Chapter 2
The Prince's Keep was a flurry of activity in the hours preceding the arrival of Dol Amroth's host and guest. Lothíriel had hoped to confer with her eldest brother, Elphir, after speaking to Nenniel but Imrahil's heir supped with his children and wife in private that evening. Thus, the Princess made decisions without his guidance, hoping they would align with Elphir's expectations. It was well past midday when she finally cornered him in the corridor between his personal apartments and the other siblings' chambers.
"Hanar," she called down the hallway, his head lifting from the parchment in his hands. Grey eyes found her and he smiled, teeth flashing in the low light of the vestibule. They approached each other, the missive rolled between his hands and tucked into his trouser pocket.
"I've barely seen you all week," he remarked as they began walking together toward the stairwell of the Keep.
"I'm not sure who has been more occupied. I'd hoped to see you yesterday to discuss Father's arrival."
"Yes, I apologize. I haven't had a chance to sit with the children and Alphros wanted to show off his harp practice, such as it is. I fear I won't have the opportunity again until our guests depart." Elphir glanced at her with an apologetic smile. "Nenniel says you've been managing marvelously, though. I trust whatever accommodations you've devised will be wonderful."
"Thank you. Have you and the others decided what you'll do with the King while he's here? Need I send out missives to prepare tours and lodgings?"
"Nay, I was going to let Father make those plans. And the King himself. I'm sure Chir will take him sailing, if he's partial to the sea. And we'll take him around the bay to see the vineyards and tidal trappers. I hesitate to go too far south, though."
"Yes, Chir mentioned the unmarked galleys loitering between Naith-Ernil and Tolfalas."
"He told me too. I suspect it's a faction of corsairs testing their luck. They don't dress their sails, so I doubt they're from Harad. Regardless, let that be a matter we address with Father after Rohan's King departs. Speaking of the Horselord… how do you fare with him visiting?"
"Well enough," she answered, having said the same to Chir and Galieth when they inquired the night before at supper. "I do not wish to tarnish his stay with concerns from last year. If he accepted Father's invitation he must feel it appropriate to visit."
"Very well." The man paused, appraising her with a slight smile. Lothíriel met his gaze, brows knitted as she waited. "You know, sister, you've inherited Erchirion's way with words. But I am not so easily convinced."
"You think I lie to you?"
"No, you are a terrible liar. I do think you have a penchant for telling people what they want or expect to hear from you to soothe worry." His voice dropped, though they were alone in the corridor, his grey eyes finding hers with a pointed countenance. "Are you well enough, as you say? Perhaps. But think not, dear one, that I failed to see the tears you wept in silence last year. I have witnessed how you stiffen when he is brought up and force smiles when Father talks of marriage and the betrothals of others."
"Elphir –"
"It's alright," he placed a hand on her arm, silencing her with a kind smile. "I'll not tell you what to do or how to feel. I trust you are well enough to see him again and that you'll weather his visit with decorum and grace. We both know how protective Amrothos and Chir can be and I'm certain you must find it vexing at times. Just… it's alright to let slip that guard you maintain. It cannot be easy for you to see him again. I would lend a listening ear, should you have need of it during his stay."
"Thank you," she replied as he squeezed her shoulder before leaving her to continue his errands. Lothíriel considered his words, vacillating between embarrassment that he read her so plainly and worry about the King's arrival. Between her own feelings on seeing the man and Amrothos' resentment it would be a fraught meeting. But she resigned to trust her father's decision and wisdom in this.
TTTT
Lothíriel stood on the parapet of the inner-most gate, hands resting on the smooth stone as she watched the procession of Swan Knights ride through the city welcomed warmly by the city's inhabitants. Their blue and silver tabards and helmets made them seem like a flow of water winding through a dry riverbed to the cheers and music of the citizens.
Standing beside Amrothos and Nenniel, the Princess searched the approaching company for her father and the King of Rohan. She was dressed in a pale blue gown with navy embroidery decorating the scooped neck. Her dark hair remained plaited down her back from her labors earlier in the day, having neither the time nor interest in sitting to have it brushed out and smoothed. She was toying with the end of the braid nervously when she finally beheld the standard of Rohan, the green field a sharp contrast to the blues, silvers and greys of Dol Amroth. She felt the closeness of Amrothos' arm as he shifted his weight toward her, finding consolation in his silent act of support.
