Chapter 5
"Sea's Blessings upon the Prince of Dol Amroth! Long may he guide the helm!" the herald called out as the crowd cheered before him. The main plaza was a field of colors and faces as the citizens closed in to see the rostrum, upon which Imrahil, his children and their royal guest sat.
Midmorning saw the Prince and his family arrive at the city's square, though Loëndë had begun in earnest several hours prior. Upon the flagstones the wide dais had been erected for the festival so both the Lords and Ladies could sit and musicians had space to play. Imrahil stood now at the lip of the wooden platform, surveying his people with a warm visage, his ceremonial silver and blue vestments moving in the warm breeze.
"We are grateful to the provisions offered to us from the sea, her tides and depths seeing it fit to grant us another year of prosperity and bounty. We celebrate Loëndë and the continued peace upon our lands, hard-won as it has been. And to King Elessar – eglerio! And our guest who joins us from a distant land, King Éomer of the Mark! We are blessed by his friendship and presence here. Aglareb Rohirrim!"
This was repeated by the crowd with exuberance. The Prince then lifted the large conch shell proffered by his cupbearer and turned back to the people.
"We praise in the likeness of the great Ulumúri to celebrate the midyear." He paused before blowing into the shell, the horn creating a deep and abiding resonance, met with silence save the peeling of seabirds overhead. Once the Prince lowered the horn a cheer went up and the musicians began. Imrahil approached his family, giving the horn to a cloth-bearing servant who spirited it away for safe keeping.
"A mighty horn that is," Éomer observed, watching the servant depart before looking at Imrahil. "An heirloom of your house?" The King was dressed in accordance with his royal station, still bearing his Rohirric garb and burgundy armor despite the heat.
"It is. Long have the lords of this land used its sound to rally men in times of war and herald victories. Now, I hope, we may use it solely to welcome celebration."
"There are two other such shells, though they haven't used in at least an Age," Elphir added from his seat beside the King, his silver circlet glinting in the sun. "They sit in Hithrond along the western wall, should you get a chance to see them. One is rumored to be a horn of Ulmo himself and the other was blown when Amroth leapt from his boat to swim to shore in search of his beloved, ere he drowned."
"Amroth – an elven king, yes?"
"Aye. His is a tale of sorrow. He awaited his beloved on this very shore, though she never arrived. The Elves of this land much desired to leave and he bade them stay until she appeared. When Amroth realized their boats had been sent adrift by a storm he dove into the Bay and attempted to swim back to land to await her. He did not make it."
"The Amroth of the Dol Amroth, then."
"The very same."
"An ill ending, indeed." Éomer's brow furrowed as he looked over the moving crowd, a silence falling. Lothíriel smoothed a wrinkle from her pale gown, avoiding the King's gaze as it swept across the siblings.
"What shall be your activities of the day, my Lords?" came Nenniel from beside her husband, leaning forward to look at the Prince's sons with curiosity. "I heard tell of the tourney lists for midday."
"Aye," nodded Amrothos next to Lothíriel, turning to gaze at his sister by marriage with a smile. "I've listed in one for the afternoon. Evandor and Lysandir are marked for one as well, should you be interested in watching their utter ruination."
"Loëndë is one of the few times we host and participate in tourneys," Elphir explained to the King as Nenniel chuckled. "It used to be far more common, but the shadow of war and conflict has soured its enjoyment."
"Do you have jousts in Rohan?" Bellamdir asked, popping up beside Amrothos from where he'd been seated behind the Prince's family with his parents.
"Nay, our hastiludes are mostly bohurt, what you might call mêlée, and horse racing."
"I'm certain you have the fastest horses in all the land," the boy remarked with a toothy grin. Éomer smiled and canted his head as the crowd began to disperse before them.
"Consider this a royal invitation, Master Bellamdir, to visit the Mark and see one for yourself."
"I should like that, if my mother would approve."
"I'm sure we can convince her," Elphir replied to a delighted Bellamdir. Turning to the King the Prince's heir smiled as they all stood. "Have you been given much in the way of a program for the day?"
"Loosely. Lady Lothíriel provided insight into the activities of the celebration, but I am open to experience all Dol Amroth has to offer this day."
