Chapter 3

"Already started with your day, hm?"

Lothíriel looked up from the parchment she'd been studying to find her father staring down at her, his entrance into the room missed entirely in her labors and focus. Sitting up straight in the chair she nodded, Imrahil depositing himself gracefully in the upholstered chair on the other side of the desk.

Morning light created a shaft of luminance in the small chamber, bathing the tabletop in warmth. Candles added to the golden hue, some in sconces on the walls, another set upon the desk in a silver dish. The Prince reclined into the chair, as she began collecting the various pieces of paper littering the desk into a pile. He spoke again after a moment, meeting her gaze with a mild tone.

"I would've expected you to be abed considering the cups of wine you enjoyed last night."

"I should like to be asleep," she answered sheepishly with a slow grin as her father nodded, looking then to the desk and papers in her hand. "Chir brought manifests from the ships yesterday, but I didn't have a chance to review them."

"Anything of note?" Imrahil inquired, smoothing the wrinkles from his grey tunic.

"We're paying more than double for silk," she replied, scanning the parchment with a frown. "I ordered less this month to account for the increase but it's still robbery."

"I expect prices will settle by winter, especially if we treat with the merchants to establish an agreement. Aragorn has given us leave to conduct trade negotiations with a select number of Lords from Harad. I have that list in my saddle bag."

"Are we permitted to host envoys as you'd hoped before the campaign?"

"Yes. Elphir will issue formal invitations if he hasn't done so already." The Prince paused, observing her for a moment until she met his gaze. "How did it come to pass that you are poring over manifests and trade inventory, my daughter?"

"It was a task no one else wanted," she replied wryly, putting the paper down and leaning back in her chair. "The boys have their posts. Chir has embraced his role as Master of Ships, Elphir is the Prince in all but name and Amrothos is more closely involved in our inland and martial concerns. Who is left to harass foreign merchants and assure we are trading at fair prices?"

"I am grateful you are taking it on," he remarked with a proud smile. "Have you been given any trouble for it?"

"Not from anyone here," she replied. "And, to be frank, I was hoping you would provide some tutelage in treating with the allied Lords of Harad."

"Certainly. Perhaps you would like to administer in Hithrond while I am here."

"Oh," Lothíriel looked at him with raised brows. "I don't think that's necessary."

"Why shouldn't it be? You are the Lady of Dol Amroth. Let both our people and envoys from afar see you in the seat of power and deliberation."

"I will if you wish it so."

"Let us speak upon it at a later date." Imrahil stood, followed by his daughter, gesturing her to exit the small room first. The pair snuffed the remaining candles and departed the study into the wide and cool hallway. "If Elphir has sent letters south then we can expect emissaries and discuss trade negotiations before I return to Minas Tirith."

"I'm grateful for your trust in me," the Princess replied as they walked down the vestibule, footsteps muted on the dark green carpet.

Landscape murals were mounted on their left illustrating the history of the peninsula, including the coming of the Elves, the death of Amroth and the arrival of the Númenóreans to the land. Tall windows allowed the morning sun to filter into the hall, the alabaster stone brilliant in the light. The artistry of the windows and tree-like architecture was most prominent on this side of the keep, facing the sea and housing the Prince's guest and private rooms.

"Are you and the King of Rohan on satisfactory terms?" Lothíriel intentionally avoided his gaze as they walked, the mild headache suddenly worsening at the question.

"Yes. We spoke after dinner and settled whatever confusion remained."

"Good. That is good."

"Ada," Lothíriel stopped, her father following suit with an expectant visage, hands clasped behind him. "You knew of the King's tidings – that he was no longer betrothed?"

"I was not privy to the details. But I'd heard Éomer was not yet married and there was no discussion of a wedding. I made my own conclusions on the reason."

"Amrothos was – is still – angered by what transpired last year in Edoras. I had neither the capacity nor the time to ask your opinion then. I have avoided it since but now I find myself wondering how it seemed to you."

"A folly of youth, I believe," the Prince replied thoughtfully as the pair began walking again. "I was surprised by the outcome that night. And, truthfully, disappointed in the decision that was wrought. But I had the opportunity to speak to Éomer once you and Amrothos departed. I came to understand his rationale, though I cannot say I agreed with the decision. He was elaborate in apologizing and expressing concern for our friendship. It was not for me to say what he should or shouldn't do in the face of his advisors."

"Last night he shared the pressure his counsel put on him to marry within his own people."

"Aye, the Rohirrim are notoriously insular and for good reason. But it seems Éomer was unhappy with the result of that decision and gave the girl leave to marry someone else. So he rules alone."

"I'm sure he will find a suitable bride when the time is right."

"I share your belief." Imrahil smiled at his daughter's sudden look, continuing as though she hadn't responded so viscerally. "But I know not. I am relieved you and he are on good terms, if only to ease his visit."

