Chapter 6
Upon the joust's conclusion Lothíriel and her companions departed the field to lunch together, disinterested in the other hastiludes. She hoped Amrothos behaved as he should by bringing Éomer to Imrahil or Elphir but could not confirm as their paths diverged. Their interactions had been so minimal at the tourney she could not discern the King's mood, much less the interactions between him and her brother.
It wasn't until several hours later that she saw the King once more as the gentry congregated on a hill overlooking the bay, awaiting the boat race. The sun was as much a participant in the celebration as any of the revelers, the heat reaching its apex in the afternoon as they stood above the western coast. The prominence provided the best vantage point for the race, jutting out slightly above the bay, though still within the confines of the city proper. Lothíriel and her kinwomen stood with Elphir and his sons, joined by the Prince.
"Hail, Éomer," her father's voice interrupted Lothíriel's quiet words to her nephew, standing and turning to find the King approaching them, Amrothos and Evander behind him. He nodded to Imrahil, who gestured to the chairs set in the shade. "How have you found Loëndë?"
"Most enlivening, especially the joust," he answered with a smile, glancing at Lothíriel with a slight cant of his head. "There are so many events to behold. And such… remarkable food!"
Both Lothíriel and Imrahil immediately looked to Amrothos who was decidedly avoiding their gazes as he flagged down a servant. The pair exchanged troubled looks before looking back to Éomer who allayed their fears with a grin.
"I am grateful for such a vigorous and captivating introduction to the folk of the coast. Amrothos and Evandor have been fine hosts."
"I am glad to hear it," Imrahil replied though his expression was not fully convinced. "The feast is a healthy mix of inland and ocean fare so you will have much to select from."
"I am here to partake in all Dol Amroth has to offer," Éomer answered. "I wouldn't leave without enjoying the food of my hosts."
"Then you shall have your fill," Elphir added with a grin, hoisting the dark-haired toddler into his arms. The boy was looking out to the sparkling sea beyond as his father bore him to the edge of the shallow cliff face. Éomer and Lothíriel followed as the Prince's heir spoke again. "The boat race is, by far, the most exciting affair."
"Yes, it seems the entirety of the city is upon the pier below," the King observed, looking down at the crowd as they filled the docks and lined the white walls. Elphir nodded, following his gaze.
"The city and beyond. The folk of Dor-en-Ernil are welcomed to Dol Amroth on Loëndë to partake in the celebration and sell goods. This is the fullest the city will ever be – save for times of war."
"A thing of the past, I pray," Imrahil murmured a few feet behind them as he held his infant grandson. The men made a sound of agreement as a momentary silence followed.
"Your brother mans a boat?" Éomer inquired, a hand on his brow against the sun as they stared into the horizon. Six ships loitered partway off the coastline, huddled conspiratorially on the azure waters as they awaited the race.
"Aye, his is the smaller of the group," Elphir pointed toward the slim caravel sitting a slight distance from the others. "With the bright blue sail."
"Where is Camaen's?"
"On the other side," Lothíriel answered, coming beside Éomer to indicate the larger vessel. "Silver and black sails."
"I see. Whose ship will win?"
"Chir's." Came three responses. Éomer looked around with raised brows as the Prince and his children stared back at him with serious expressions.
"Oh. I thought surely it would be a close-run thing."
"Camaen will give it his all, no doubt," Elphir agreed.
"He'd be working the deck like a rogue to get within a breath of Rôthzôr," Amrothos added.
"Chir's ship," Lothíriel whispered to the King, who nodded appreciatively.
"Azruzgar won't be slowed in that distance," Elphir challenged his brother as they stared out to sea. "Besides, they have the wind's favor."
"All the more reason for Chir to reef the headsail, which I am certain he'll do if he plans of claiming victory."
Éomer turned to look at Lothíriel, a confused if not slightly comical expression on his handsome face as he tried to make sense of the siblings' conversation. Taking pity on him the Princess extended her hand to indicate they step to the side to leave the brothers to dispute their race predictions. They approached a narrow table laid with food and drink, the Princess selecting a few dark red grapes.