"The tourney is quite a spectacle and there are more games besides the joust that you might enjoy. Perhaps Amrothos can be your guide," Elphir commented, his back turned to the brother in question as he led Éomer across the dais to the shallow steps. "There are various events happening throughout the city, as well. This pavilion will see a theatre troupe shortly, troubadours set up in popular spots near the inns and taverns and there will likely be an assortment of food and wares from far beyond the Bay for you to peruse. And there's a raucous boat race just before the feast."
"I should like that very much," the King commented with a glance to Erchirion on his right, who nodded silently.
Lothíriel followed them, arm linked with Nenniel as they walked behind the trio. Imrahil strode ahead several feet, waving and greeting his people, Elphir, Éomer and Erchirion in his wake. Behind the women Amrothos lagged with Camaen and Bellamdir. Lothíriel had lost sight of her cousin, Galieth but figured she'd taken her daughter to the children's events. A small collective of Swan Knights preceded the Prince's family, ensuring their path was clear, maintaining a respectful yet vigilant distance.
When they arrived at a split in the road Imrahil turned toward his family with a small wave, his horse standing at attention held by a stable boy. The Prince mounted the bay stallion and, accompanied by two Swan Knights, took the road leading to the wharf. The remainder of the royal entourage continued walking the cobbled streets, ascending in the direction of the Keep as Elphir explained Imrahil would now be attending his ships in the harbor.
Lothíriel observed her eldest brother was the only one of the Prince's sons in a cheerful mood despite the celebration; Amrothos silent and likely stewing about his forced tour guide status and Erchirion was glancing nervously at crowd around them. She made it her duty to help the latter escape as soon as she was able. Elphir continued, raising his hand to folks as they passed, speaking with his head tilted toward the King.
"During the feast there is dancing, if you're partial to it."
"I am not," Éomer answered with an apprehensive glance slightly over his shoulder at Lothíriel, who shook her head encouragingly.
"You needn't participate," she assured him, voice raising to be heard. "The dances may be foreign to you anyhow. Do not feel pressured to join."
"I am open to learn," the Horselord added with a hopeful tone. Lothíriel said nothing but smiled as her attention moved to Erchirion again, worried at his uneasy demeanor. He continued to watch their surrounding with a vigilant if not nervous cock of his head, adjusting for the single eye. His hand rested casually upon the top of his sword but she observed the anxious twitch of his fingers against the hilt in conjunction with his shifting gaze.
"Perhaps we might sojourn a moment in the gardens." She interrupted Elphir, who paused mid-comment, looking at her with surprise, no doubt from her raised voice and firm tone. "That is, it's already hot enough to bake a clam in its shell. Why not take a cold drink under the arbor? Chir can show off his green thumb to the King."
"Oh," Elphir nodded, glancing then to the brother in question and adjusting his visage. "Certainly! This is a suitable moment for pause since there are no significant events. Nenniel and I will take the children to join Galieth at the puppet's theatre. Camaen, Amrothos, will you join our sister in the garden?"
"I'm to take Bellamdir to the docks to prepare his ship for the race," the other man replied before bowing. "I will undoubtedly see you all for the feast, if not before."
"Amrothos?"
"Love to, but I've horses to check on," the youngest brother replied mildly, avoiding Éomer's gaze as he stared at Elphir, as if to invite a challenge. "Must be sure they're up to the royal standards if we're to have a king on the grounds."
Before anyone could remark on his attitude Amrothos offered a shallow bow before following Camaen and Bellamdir in the opposite direction. Elphir met Lothíriel's eyes, and they exchanged looks before turning their attention to the King, who watched the exchange with a neutral if not slightly amused expression.
"Very well, then," the heir murmured, a smile settling on his face as Nenniel moved to his side. "Enjoy the Gardens of the Harp, King Éomer. It may be the only quiet moment for the rest of the day."
"Thank you, my Lord," the blond man replied as they shared bows. "I will look for you in the afternoon. My Lady," he bowed to Nenniel's curtsey before they parted ways.
Lothíriel joined the King and Erchirion as they reached the Keep, the walnut-colored doors opened in anticipation of their arrival. Entering the courtyard they were greeted by the castellan who confirmed drinks would await them in the garden. Silence fell upon the trio as Erchirion led the way, passing under the alabaster stone archways south of the apartments. Éomer followed the siblings behind a pace as they entered the gardens.