"He'll have a harder time with Amrothos."

"Your brother will come around in time," the Prince predicted as a pair of maids curtseyed to the pair before continuing down the hall. "But his ire is justified. He will accept no quick apology from the King."

"Éomer – the King is genuine, I believe."

"I have no doubt of it. None could question the man's authenticity. But his actions have hurt someone Amrothos loves dearly. I expect it will take time."

"Perhaps more than the King has in our land," Lothíriel posited with a concerned visage. Imrahil smiled and shrugged.

"He's stubborn, is Amrothos. And he holds a grudge like no other."

"Yes, it is one of his fouler qualities."

"Ah, he does so out of love, melethel. At least in this case. He is no stranger to the feelings you were subject to when you took leave of Rohan."

"Why should that be the case?" she asked crossly, looking at her father as they walked leisurely into the main chambers of the Keep. "Why should he not be allowed to love and be loved?"

"He is allowed," Imrahil answered with arched brows though his tone was patient. "No one prevents him from those feelings."

"You know of what I speak."

"Amrothos' affections are shared as far as I understand. It is not from a lack of support and acceptance that he is barred, Lothíriel."

"Then what is it?"

The entrance of Imrahil's man-at-arms to the chambers denied Lothíriel a response, a frown illustrating her frustration as the captain approached with a bow. Her father offered her an apologetic smile, recognizing the necessity of pausing the conversation.

"Let us continue this discussion at another time, my daughter."

The Princess couldn't help but mirror her father's smile as he turned to address the other man, though she was disappointed at the interruption. As the men began conversing Lothíriel crossed the floor to look out the window, the port of Highwater sprawled out before the city. The dock was already busy, the morning having started well before the sun rose for the merchants, fishmongers and sailors. The crest of Dol Amroth dotted the harbor, denoting the Prince's fleet amidst the merchant and fishing vessels with the same silver and blue hues matching her dress.

Imrahil's words repeated in her head as she surveyed the water beyond the harbor. She'd gone to bed feeling settled on the matter but awoke feeling less convicted. The alcohol made it easier for her to accept Éomer's apology and fear of discord influenced her to receive his explanation quickly. But the morning brought sobriety and discontent – Lothíriel had not forgiven him. Not entirely, at least. Regret tasted bitter on her tongue as she recognized the predicament she'd put herself in: pretend she forgave him as she attested the night before or rescind that wine-infused acceptance of his apology. Happily interrupted from a decision, she turned as Imrahil approached.

"I'm off to observe the Knights and see the new litter born to Azruarî, which, I'll add, no one mentioned yesterday."

"Yes," she grinned at her father's playfully exasperated expression. "We were too twitterpated about your arrival it slipped our minds, if you can forgive us."

"I'm sure I can, especially if the pups are faring well. You'll join Chir for the rest of the day?"

"Aye."

"Good. We can rejoin later. I am interested to hear how the King manages Highwater. Do not," he paused, gently taking her arm so she halted as well, "let Chir or Amrothos feed him anything that might be indelicate."

"I will keep a kestrel's eye upon them, Ada."

TTTT

"Hail, sister!"

Lothíriel turned to greet her brother and Éomer as they parted the crowd to join her on the quay. They were trailed by Swan Knights who promptly made themselves scarce once they joined the Princess. Standing from the bench the woman canted her head to the men as Éomer offered a brief bow upon halting.

She was dressed for a day on the wharf, having donned a sleeveless linen overcoat in fashion with the merchant's wives and lower gentry. Dark, thick hair was plaited down her back in harmony with the women of the harbor and secured with a thin fabric tie matching the silvery-blue of her dress. She felt Éomer's eyes linger a brief moment before turning as his companion spoke.

"Behold, King of the Mark, the Port of Highwater Harbor," Erchirion announced, sweeping his hand toward the bay. Éomer pivoted to stand beside Lothíriel so he could gaze upon the harbor with a captivated visage, eyeing the tall masts and smiling.

Like his sister Erchirion also eschewed the expensive garments expected of them in the Keep, wearing instead a loose grey tunic, the hem tucked into the waist of slim trousers and black weathered boots. A crest of dark hair created an arch-like sail bisecting his skull, contrasting with the shorn sides, the curls at the nape of his neck gathered in a leather tie. The eyepatch completed his look, suggesting a pirate lord instead of a Prince's son.

The King of Rohan was dressed in a dark green tunic, a leather jerkin left unfastened over it, his sword belt secured at his waist and tan trousers tucked into worn boots. Although he appeared more unassuming than when he arrived his height and golden hair was distinct in Dol Amroth and drawing glances and lingering looks. He notably forwent a crown or circlet to denote his status but several citizens recognized him from the procession the day prior, bowing and uttering formalities. Éomer dipped his head to one such greeting with a quick smile as the stranger continued on her way.