"I fear I understand precious little of that," Éomer murmured once they were safely removed from the conversation, picking up a cup of water.
"Would that be owed to the sailing jargon or Adûnaic names?"
"You mentioned that word yesterday. Adûnaic." Lothíriel smiled at his accented pronunciation as a brief blush warmed his cheeks, popping the fruit into her mouth as he continued. "It is the language of southern Gondor?"
"Farther still. It is the tongue of Númenor. Brought to Gondor by our forebearers."
"It is still in use then?"
"Somewhat," she answered, tilting her head to side to punctuate her response, pausing to swallow the grape. "We are fluent in the tongue of Númenor, but it is to honor of our heritage. Very few speak it conversationally, at least in Dol Amroth. It is mostly in the names bestowed to ships, horses, weapons – occasionally people. The Prince's name is Adûnaic."
"I'd wondered, for it does not sound Elvish. But you, his children, bear Sindarin names."
"Our mother's wish. If it were up to my father, I might have been Lôminzel – night flower."
"Hmm," the King nodded, his voice quieting. "No less beautiful than the name you were given at your mother's behest."
She instinctively met his gaze, her expression revealing surprise as they locked eyes. She searched for signs of jest, but he looked back at her with a kind, albeit serious visage. The moment was broken as Amrothos laughed loudly, Éomer breaking his gaze as he turned away from her. This gave Lothíriel a moment to collect herself, vexed by how quickly she was enamored by his words and visage.
A great horn blew from the pier, signaling the start of the race. Several courtiers took their seats under the shaded rostrum overlooking bay, drinks in hand as the minstrels took up their instruments again. Éomer lingered near Lothíriel, seemingly following her lead as the Prince's family remained standing. Galieth and her daughter joined them at the slopping edge of the hill. The ships appeared to lazily take their positions, bobbing like corks in the bright water. At length another horn blew and the ships pushed forward.
"Who is permitted entrance to the race?" Éomer inquired, taking a sip of water.
"Anyone may throw his ship in," Amrothos answered curtly.
"Or her ship," Galieth added with a grin and nod to the King. "The Loëndë boat race is no stranger to lady sailors."
"Indeed?"
"Both my niece and daughter have raced their vessels in years past," Imrahil replied cheerfully. Éomer looked first to Galieth who nodded, then to Lothíriel who confirmed with a tilt of her head as the Prince spoke again. "Both have won."
"Why are neither of you out on the water this day?"
"I command my ship with the strictest charge," Galieth answered dryly. "And that, if my husband and son are to be believed, takes the joy out of the race."
"Is it not a joy to win?"
"You speak a language I understand, my King," the redhead replied with a droll smile. "Alas, I may wait until Síloriel has some height to her and then we'll enter in opposition of Camaen and Bellamdir."
"There!" Amrothos cried, lurching forward with a wide grin as he looked to his older brother. "Rôthzôr takes a firm lead!"
"Camaen is undaunted!"
The onlookers shouted as the two ships cut ahead of the pack, Erchirion's darting ahead. Lothíriel's smile was as wide as her siblings' as they watched, momentarily forgetting herself in the merriment of the moment. Even Imrahil was calling out with a grin, gesturing to his grandson as he pointed at the vessels.
Camaen's ship gained speed in the final leg, proving Elphir's prediction correct as the cheers swelled. Éomer seemed equally invested as Galieth explained nautical strategy to him over the din, hazel eyes transfixed on the sea.
"I cannot see!" Síloriel cried out irritably, standing on her tiptoes with a frown. Before anyone could move Éomer turned and held his arms out for her, the girl pausing only a breath before accepting his offer to hoist her up. Galieth met Lothíriel's gaze behind the King with raised brows and a perceptive smile as Éomer sat the girl against his crook of his arm, hers around his neck as the opposite gestured to the ships.