It wasn't until they entered the bailey just below the Keep that she saw Éomer, his helm identifying him immediately as he rode beside the Prince. He was dressed in the familiar burgundy plate armor, though his distinctive helmet was more ornate than the one she knew from the War. As they filed through the street she saw at least five Riders of the Mark trailing their king but could not see well enough to recognize them.
As they neared the gate below her Éomer and Imrahil removed their helmets, each tucking their helms under an arm as they prepared to enter the Prince's Keep. Éomer looked up then, scanning the crowd and gazing at the parapet until his eyes met hers. Her heart quailed and she pressed her fingers into the warm stone to steady herself.
His expression, trained in sternness, faltered for barely a moment as his lips parted, seemingly whispering a word before regaining his composure. He gave her the faintest of nods before looking to Amrothos and raising his hand in welcome, which was decidedly not returned, though it wasn't clear if the King saw. The company passed underneath them as Lothíriel and her companions descended the stairs and met them in the courtyard. Éomer and Imrahil were dismounting when they approached, Elphir leading.
Lothíriel stood beside Erchirion and Amrothos, Nenniel and their two small children behind them. The Princess' eldest brother embraced their father and bowed to Éomer, who reciprocated. Elphir moved to the side as Amrothos, then Erchirion greeted the Prince warmly and King politely. Imrahil approached Lothíriel, giving her a hug and holding her just a moment longer than the others. When he disengaged, she turned the Horselord, offering a curtsey as he bowed low.
"Lady Lothíriel," he murmured upon straightening, hazel eyes meeting hers briefly before averting his gaze respectfully.
"Welcome, King of the Mark."
Elphir jumped in smoothly to introduce his family and avoided an awkward silence. Imrahil then gestured to the Keep, inviting Éomer and his men inside. The moment of tension dissipated within her, convinced the hardest part – seeing him again since their parting in Edoras – was over.
Lothíriel stepped deftly into the role of Lady of the Keep then, detaching from her family as they moved to Hithrond to instruct the household staff. After speaking with the castellan and master of stables, the Princess received a final count on the Rohirrim that accompanied Éomer.
"Twelve is enough for the western apartments. Four to a room should suffice, yes?"
"Yes, my Lady. We'll have a chamber or two to spare."
"Good. See they are fed and given linens."
"Yes, my Lady."
By the time she rejoined her family in Hithrond Éomer had been led to his quarters to change and rest. Galieth, her husband, Camaen, and their eldest child, Bellamdir had joined the Prince's family in the Grey Hall, nodding to Lothíriel as she entered. The Princess was relieved to treat with her father without the King, embracing him again quickly as he kissed her cheek. At his feet sat his two deerhounds, tails thumping joyfully against the carpeted floor as they stared up at their master.
"The Keep is running smoothly, Daughter," he remarked with an appraising look in her direction.
"Thank you. Nenniel has been a vital part of ensuring we maintain your standards, so it is she you must thank." Imrahil smiled as Nenniel dipped her head in appreciation, her one-year-old fidgeting in her embrace, attempting to reach for his older brother in Elphir's arms. The Prince looked ready to speak when Amrothos stepped toward him.
"I must ask, Father… why is Éomer here?" A tense silence filled the hall for a moment as eyes looked from son to father, Amrothos gazing intently at the Prince but Imrahil merely gave a sage smile. A servant chose this moment to bequeath a platter of drinks for the family, placing them on a low table near the dais. Lothíriel picked up a glass of wine immediately, expression troubled by the exchange as the servant hurried away, closing the door as Imrahil spoke.
"He is our ally," the Prince began, raising a hand to stop Amrothos' next interjection. "And opportunities to reciprocate his hospitality in Rohan are undoubtedly few. His decision to visit on this occasion, however, was driven most ardently by Aragorn and Faramir."
"What?" Erchirion voiced the other's thoughts, tilting his head in confusion. Lothíriel felt the bite of resentment and frustration in her chest toward her usually sensitive cousin, curious why he would be so influential in this affair.
"It was at their urging that Éomer accepted my offer to sojourn in Dol Amroth before heading north. I merely suggested it."
"We do not question the role of diplomacy, Father," Elphir remarked quietly with a glance to Amrothos as he shifted the sleeping toddler on his shoulder. "The King is welcome and, as you said, it will likely be many years, perhaps decades, before he returns. Surely, we can entertain and accommodate him as we would any other Lord."