"Welcome, King of the Mark, to the Prince's garden of Dol Amroth," Erchirion announced, surprising Lothíriel as he turned part way to Éomer, extending his hand for the other man to traverse further. "It is smaller than Minas Tirith's but we boast more numerous trees and flowers by comparison."
"And quiet," Éomer mentioned with raised brows, walking the white paved lanes with the siblings in tow. "It is remarkable that the revelry of the city is barely a murmur in the confines of this place."
"Owed to the direction of the wind," Erchirion replied, his mood improving since they passed into the garden. "And a wise city planner. It is decidedly more peaceful, this side of the hill. To orient you, your chambers are there," he pointed to a partially visible window in the Keep above them, "though the view of the ocean is likely more agreeable than the garden."
"Agreeable would be a cold drink," Lothíriel commented, directing their attention to the stone harp fountain at the epicenter of the gardens. Upon a small table sat three cups sweating in the morning sun, the servant who had arranged the beverages now disappeared. Erchirion held a goblet towards the King, who received it with a nod, before offering one to Lothíriel.
"If you – please forgive me. I need but a moment to catch the master of the grounds," her brother stated with a tense glance toward the Keep, a hand adjusting his eyepatch. "The castellan and Swan Knights may serve as wardens in my brief absence, sister. May I?"
Given leave by nods from the pair, Erchirion left his cup on the table and strode away at a considerable pace, disappearing around a corner. Éomer turned to look at Lothíriel with raised brows as she walked a short distance from the fountain to a shaded bench. The King followed as she sat, depositing himself a polite distance from her before speaking.
"He was off with haste. Does the heat ail him?"
"He does not do well in crowds," she answered before taking a sip of her drink. Lavender lemon cordial – her favorite. She savored the taste for a moment, then spoke again. "He becomes agitated with too many bodies closing in. Since the Morannon he's not been the same."
"I wondered as much," the King replied softly, looking to the direction Erchirion departed. "I'd meant to ask yesterday, but our time was constantly engaged after our walk on the pier. It has been on my mind, your brother's bearings. The disturbance is familiar to me for it plagues men of both Rohan and Gondor."
"It's extraordinary," she said softly, holding the drink to her chest, "that any of us emerged from war with our minds intact."
"Will he speak of what he saw?"
"Nay. Any conversation edging too close is shut down at once. And none have pushed."
"That is sensible. Some things should not be spoken of."
"Do you?" she inquired, peering at him as he shifted his gaze to her. "Speak of that time?"
"Only when necessary. I cannot avoid the issue as much as I would like. But there are ways around it. A turn of phrase and such. It is like speaking in a coded language sometimes."
"Yes," she nodded, eyes on the ground before them as she spoke. "I do not think Erchirion will ever recover fully."
"Perhaps not. We can only hope for peace in the coming years. Not just for our lands and people but our minds."
"My father said there were men who could not continue into the final battle. Who were left at Cair Andros for fear of what met you at the Black Gate."
"Aye," Éomer looked down at the drink in his hand, brow furrowed. "Pelennor was not easily forgotten. Aragorn wisely gave them leave to guard the island while we met the foe."
"Would you wish to have stayed behind?"
"Yes," he answered at length, raising his gaze and looking sidelong at her. "It is not very kingly or noble but… I do wish it."
"What turned your heart to bravery?"
"The bravery of others. Aragorn, your father, my own men. And the thought of those waiting. My sister, Elfhelm, y – those who could only stare eastward and await news. That is a bravery of its own. I went to that field thinking I would die. We all did. It is a curious thing, to survive and indeed claim victory when so many perished. To call it a triumph feels… hollow."
"I am sorry to bring it up this way, especially today," she stated with a frown, surprised at her own lack of tact. Éomer smiled sadly and sat up straight.
"Dark thoughts are about your brother. I am no stranger to the ugly visions he sees when the crowds form and the shouting brings him back to war. I am glad you shared this with me. I endeavor to support him, should he wish it. But just knowing is valuable, that I might amend my words around him.
"I've no doubt he will be grateful in his own way."
"So this errand to the gardens, I understand it as a diversion for Erchirion?"
"Yes," she confessed with a nod. "Although Elphir isn't wrong, this may be your only moment of calm amidst the festival of Loëndë."
"It is a welcomed one. Especially if I am to attend the joust with Amrothos."
"Ah, yes," Lothíriel winced at the thought as Éomer took a sip from his drink. "If you can forgive his attitude I think you will like the event."