"Ada will overtake him!" she cried empathically as attention returned to the race. Lothíriel couldn't help but glance at Éomer as he cheered with the girl, unable to avoid a longing that tugged at her heart watching him hold the child but swallowing it nonetheless.
"He's closing in!" came Evandor's voice beside Amrothos
"No, Rôthzôr has it!"
"I've not seen a closer race in years!"
"Camaen needs to be more aggressive," his wife shouted ardently. "If he'd maneuvered earlier, he'd overtake Chir with the wind at their backs!"
"It's Erchirion!" Imrahil cried when the horn sounded, indicating the end of the race as the smaller ship led the group and the crowd applauded. Éomer set Síloriel down as her mother nodded appreciatively to him.
"My thanks. Your height provided her the best view of the lot."
"May as well put it to good use," he replied with a small nod to her. "I hope Lord Erchirion's victory is not disappointing."
"Hardly. We play at others winning but he has the fastest vessel by far. Camaen was lucky he managed such a close race."
"It was most enjoyable to see."
"I am glad you think so," Galieth answered as the crowd broke. "Perhaps you'll join us during your visit. It's one thing to watch, quite another to be on the water yourself." Éomer offered a weak smile and half bob of his head as the redhead gathered Síloriel, who was already moving toward the exit. "If you'll excuse me, I'll bring her down to the docks. I will see you both at the feast?"
"Certainly," Lothíriel replied as her cousin bowed before departing with her daughter. Imrahil, Nenniel, Elphir and their children were in tow, taking leave with waves and promises to rejoin soon. Soon Lothíriel and Éomer were left with Evandor and Amrothos, staring out to sea as the ships moved into the harbor proper.
"Is everyone in Dol Amroth a sailor?" the King inquired before draining his cup.
"Most," Evandor answered, coming to stand behind Éomer with a deferential nod. "But there are those of us who haven't the head for the sea."
"You are one such?"
"I confess, the water does not call me as it does many. I've found my place among the Swan Knights, if only to prove my value."
"You needn't the title of Knight to prove thus," Lothíriel commented to a smiling Evandor.
"Perhaps not, though I thank you for the kind words. But I'd not be much without the rank."
"You are not of the gentry?" Éomer's brows rose as he looked to Evandor, who shook his head.
"Nay, my Lord. My father was a dockworker, my mother runs a tavern in the second wall."
"Swan Knights are not a hereditary order?"
"No. A man must earn it," came Amrothos' sharp reply, though his gaze did not meet Éomer's. "It can neither be bought nor owed to a man by his blood."
"Is it no so for the Rohirrim?" Evandor asked congenially.
"It is not a title passed down, though it is not uncommon for a son to take his father's place. A rider must earn his position in the éored." Éomer paused, intentionally looking to Amrothos until the other met his gaze. "Men of the Mark are expected to secure their place by demonstrating honor and valor."
"As surely most do," Lothíriel added as Amrothos merely nodded to the King. "Yours are a people of integrity."
"That cannot be argued," her brother conceded with the hint of a smile. "We'd not be here today without their courage and nobility on the field of battle."
Éomer offered a gracious nod to Amrothos, his expression indicating he was not expecting the other man's respectful words. Evandor let out a sigh, seemingly in relief. Lothíriel was equally surprised by her brother's gesture of conciliation toward Éomer but knew better than to draw it out. Evandor leaned to Amrothos, whispering quietly as the other nodded, mirthful grey eyes meeting the Horselord once more.
"The feast is due to begin and I've already sweat through my tunic. I ought to change lest I displease my Lord Father with this unpleasant smell. Will you not join us, King of Rohan, while we take a brief respite in the barracks before assembling again?"
"Yes," Éomer replied with raised brows, glancing between the siblings. "I should like to check in on my men and perhaps change as well."
"I may have just the shirt for you," Amrothos quipped with a furtive grin, the expression breaking as he looked the King up and down. "Though it may be only a babe's bib on your towering frame."
"An alluring look certain to garner attention," Lothíriel prophesized before they parted ways.