"Aye," came Erchirion's response, making up for his earlier question. Amrothos held Elphir's gaze a moment longer before nodding and plucking a glass of wine from the table. He met Lothíriel's eyes and mumbled parting words to the group. The Princess turned to Imrahil, ignoring her brother's exit and changing topics with a smile as Nenniel handed the infant in her arms to the receiving hands of the Prince.
"Ada, we are glad to have you home after so many seasons."
"I am glad as well, melethel. Aragorn has graciously given me leave from Minas Tirith for the month before I am expected to return."
"Only a month?" came the dejected voice of Bellamdir, his interruption drawing eyes to the nine-year-old as he stood beside his parents, brows furrowed with disappointment.
"Sadly," Imrahil conceded. "But perhaps, if your mother and father see fit, you might accompany me and King Éomer back to Minas Tirith at the end of the month."
The boy's expression shifted quickly from discouraged to elated, eyes immediately intreating his father, Camaen, who looked straightaway to Galieth. She looked back to Imrahil, a small smile on her lips.
"We shall discuss it," she answered slowly, gazing at her husband, whose imploring countenance matched his son's. "But I'm not opposed to the notion, especially if our Lord Uncle is offering."
Bellamdir grinned as Camaen gave him an affectionate nudge. Imrahil smiled then, looking to Nenniel as the baby squirmed in his arms, grasping for his mother. She took him back as the Prince looked around the hall with raised brows before settling his gaze back on his niece.
"Where is Síloriel?"
"Bathing for supper. She was covered in sand and dirt from her beach visit. I regret she could not be here to greet you, my Lord."
"Ah, it's alright. I should like to take her and Ballamdir sailing during my visit, if they are still amenable."
Lothíriel listened to them discuss the children as she sipped the wine, her heart full to have her father home. Although a month felt like too short of a visit she knew he would become restless towards the end of that time and yearn to depart the costal city. Amrothos' observation in Edoras was correct; Imrahil was haunted by memories in Dol Amroth, making any lengthy stay within its walls difficult. With all four of his children now adults he was better suited to counsel Aragorn and put his wisdom to use in Minas Tirith.
"Dinner should be interesting," Erchirion murmured to her as their father walked away from the pair with the others in tow, Bellamdir eager to show his great-uncle a trick he'd learned and chatting all the way out. The deerhounds plodded after their master with barely a look behind, their thin grey bodies slipping out the door before it was closed.
Lothíriel looked at her middle brother, the shaved sides of his head giving him a fierce appearance. The eyepatch added to the vision he seemed to cultivate, though he'd notably dressed conservatively for today's occasion.
"You and Amrothos aren't devising anything untoward, are you?"
"Untoward?" Her brother adopted an overexaggerated expression of hurt before shaking his head. "No. Provided the King is mannerly, we'll be the good little lads our father raised us to be."
"The King is here as a guest. Not to be tormented by the pair of you for an imagined slight."
"Imagined?"
"Don't be rude. Please."
Erchirion relented, nodding before winking his one eye and walking away, a smirk on his lips. Lothíriel sighed, trusting he would keep his word despite the cheeky demeanor.
Amrothos was another matter. Since their departure from Rohan he harbored a resolute dislike toward the King and was clearly not shy in declaring it. His ire cooled significantly over the year but having Éomer in their home was obviously enough to incite the anger again.
She was nervous that her brother might say something insensitive to the King, despite Imrahil and Elphir's pleas to be civil. Especially if prodded by Erchirion. The Princess drained the contents of her glass and followed her family to resume running the household and preparing for Éomer's first night at the Prince's Keep.
TTTT
Dinner was a quiet affair that evening, the soldiers of Dol Amroth and Rohan served in the open-air plaza at long tables while the Prince, his immediate family and honored guest ate in the small dining chamber within the Keep. Lively music from the plaza filtered through the tall windows along with the sound of laughter and cheer.
A harpist played quietly near the entrance of the chamber as the Prince stood at the head of the table, glass raised. To his right was Éomer, then Elphir and Nenniel. Lothíriel sat opposite the King with Amrothos and Erchirion to her left. The children had been fed and were absent from this meal, allowing the adults (particularly their parents) to eat in peace.
"I am delighted to return to my children after a successful campaign," Imrahil began as they held their cups aloft with him. "And pleased to welcome Éomer, King of the Mark, into our home. Let us enjoy this quiet setting tonight, for I am certain we will be afforded much frivolity in the days and weeks to come with the celebration of Loëndë."