"What did she say?" he asked with a discomfited tone, brow furrowed as he looked between the siblings.

"Sea's blessing, King of the Horses," Chir translated as they began walking the docks. "You'll hear that a good deal on this side of Dol Amroth."

"I can usually recognize when Sindarin is spoken but have I heard other tongues as well?"

"Most folk speak Sindarin," Lothíriel replied as she returned a respectful nod to a merchant passing them. "It sounds different in the south than in Minas Tirith and it's mixed with the Common Tongue. There are some words and phrases spoken in Adûnaic in the wider lands of the coast. And merchants from the east come with their languages, of which Erchirion is vaguely familiar."

"I feign to be," her brother corrected with a smile. "I've picked up a few words and phrases but the need for a translator has kept many a man in business."

"I do not think I have witnessed so many manner of folk in all my time," Éomer murmured as he gazed at the crowd. "Is this activity new since the War ended?"

"Some, yes," the Princess answered. "But trade routes have ever existed in Highwater. The war certainly diminished our relationships with Harad and further east, but trade never truly ceased."

"Do you not worry for the temperament of the men trading? That they might remain in the thrall of the enemy?"

"That is for the Lords and Kings to negotiate," Erchirion explained as they proceeded down a narrow dock toward a moderately sized boat secured at the end. "Traders and merchants want to sell their goods. In war that came with the threat and opportunity of secrets being traded. But now… folk just want to make a living and reestablish relationships. Highwater is Gondor's largest port and a short sail to Umbar. King Elessar wants to ensure open trade as we navigate peace with men of the East. But we are not without defenses."

Erchirion gestured to the small sailing ship anchored further out as the trio stopped at the end of the dock. Éomer and Lothíriel shielded their eyes from the sun to behold the vessel waiting patiently in the deeper water.

"Is that your ship?" Eomer asked after a moment. Pride illuminated Erchirion's face as he nodded, looking first to the king then to the open water.

"Aye. She's fast as they come. Fancy a sail?"

"Ah," Éomer's dark brows knitted above apprehensive eyes as he looked toward to the ship, then the tender boat Erchirion was standing beside, understanding now why they were there. "I'd be ashamed to lose my breakfast so soon into my visit."

"Another time," his companion agreed with a smile, his one eye surveying the ship.

"Is your ship docked here often?" the King inquired, inviting the other man to speak freely about his beloved vessel. Erchirion did not shy from the opportunity, beaming with a grin as Lothíriel appraised the King with an appreciative visage.

"For the last week, yes. But she's been busy of late. I've taken to putting her in the Cû Anor* to keep an eye on the southern lanes of the Bay. The Prince's fleet is, for the most part, anchored here but we've stationed vessels as far north as Andrast and south of Tolfalas. Occasionally we'll let one drift past the Harnen River."

"The Harnen separates south Gondor from Harad landside," Lothíriel added, catching Éomer's bemused glance. "During the war the river was a point of conflict and hostages were moved at will. On both sides."

"Gondor kept hostages?"

"Denethor kept hostages," Erchirion corrected with a frown. "And it wasn't commonplace. Imrahil did what he could to avoid it, and we refused to house prisoners in Dol Amroth."

"What kind of prisoners? Surely the Dark Lord cared little for ransomed lives."

"You aren't wrong, Horselord," the Prince's son answered with a grin, prior grimness dissipated. He looked out to his ship in the open water, hand resting on the sword hilt at his waist. "But the Haradrim did not take kindly to their folk in the cave dungeons of Langstrand."

"What prisoners did they take?"

"Commanders from Dol Amroth and Linhir. Pelagir fell as a result of its lord and captain's capture."

"Was Dol Amroth threatened during the War?"

"It was not so brutally attacked as Rohan," Lothíriel replied as Erchirion lead them back down the dock toward the wharf. "At the apex, when we departed for Minas Tirith, the Corsairs attempted to besiege the city."

"It was an effort to keep our forces occupied. To their dismay, I wager, Elphir was ready for an assault and kept the skirmishes and direct conflict on the sea to avoid peril and destruction to the people."

Erchirion looked then to the city, the bright walls of the Prince's Keep rising into the blue sky like a snowcapped mountain peak. He looked ready to speak further but turned instead to survey the busy quay before them. To their left were four sailors bearing the tabards of Dol Amroth, chatting amongst themselves with quick glances toward the trio. When the Prince's son raised his hand it was met with a canted head, knowingness written on Erchirion's face. "Camaen and Bellamdir should be here shortly to join us. Pray, King Éomer, give me a moment to direct my men before we rejoin and continue the tour."