TTTT
"He invited the King without being cajoled into it?" Elphir murmured as he and Lothíriel departed the carriage, walking toward the plaza to join their family. Her brother's brows rose over a skeptical visage as he offered her his arm.
"Aye," she confirmed with a nod, accepting his arm as they paused to speak in privacy. "I am hopeful he has changed his tune and will stop sulking."
"We can only hope," the Prince's heir answered dryly.
Both had changed into courtly attire to match the atmosphere of a summer feast. Lothíriel's blush hued gown shimmered subtly in the dimming sunlight, the fabric containing threads of silver that paired with her circlet and thin belt. Her hair was loose down her back save for a four-strand plait that pulled the tresses from the front of her head to the back in a simple braid adorned with flowers.
They approached the wide square as Imrahil greeted them with a raised hand. There were seven seats placed on one side of the long table, which faced the plaza proper. Below the thin rostrum sat rows of tables in the likeness of a great hall. The square was cleared of the merchant's carts and stands to accommodate the nobility and Knights, with servants filing in and out bearing drinks and adjusting seating for the courtiers. Musicians sat not far from the Prince's table, the two harpists playing quietly as folks milled about.
Lothíriel was pleased to see a mixing of the Rohirrim with the nobles of Dol Amroth, Swan Knights and the occasionaly foreign guest as their voices lifted on the breeze. She gave her father a kiss on the cheek before standing behind her seat, awaiting the others. Elphir and Nenniel were placed at her left, chairs for Imrahil, Éomer, Erchirion and Amrothos to her right. She and Nenniel waved to Galieth, who arrived with her family and sat at the table directly below them, unable to hear them as the music and chatting swelled.
Lothíriel was accepting a glass of wine when she felt Nenniel's hand tap at her thigh. Looking to the woman with raised brows she followed Nenniel's gaze as Amrothos, Éomer and Evandor approached the table from the opposite direction, the former two's attention on the Swan Knight's animated speech. True to their word the trio were freshly dressed for the occasion. Amrothos had changed into a faded sapphire hued shirt and grey breeches, over which he wore a knee length sleeveless coat, the deep blue material embroidered with fine white whorls. Evandor wore the Swan Knights tabard with a wide belt, dark pants and short navy cape, denoting his rank.
Beside him Éomer was also dressed in the attire of the Dol Amroth court; the loose-fitting pants of sailors in a dark fabric gathered just below his knees, meeting the top of his boots. The shirt was a lighter shade of blue than Amrothos', nearly grey in the dying light, with thin ties unlaced at his chest. But it was the cape that caught her attention – her brother had dressed the King in the style of the coast with the charcoal-colored mantle covering one shoulder, a leather strap securing the dark fabric and cutting diagonally across his collarbone and over the opposite shoulder. He wore his hair in the customary Rohirric style, a portion pulled back and secured behind his head, but it had clearly been brushed and redone before he arrived.
Lothíriel realized she was staring and blinked, looking down at her cup to break contact. But her gaze was drawn back when she felt his eyes on her, their gazes meeting. His face was frozen, lips parted as though he were still speaking to her brother, but no movement followed. He appeared dazed, as though staring into a newly lit lamp, transfixed. It was a momentary lapse, however, with the King breaking their gaze to look away, brow furrowed. Lothíriel felt heat rush up her neck and cheeks as she too forced her eyes to avert, focusing instead on placing her cup upon the table.
Their interlude felt as though it had lasted minutes and she was certain everyone in view caught sight. But as she gathered her wits she observed the others were engaged in their own conversations and appeared none the wiser. She noted Evandor had faded back into the crowd as the pair approached the rostrum. Taking a breath, the Princess prepared to greet her brother and the King as they ascended the dais to bow before Imrahil. Nenniel and Lothíriel curtsied, and she felt his eyes upon her.
"You are each a vision of summer," Amrothos greeted the women with a smile. He glanced at Éomer, a brief shadow passing over her brother's features as he watched the King observe Lothíriel.
"And what of me?" Elphir cut in with a hurt tone. "A dead fish left to rot in the sun?"