Imrahil sat and drank as his family followed suit. Lothíriel felt Éomer's gaze on her as she took an extended sip of her third glass of wine, avoiding his eyes. She set the cup down as the first course was served.
Conversation remained light-hearted, Elphir sharing stories of Imrahil's grandchildren and the goings-on of the city and port. As Nenniel assured her yesterday Lothíriel observed the food was mostly comprised of inland cuisine: meats, breads, fruits and vegetables filling their plates.
"How fared Rohan through the winter and spring?" Erchirion inquired, glancing up at Éomer as he began cutting through meat pie on his plate.
"Well," the King replied with a gracious nod. "It was not as harsh as had been predicted, and the summer is bountiful."
"Was the spring foaling productive?" Elphir asked.
"Yes – the richest yield of horses we've had in many years."
The conversation followed an expected path, Éomer sharing news of Rohan's rebuilding and efforts to manage Dunlendings. Elphir and Erchirion inquired further on the martial expectations of the Rohirrim and the King responded in kind, inquiring on the capacity of Dol Amroth's soldiers. Amrothos was notably silent, but Lothíriel couldn't catch his gaze without leaning far forward or back to see him around Erchirion.
As the men chatted she realized no one had asked Éomer about his bride and the wine influenced her assessment that it was rude to skirt around the issue. Although she had not been privy to information about the King, especially his marital status, it bordered on offensive that they wouldn't show interest. There was a lull, then, in the conversation and it occurred to her that someone should do the courteous thing.
"How fares the Lady of Rohan?" Lothíriel asked suddenly, unable to keep her curiosity quiet. Eyes drew to her as she washed trepidation down with the wine. Éomer's brow furrowed as he canted his head.
"Well. My sister spends her time between Rohan and Ithilien these days."
"Oh," the Princess tilted her head, perplexed by his answer. Need she be more specific? "I meant the Queen. The new Lady of Rohan."
"Queen? Oh… Ehm, no. Forgive me, my Lady," he replied, setting his fork down and glancing at Imrahil with a bemused if not slightly pleading visage. "I don't think… did no one tell you?"
"Tell me what?" Now it was her turn to frown, looking first at her brothers then back to Éomer.
"There is no Lady of Rohan, save Éowyn."
"Oh," she repeated dumbly, the alcohol causing her to blink and slowing the words in her head before she spoke. "Where is Lady Dera?"
"In Aldburg," he murmured, his neck and cheeks reddening as he took a sip of his wine and avoided her gaze. "With her husband."
"Then you're not… But in Edoras, she offered you the cup, which I understood meant... You were engaged, were you not?"
"We'd only begun considerations of marriage," he answered haltingly, clearly ill at ease as he shifted in his seat. Beside the King Elphir looked uncomfortable and Nenniel was closely focused on folding her napkin.
Imrahil had leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable as he watched the King. Lothíriel had forgone all pretenses of eating, staring at Éomer with a mixture of shock and confusion as he met her gaze sheepishly.
"I thought you'd been told."
"No." She looked then to Elphir, grey eyes unable to conceal her displeasure. "Did you know?" Before she let him answer she turned to her left to find Erchirion. "Did you?" Her middle brother had just begun to shake his head when she found Éomer once more, a sympathetic visage now on her face. "I am sorry to hear this, my Lord."
"You needn't be," he assured her, clearing his throat quietly before continuing. "She is happier, I believe, with her husband in Aldburg. I am grateful she is thriving."
Silence followed as plates were cleared. Lothíriel held her cup as a servant filled it once more, brows knitted as she tried to make sense of this news. Though she was privately delighted to hear the King was not married she felt humiliated by her assumption and angered that she hadn't been informed prior to Éomer's arrival.
She heard Nenniel engage the King in conversation about Dol Amroth but she couldn't focus on the content of their exchange. The wine dulled her surroundings, and she was content to stare at her place setting and let the others talk around her. It wasn't until Erchirion gave her a gentle kick under the table that she snapped back to awareness.
"Hmm?" She looked first to Erchirion who nodded to their father.
"I was inquiring if you might play the harp for us?"
"Oh… forgive me, Father. I haven't the… my fingers are…"
"Alas, the harp was sent for re-stringing, Father," Elphir interjected, drawing Imrahil's gaze as he smiled to Lothíriel. "It was overdue for a tune up."