"As long as he doesn't mistakenly point the lance at me, I'm sure it will be a joy to watch. Will you not be present?"
"I will rejoin my sister and cousin during the tourney. You may catch sight of us during the joust but women of the court are only permitted in the balconies well above the lists. You will likely be on the grounds with Amrothos."
"I see. What of the boat race? Are you allowed to take part in that?"
"Yes, though I haven't a boat in it this year. I have participated in past races with Chir and Elphir. But I'll be watching it with my father this time. Chir, Camaen and Bellamdir will be on the water, though."
"Will they expect me to join? I won't be… that is, I don't know if I'm quite ready to be aboard a ship just yet. Especially in a race."
"No," she smiled then, grey eyes watching his worried expression settle slightly. "You'd be a liability. You'll be invited to sit with the Prince and enjoy the race from afar."
"That is a relief." The King's expression did not match his words and she found it curious that each opportunity to sit and observe was met with the same unease. But she did not allow her curiosity to take the reins, however, reminding herself that she was still cross with him. After a moment of silence the woman looked to the sky as the sun slowly crept higher.
"I should get you back to the gate," Lothíriel murmured after a spell, standing. She glanced in the direction Erchirion disappeared, considering their options as Éomer stood as well. Looking then to him she finished her drink and set the silver cup down on the bench. "We'll give Chir his space and surely see him later. I'd rather deposit you at the tourney grounds, lest Amrothos become vexed waiting on us."
"Aye," the blond King agreed, falling in step with her as they walked toward the exit. "I do not need another poor strike against me if I can avoid it."
TTTT
After parting ways with Éomer, depositing him safely with a blank-faced Amrothos and smiling Evandor, the Princess continued about her day. After a quick browse through the artisan markets with her small retinue she returned to the Keep to change for the tourney.
Abandoning the modest blue kirtle and surcoat, she donned a soft lilac-colored gown with grey and pink embroidery more suited for the joust. The morning's plait was undone and redone into two braids and intertwined at the nape of her neck with flowers and sprigs of lavender. Finally, she set the narrow silver circlet upon her head, its swirling lines reminiscent of a swan's wings, and pulled on slim brown laced boots.
Although she would have preferred to be astride both Lothíriel and Nenniel sat in a decorated open carriage as it brought them through the city, Swan Knights riding ahead and behind as the women greeted the citizens. The sounds of music and revelry followed them as they exited the main gate to the cleared fields where the tourney was laid out. Stands and makeshift stables were positioned off to the side with rings for mêlées and other hastiludes. The main affair, the joust, was positioned on flattened ground near a copse of oak trees to provide the eventers with shade.
Lothíriel and Nenniel ascended the short steps to the wooden gallery, built the night before, to sit in high backed chairs. They were only a few feet above the rest of the spectators but it was enough to see the entirety of the field. The front of their balcony was dressed with the standard of Dol Amroth, flanked by that of Rohan to honor Kings Éomer and Elessar.
Galieth stood to greet them, calling to her daughter, Síloriel, who was playing at her feet. The six-year-old leapt up into Nenniel's arms first for a hug, then Lothíriel. Once welcomes concluded the girl went back to her playmates and wooden horse toys, clearly disinterested in the joust and the other women.
"I was worried you'd might not make it," the redhead remarked as they found their seats.
"The streets were a clotted mess," Nenniel replied, smoothing her blue gown. "Elphir and Alphie will likely be late if they're coming from the pier."
"Will your father watch?" Galieth inquired, leaning forward to see Lothíriel as Nenniel sat between them.
"I think not. The tourney and the hound race overlap, and we both know he won't miss cheering for his dogs."
"No, he may adore them more than you lot."
"They certainly disappoint him less." The women shared simpering grins as cups of summer mead were offered. After taking a sip the Princess looked about the crowd, brows raised as she turned to her kinswomen "This is the most vibrant Loëndë in years."
"Not least due to the King of Rohan," her cousin added with a smile. "I've seen him twice with Amrothos down by the stables. They breed them tall and handsome in the Riddermark."
"Galieth!" Nenniel's dark eyes narrowed as she looked at the woman from the rim of her glass.
"I speak only from what I see! He has captivated nearly every maiden he's passed so it isn't just me. I hope he has appropriately humbled himself at your feet, Cousin."
