hoping her face did not belie her words.
"I despair that you leave so soon," Dera continued, glancing back at Éomer before looking at the Princess once more. "You must return for the wedding and to continue our friendship!"
"Forgive me," Lothíriel began, brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of the words in her head. Dera's expression fell as she watched the Princess, concern replacing her joy.
"Are you well, my Lady?"
"It's the heat," Ros interjected loudly, taking one of Lothíriel's hands from Dera's. "It's too damn hot in here. I'll take her out for fresh air. Éomer King, Lady Dera."
Without ceremony the woman led Lothíriel from the pair, Elfhelm trailing them. Ros' hand on her wrist was firm as they wove through the crowd, Éomer quickly a distant figure behind them. Pulling her to a dark quiet corner of Meduseld Ros sat Lothíriel on the bench against the wall.
"What fuckery was that?" she inquired harshly as Elfhelm joined them, equally bemused.
"Quiet, Ros," he cautioned gently as his wife frowned, sitting beside Lothíriel.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes," the dark-haired woman replied distantly, meeting Ros' gaze. "Was that… are they… I fear I missed something."
"You and I both!" Ros shook her head, looking at the crowd before pulling Lothíriel's hand onto her lap. "I will find out, though. Dera has no right."
"Why not?" Elfhelm asked, raising his hands quickly as his wife glowered at him. "I don't mean to be difficult. I'm just as confounded as you. But Dera would be an acceptable wife for Éomer. Perhaps we did miss something."
"Whatever we missed Éomer seemed complicit. Béma's blade, Éowyn is liable to beat him with the very crown she bestowed upon him."
"We aren't really in a position to challenge this," her husband reasoned with a frown, leveling his gaze with Ros' fiery expression. "However unjust or baffling it may be."
"No. We cannot challenge it," Lothíriel agreed firmly. "I do not challenge it. If I was misled in my –"
"Misled?!" Ros' shock was almost too loud, drawing glances from the guests closest to them. She adjusted her visage and lowered her voice. "Éomer is not one to deceive. There is something afoot."
"Perhaps. But I must accept what seems to be the truth. He has made his choice, and I am pleased for him." Lothíriel stood then, looking between Elfhelm and Ros. They appeared crestfallen and it irritated the Princess. She took a breath and forced a smile. "I respect Éomer's decision. Dera is a good woman. I wish no one to feel sorrow or outrage on my behalf. Please, excuse me."
Turning from them the woman walked away from the dark corner, finding solace in the moving bodies that gave her distraction from the thoughts trying to flood her mind. She took measured steps, not wishing to draw more attention. She caught sight of her brother and father facing away from her. Pivoting from them she made for the doors of Meduseld, able to slip past the last merrymakers into the dark night.
Sound poured from the Golden Hall but it was cooler and quieter on the stone veranda as Lothíriel walked away from hall. She approached the tall pillar upon which the flag of Rohan hung silently, stirring occasionally in the breeze. Taking several deep breaths through her nose the Princess clenched her teeth, willing her erratic heartbeat to slow. Many moments passed as she considered her options, loathe to return to the Hall and bear judgment and inquiry.
"My Lady?"
She cursed under her breath, eyes closing as his voice called out, tentative and quiet. She opened her eyes and turned to face him with a civil expression. He stood alone, the backdrop of Meduseld washing him with golden light. She dropped into a curtsey and kept her eyes from meeting his as she stood straight.
"King Éomer."
"I don't mean to disturb you."
"You haven't," she answered curtly. His countenance faltered and she took a breath, softening her tone. "How may I be of service?"
"I'd hoped to speak to you," he murmured, brow furrowed as he seemed to take another step toward her but thought better and moved to her side. "It was never my intention to hurt you."
"I believe you," she answered quietly, turning so they were both staring at the darkness of the valley.
"I have… I found this." Éomer turned toward her, procuring something from his pocket, drawing her attention. In his palm was the silver brooch from the day of Théoden's interment. "I'd returned to the tomb alone after the funeral. It was sitting among the simbelmynë where you played the harp."
Lothíriel took the swan pin from his hand, careful not to let her fingers brush his skin. It was warm but began to cool, gleaming in the brightness of the moon and torches around Meduseld. She'd forgotten she wore it that day, now remembering how she removed the pin and neglected to retrieve it after the funeral. Lothíriel looked from the swan to Éomer, sadness unabashed in her countenance.
"Keep it," she answered quietly, placing the pin back in his open hand. "As a gesture of good will between Dol Amroth and Rohan."
Grey eyes avoided his as she watched his fingers close around the pin. She offered a tight-lipped smile as she chanced a look up, finding his gaze with a start. A sheen was in his eyes, brows furrowed, and his expression was firm and guarded. At first glance she wondered if he was angry or disappointed, though she realized she could not tell. The hurt she felt seemed mirrored in his eyes, but she wasn't certain. Afraid to ask and feeling uncomfortable inquiring, Lothíriel took a step away from him and dropped her gaze.
"I wish you a lifetime of contentment with Lady Dera. You both deserve happiness. Forget not that Dol Amroth is ever at your call."
"I owe you an explanation."
"You don't," she assured him with gentle firmness. "I hold you in the highest esteem and that alone is enough for me. Good evening, my King."
She briefly met his eyes once more, lifting her chin to avoid displaying embarrassment despite the shame in her heart. She dropped into a courtesy, and he canted his head stiffly, the hurt vanished from his visage. Taking that small gesture as permission to leave the woman moved around his body, mindful not to brush against him. As she passed she swallowed the lump in her throat, willing herself not to falter.
Grey eyes were trained on the dark horizon as she descended the steps of Meduseld, skirts in hand. She disdained her stilted words and lack of elegance but delighted in a quick escape. Relief soothed her racing heart when he did not follow her into the night, knowing she could not reenter the hall or speak further to the King.
The sounds of celebration carried on the breeze, pursuing her across the dark lawn, making a mockery of her bruised ego and broken heart. She could not go back. Despite this she held fast to the decision of maintaining the utmost decorum and kindness toward Dera. All she wished now was to return to Dol Amroth, leaving forever the lands of Rohan and Éomer.