"Very well," the Prince replied, though his tone was doubtful. He adjusted his expression and smiled at them. "Another time, then. Let us break this meal, ere the King and I fall asleep at the table. Our ride was long and I imagine he, like myself, would appreciate a good night's sleep."
TTTT
Lothíriel stood on the northernly parapet, staring at the dark sea below as it stretched out like a rippling blanket to the horizon. The moon was a crescent that night, but the stars were abundant and provided dim silvery light. The cool sea breeze tempered the inebriation in her blood, though she was feeling the consequence of so many glasses of wine as she rested her hands on the stone of the crenel.
She'd slipped away from the others after the meal concluded, ashamed by her display at dinner and needing fresh air to provide clarity, if the Valar saw fit to bless her with it. She'd been out there for nearly an hour, listening to waves rhythmically crash against the rocks and considering retiring. She expected her delayed return would ensure Éomer had gone to bed – and hopefully the others too. She was in no position to explain herself.
The door to the communal chambers of the Keep opened then, light spilling out before it was blocked by a figure. Lothíriel turned, expecting to see her father or a brother, come to chastise her. The person, though backlit by the warm light, was clearly not her kin. Grey eyes widened with recognition as she stood up straight, the King of Rohan approaching her with even steps.
The door shut behind him and they were alone on the wall. She took a deep breath before he was close enough to hear and attempted to compose herself. He did not meet her gaze, instead stopping short of her and turning to look out at the ocean. When he remained silent she turned as well, both regarding the vastness of the sea. The crenels were low enough on this side of the ramparts that they could see over them.
"I did not know you hadn't been told," he began at length, resting his hands on the straight divot between the merlons. She considered a response, willing his presence alone to sober her enough to avoid further embarrassment. "I am sorry if you were caught unawares. It was never my intention –"
"What is your intention?" she interrupted quietly, glancing at him with a pensive gaze. Apparently, his presence was not enough to sober her into polite discourse befitting their stations. Éomer looked at her before nodding as though he agreed with her inquiry.
"A fair question. You were surely not expecting me to arrive at your home."
"No, I wasn't. Not least because of our parting but… you are a long way from home. Who rules the Mark in your absence?"
"Elfhelm and Éowyn act as my stewards with support of the counsel. Sometimes I wonder if they don't do a better job than I would."
"You haven't answered my question. What is your intention in Dol Amroth?"
"Your father extended an invitation after the success of our recent campaign. I was not going to accept and, truthfully, it seemed he was offering it to be polite. But I was persuaded to accept."
"Persuaded by whom?"
"Your cousin. Aragorn. Both gently but firmly made it clear that I ought to see Dol Amroth and strengthen the accord between our lands by accepting the hospitality of Prince Imrahil."
"I see."
"And," he turned slightly in her direction, tilting his head to look at her. "I was under the impression you knew I was not attached to Dera. Or anyone. Had I known the truth I wouldn't have put you in that position."
"It's alright," she replied, maintaining her gaze on the sea. "I am no stranger to making an ass of myself before my brothers. Though my father bearing witness stings a bit."
"Lothíriel, I assure you –"
"Worry not, King of the Mark," she interrupted with a slight if not forced smile. "You are here and I now know. We might yet make the best of this."
"I owe you an explanation." Éomer paused, as if waiting for her to dissuade him but she was silent. The man sighed, turning his attention back to the ocean. "I was encouraged; nay urged to marry a woman of Rohan. My advisors were unequivocally certain it would be a show of strength and fortune for the new royal house to stay within the Rohirrim. I suppose it was an added boon that Dera's father happened to sit on my council."
"It seems an auspicious match," Lothíriel agreed mildly. "How did it come to pass that she is married to someone else?"
"Ah," the King released a noise that sounded like a faint chuckle, drawing her gaze with raised brows. "I released her from the bonds of royal service, ere they would make her resent me."
"She seemed elated to be your wife," she remarked dryly.
"The novelty wore off, I think. And, in truth, Dera had developed an attachment to a rider in her father's éored. It was he that she was pledged to when we broke the troth."
"I am glad she is with someone who will make her happy. I was partial to Dera during my brief time in Edoras. But what I cannot understand in this is…" she turned to face him, grey eyes meeting his. "You are a man who seems determined in his convictions. How is it that your council could sway you with such confidence? Do you deny your agency in this?"