The blond man nodded as Erchirion grinned, nodding to Lothíriel and departing toward the dock with the sailors, who bowed immediately and began gesturing to one of the Prince's ships anchored nearby. Éomer turned to the woman, hazel eyes taking her in as she watched her brother leave. Despite the crowd the pair were given a respectful berth, and she felt suddenly quite awkward standing with the King without Erchirion as a buffer.

"I hope he was not offended by my declining to sail," he stated as she met his gaze.

"No, though he'll probably ask again until you agree."

"If I agree," Éomer muttered with a half-hidden frown. A dark brow arched over one eye as Lothíriel turned to face him.

"Are you fearful of the water?"

"Fearful? No!" disbelief lingered in his voice as his countenance eased, lips pressed together before speaking again. "No. But I've not been on a ship of that size."

"Have you been on any ship at all?"

"Yes." Again, Éomer's visage denoted indignation at her question, which inwardly amused her. "On the Anduin when we returned to Minas Tirith."

"That was a barge," she replied with a slight smile, indicating to a tall-masted vessel on their right. "That is a ship."

"I've been afloat upon a body of water, Princess," he countered mildly. "Should that not count? I wasn't expecting your brother's invitation, is all. But I am not afraid of the water."

"Then you should be elated to know you'll be invited sailing with my father at least once during your stay." Lothíriel paid no mind to the pained expression that briefly manifested on his face as they began walking down the wharf at her lead, approaching the ship she'd gestured to. "That'll be a calm uneventful trip, I suspect. But Erchirion will be itching to take you along the coast on his caravel, Rôthzôr. He delights in the challenge of the waves and surf."

"If he asks again, I will acquiesce. If only to demonstrate my courage to you seafaring folk. Seems that's the best way to ingratiate myself and I readily accept the challenge." He paused, looking at her with keen interest. "Do the ladies of Dol Amroth sail?"

"They do," she answered, meeting his gaze. "Though I am less fond of the ocean than I am the saddle I will join you when you take to the water with my brother."

"So I may prove my worth?"

"So I may ensure you don't end up overboard."

His handsome face was again vexed by a frown that appeared both worried and dismayed at her implication. Before he could respond they were hailed by Camaen and Bellamdir as they approached through the crowd. Both wore sailing attire, bowing as they stopped before the pair.

"King Éomer, Lady Lothíriel," Camaen greeted them with a smile. His hair was shorn close to the skin, a smattering of grey dappling the black. He was shorter than Éomer but held himself proudly, brown eyes regarding them warmly.

"Lord Camaen," the King replied with a respectful nod.

"Captain," Lothíriel corrected. "Although Camaen is, by rights, a Lord he is known by his maritime title. Not unlike your Marshals."

"Forgive me, Captain."

"Worry not," the man replied with a wave of his hand. "Camaen is all you need call me. I present my son, Bellamdir."

"Greetings, good King," the boy furnished a deep bow, eliciting a grin from his father and Éomer. "We welcome you to Highwater Harbor."

"I am most grateful, Master Bellamdir."

"Is this your first time seeing the ocean?"

"Yes – at least so close at hand," the King replied, gazing out to the water. "I had a brief encounter riding from Linher but we kept inland for most of the journey."

"And how seems the sea to you?" Camaen inquired.

"Strange. And beautiful. I've not seen so many hues of blue and grey," Éomer answered with a faint smile. "And the scent – my men and I are unaccustomed to the brisk quality of ocean air."

"Yes, it can take some adjustment."

"Will you take to the sea with us?" the boy inquired, dark eyes regarding the King with unfettered interest.

"Sooner rather than later, Master Bellamdir. I've been propositioned once this morning."

"No doubt Erchirion was the one to wiggle an invitation," Camaen posited as Éomer nodded.

"He nearly tossed the good King into the tender thither," Lothíriel added with a nod to the boat at the end of the dock they'd recently departed. "It won't be long before he's put our guest to work on the ropes upon the waves."

"I will need a great deal of tutelage," Éomer remarked with a reluctant glance to the open water.

"I can assist you," Bellamdir offered with a toothy smile. "I suspect some of the knots will be most familiar to those you're used to in a barn. I saw your charger when you arrived yesterday. Is it the same horse that bore you during the war?"

"Aye. Are you a horseman, young Master?"

"Bellamdir is an accomplished rider," Lothíriel answered as Camaen nodded. "Though I cannot yet tell if his heart is for the sea or the saddle."

"Both, if it may please you, Lady Aunt."

"You will have to meet my horse, then," Éomer replied as the boy nodded with enthusiasm. "And I should like to see you ride, if I might be so honored."

"You will make happy all the kin of Imrahil, King Éomer, if you both sail and ride with them."

"I may be so lucky, Captain."

A/N:

Sindarin:
Melethel - sweetheart
Cû Anor - Cove of the Sun