"He's been nothing but courteous and respectful," Lothíriel answered mildly, avoiding her kinswomen's stares as she surveyed the list. When she did not respond further a heavy silence followed, broken when both women spoke successively.
"Tell me you didn't offer him forgiveness already."
"By the tides, Lottie!"
The Princess frowned, gazing sidelong at both with a pinched expression. They shared a look before sighing each, Nenniel with discontent and Galieth with exasperation. Setting her cup down on the narrow table beside her chair Lothíriel leveled a gaze with her sister by marriage first.
"My wine intake that first night did me no favors when he came to speak to me after dinner."
"You didn't tell me that," Nenniel murmured, keeping her tone light to avoid interest from the children at their feet and servants at their back.
"No, I haven't the opportunity. I wasn't expecting to treat with him in the state I was in and he came with apologies and explanations."
"And you gave him no fight at all?" Galieth leaned toward the other two, propped up against the arm of her chair, brows raised as she stared at Lothíriel. "Does he now think you are reconciled?"
"He… yes. Perhaps."
"Do not let him off with such ease, Cousin!"
"I would undo my words that night, were I permitted."
"You needn't do so – simply tell him you reconsidered your acceptance of the apology."
"And how shall that look? I gave him my forgiveness only to take it back when I'm sobered?"
"It would be honest." Both women looked at Nenniel as she spoke softly, her tone far less sharp than Galieth's. "You owe that much to him. And yourself."
The trio sat in silence, the redhead leaning back in her chair and sighing. Lothíriel was torn by the conversation, vindicated by Galieth's insistence she could revoke her apology but embarrassed that she should have to in order to be honest.
They were spared further conversation as the joust began, the herald calling out to the crowd as he introduced the riders. The first two rounds were Swan Knights and a pair of visiting knights from Minas Tirith who'd joined Imrahil after the campaign. The women clapped as the winning rider held his lance aloft. By the third joust the air between them was congenial once more
"The Prince's son, Lord Amrothos upon his steed, Sakalkhôr!" the crier announced. Galieth's daughter's head popped up and she clambered onto her mother's lap to watch. Her playmates rushed to the edge of the gallery, peering on tiptoes to see. Amrothos sat mounted on his white gelding, helmet visor lifted as the crowd cheered. He looked about the crowd before finding Lothíriel. He raised his lance to her, her own hand lifting in response
"Is the King squiring for him?!" Galieth queried incredulously as the other two craned their heads to see Éomer holding the reins beneath Sakalkhôr's bit. He seemed to be speaking softly to the horse, his gaze finding the Princess and smiling at her. Her kinswomen's heads swiveled to find her with disparate expressions; Galieth amused, and Nenniel concerned.
"I hope he volunteered," the latter murmured as Lothíriel nodded.
"Amrothos likely leveraged his good graces to have the King perform menial duties."
"He seems to be a good sport, though," her cousin remarked, shifting in the seat with Síloriel on her lap to face to joust. Lothíriel followed her gaze to her brother and Éomer as the opposing participant was announced. As much as she wanted to focus on Amrothos her eyes were drawn to the King as he stepped away from the horse, his eyes finding her again.
Her attention was forced to the joust, the surge of excitement replacing her curiosity as the knights' lances met, splinters flying. Neither was unhorsed so they wheeled about, the crowd cheering. Again they charged forward, her brother landing the winning hit as the opposing knight teetered from the blow and fell from his horse. Squires ran forth to catch the palfrey and assist the man in standing. The onlookers erupted wildly as Amrothos held up his lance. Éomer was there to hold his horse as another squire assisted the Prince's son in dismounting. The opposing knights met in the middle of the track, helmets removed as they grasped arms. Lothíriel knew her brother well enough to recognize the flash of concern on his face as he spoke to the other man. It was replaced by a wide smile as his opposition bowed to him and faced the crowd, genuflecting in acceptance of his loss.
The women sat through three more rounds, watching Evandor win his second joust of the day and cheering with earnest exuberance. Although she did not seem him again on the field Lothíriel was certain Éomer was with the horses for he did not accompany Amrothos in victory announcement at the conclusion of the joust. It was probably just as well for Lothíriel felt her heart twisting from her conversation with her kinswomen. She swallowed her worry as she clapped for the tourney winners, feeling decidedly more conflicted in her thoughts of Éomer.