"I do not," he confessed, brow furrowing as he looked at her. "I accepted their will and disappointed those I hold closest in the process. Something I continue to atone and pay for." A dark brow rose expectantly as the Princess looked at him.
"Who but me should exact payment?"
"My sister was relentless in her reproachment. I don't think I've ever been called an idiot so many times in one sitting as I was the night you departed." The corner of his lips pulled faintly into a smile but disappeared before she could confirm it happened. "I told you we would talk after the events concluded and I did not follow through. Worse, I hurt you in my rash agreement to enter marriage conversations with Dera. My intention, to answer your question, in coming here was to ask your forgiveness, though I had not expected to do so this abruptly."
Lothíriel studied him, the silver shimmer of moonlight contrasting with the gold and wheat hues of his hair. His expression was unguarded, hazel eyes hinting at his own hurt as he met her gaze. She was unprepared for this, still feeling the effects of the wine as she beheld him asking for her pity.
"You have it," she replied faintly, looking at her hands now folded before her on the stone, though she perceived him from her peripheral vision. The King gazed at her with what seemed to be disbelief as he pivoted his body toward her, resting an elbow on the crenel. "I have no wish to despise you. Your friendship with my father is enough to convince me you are noble and true. We may both be victims of circumstance since you came here believing I knew."
"May I ask," he started, looking back to the Keep before finding her again. "Do you think these tidings were kept from you intentionally?"
"Perhaps. But not with malice, if indeed they knew at all. My brothers endeavor to protect me and likely felt it best to avoid certain topics and tidings, such that I might live without the burden of knowing."
"I can empathize with their judgement," Éomer murmured.
"Perhaps this is the reason behind Faramir's encouragement in visiting."
"Yes," he agreed, standing up straight and smiling. "It seemed rather unlike him to entreat Imrahil so enthusiastically that I should come to Dol Amroth."
"He was the architect of the invitation?"
"Aye. From his vigorous recommendation came your father's official request. And it was Aragorn's encouragement that led me to accepting. I wanted to see you – and Dol Amroth – but I was reluctant to face you after my poor comportment last year. Aragorn privately assured me it would be wise to come here. I think, reflecting now, he knew something I didn't."
"I suppose I am grateful to both of them," Lothíriel replied, though her tone was doubtful. She looked at him then, a thought occurring. "How is Ros? Our communication dropped off when winter arrived."
"She is doing well," he answered, seemingly relieved to move to a safer topic. "She has adjusted easily to the role of a Marshal's wife, which comes with a household to manage and influence at court."
"I am glad to hear this. I appreciated my time with her."
"She felt the same. So much so that she found subtle ways to punish me for my foolishness."
"Punish?"
"Aye. Nothing overt and she certainly said no words to me on the subject. But my soup was over-salted throughout the winter. And twice I found my reins to have too much leather oil, resulting in near catastrophe on a ride."
"I see." Lothíriel was unable to hide a simpering grin at the thought of Ros slipping an extra portion of salt into Éomer's bowl and greasing his tack. "How can you be certain it was her?"
"I suppose I can't," he confessed with a small smile, looking away from Lothíriel to the sea. "But it bears an uncanny resemblance to her childhood antics of adding too much molasses to my favorite pastry in retaliation for some slight she and Éowyn perceived. And considering my sister was absent for most of the winter I have only Ros to blame for the foul soup that seemed only to afflict me."
Lothíriel smiled at the imagery his words conjured, brushing a curl from her eyes and following his gaze to the water. They stood there for several minutes, the silence far more comfortable than when he'd arrived. She had a difficult time understanding her feelings on their discourse, the wine proving an unreliable influence. Had she been further into her cup she might act on the nudge to move closer to him or say something stupid. But the sea breeze and elapsed time since her last drink gave her a firmer hold on propriety. Éomer glanced at her and spoke then.
"I will take no more of your time, my Lady. I thank you for giving me an audience and your understanding. I deserve neither."
"I am glad to know the truth now. I expect our interactions during your visit will be far more agreeable."
"Indeed," the King nodded, though his countenance did not seem aligned. "I fear Amrothos will take more convincing."
"Probably," she agreed gently. "But give him time. He'll come 'round."
"I wouldn't blame him if he didn't," Eomer remarked but nodded and stepped back from the wall as they bowed to each other. "Good evening, Lady Lothíriel."
"Good night."