"Nay, good brother," Amrothos replied as he led Éomer to the other side of the table. "You wear your beard as well as a Dwarf. But that jerkin has seen better days. I'm surprised your wife let you leave chambers with it on."
"He was insistent this was the last year he could get out of it," Nenniel answered with a shake of her head, ringlet curls escaping their ornate updo to frame her face. "I've set to have a new one made so he has no excuses."
"I think it looks fetching," the Prince's heir mumbled, smoothing the worn leather possessively. "You can barely see the cracks."
Amrothos clapped a hand on his elder brother's shoulder as he passed him. Éomer followed with a pleasant expression, his gaze moving quickly from Lothíriel as he greeted Imrahil with a nod. The Prince gestured to the chair on his right as a servant jumped in to move it for the King. Sitting in her own seat the woman found herself grateful they had Imrahil between them, for she was too easily distracted by Éomer's presence. After several minutes, they were joined by Erchirion, who darted to his seat and nodded to the group. No one remarked on his tardiness, instead looking to Imrahil, who stood and motioned to the harpists.
"Greetings, dear friends," the Prince's voice rose up as the music stopped. He waited a moment as the chatting died down and the last folks found their seats. Imrahil smiled and raised his cup as he surveyed his court. "I've no intention of keeping you from your meal after the fullness of a well spent Loëndë. Suffice to say, I am grateful to be home and with my people, especially on this of all days. May we be blessed with peace, friendship," he then raised his cup to Éomer, "and hope in these renewed days. We mourn our dead, ere they have left our shores. We praise the valor of the men and women who protected our lands from darkness."
Cups and mugs were thrust forward with a cheer as Imrahil took the first sip. Once he was seated a flurry of activity began as cooks, cup bearers and other servants brought plates to the tables, starting with the Prince's. Lothíriel noted a roast goose was placed between Éomer and Imrahil while the seafood spread was allocated to the siblings. Their plates were filled and the feast began in earnest, the harpists joined by the other minstrels to set the mood. Her earlier discomfiture was allayed by distance between her and the King, which allowed Lothíriel to enjoy herself at the table, laughing and conversing with her family. Occasionally she interacted with Éomer but he was often engaged by Erchirion or her father.
The dinner increased in raucousness as the wine and ale was supplied without delay, plates cleared as more arrived. Lothíriel was well into her third cup of wine when the signal was given for the tables to be moved. She caught Éomer's bemused glance as the crowd parted to allow space to be cleared.
"Dancing," Elphir called out as Éomer nodded.
Indeed, once the first four rows of tables were moved, the harpists were replaced by a decidedly more boisterous minstrel group. Revelers moved to the white stones and began to dance in a line, a lively start to the evening. The sun had dipped decidedly into the horizon, dusk hanging in the air as servants brought candles and began lighting lanterns. Small fires were started in braziers near the edges of the plaza, congregated by smaller groups. Two more dances took place before the music changed in tone and tempo. The introduction allowed the dancers to change positions and Lothíriel found Amrothos at her side, hand extended. Were she not so deep in her cup she might have rejected his offer but she'd been sitting far too long.
They joined the floor, space made for the Prince's children as they took their place for the saltarello. A flare of nervousness overcame her as she glanced to the long table, finding Éomer in conversation with Imrahil and seemingly unaware of her. She was brought back by Amrothos as the dance began, her worry replaced with laughter as they moved quickly, hopping and stepping with the music. They were joined by Galieth and Evandor, the entire group numbering twelve.
This dance was replaced in time by the careful and elegant courtly pavan, for which her partner was Elphir. This time she did observe Éomer's attention upon her but she was too delighted to care. It had been years since she celebrated with her family so freely. Over the next hour, Lothíriel danced with each brother and her father at least once. Éomer remained in his chair, watching the floor with an easy smile. He was joined in turn by her brothers or members of the Rohirrim.
He was engaged with Elphir when Lothíriel finally took her seat, the rest of the table vacated to the dance floor or elsewhere. Leaning against the back of the chair she took a deep drink of water, watching with a smile as Camaen danced with his daughter. Exhaustion toyed at the edges of her consciousness, but she ignored it, unwilling to retire when there was still enjoyment to be had.
She caught sight of Imrahil dancing with Nenniel, the Princess' smile faltering slightly as she watched her father. His joy at having his family near was palpable and it saddened her to think he would be leaving soon. She wrestled with the knowledge that Imrahil suffered his ghosts in Dol Amroth, despite his happiness. She knew it was selfish to wish him to stay for her.
"I've not seen him so merry." Éomer's voice pulled her from her thoughts, realizing she was staring vacantly at the dancers before them. Turning her attention to him she noted Elphir had departed and it was just the pair of them at the long table.
"Loëndë as ever been his favorite," she replied distantly before taking another sip. Éomer scooted himself to the chair next to her, expression suggesting he hadn't heard her. Lothíriel repeated herself as she leaned toward him. He nodded and sat back against the chair.
"It has been joyous and full of revelry. Minas Tirith pales in comparison."
"The court of the Steward was always more austere. Only certain dances were permitted, and socializing was restricted. I am certain the King and Queen will welcome a livelier court but some traditions are hard to break."
"That is true. I confess I was not expecting all your brothers to be adept at dancing."
"We do take pleasure in good music."
"I would like to learn a dance."
Grey eyes met his, dark brows raised as she looked at him. He averted his gaze to settle on the dancers, now moving in a circular branles. It was one of the simpler patterns and could easily accommodate another dancer. Smiling, the Princess nodded, following his attention.
"This would be a fine one to attempt."
"May I ask your assistance in it? I fear I could not join on my own without humiliation."
Lothíriel looked at him again, expecting to find a smirk but his expression was sincere, if not uneasy. With a small sigh, the woman canted her head and stood. He rose with her, brows furrowed as he looked from the dancers to her.
"Ah, on second consideration, perhaps I ought –"
"No," she interrupted, reaching for his wrist. "You've got me out of my seat so now we are committed." She tugged gently at him as he fell in behind her, releasing his wrist as they drew closer to the dancers. Pausing before they arrived, she leaned close to him with a murmur: "Follow my lead. The steps are repeated in a round."
Before he could object, her hand found his and they stepped toward the ring of dancers, invited in as they approached. Lothíriel barely hid her glee as Éomer did his best to follow the steps. He was given hearty grace by the others as he mimicked the movements, his blonde hair and broad frame cutting a strange picture amidst the slender dark-haired crowd. But he caught onto the pattern soon enough and was hopping and skipping with the others as the dance continued. Lothíriel laughed as he began moving independent of her guidance, her heart warmed as a wide smile graced his lips.
The dance ended shortly after and he was congratulated by their compatriots. Lothíriel watched him interact easily with her people, certain she had not seen him so at ease before, even in Rohan. Another song began, this one calling for a slower pace. Elphir, Nenniel, Camaen and Galieth had joined them, along with other pairs. Éomer looked to Lothíriel with an expectant visage.
"Perhaps we wait for another round," she called to him, indicating with a nod that they return to their seats.
"Rubbish," Galieth interjected beside Éomer. "This is such a simple one. And a traditional dance of Dol Amroth!" She reached for the King's hands, moving them to Lothíriel as she spoke. "Take her hand – there. She puts her hand on your arm here, and you move slowly and gently. Like waves upon the shore."
Galieth returned to Camaen, assuming the same position as they began to move to the music. Lothíriel felt the heat from the King's body as his attention remained on the couples surrounding them, watching their movements. His hand enveloped hers as she resisted the urge to lead the dance, knowing it would only cause confusion. After a moment Éomer turned to her and offered a slight smile.
"I'll try not to step on your feet."
Lothíriel could only smile back as he began moving, following Camaen's steps beside them. After a few adjustments they were gliding with the others, Éomer's steps more rigid than the dance required but correctly executed. Pleasant surprise was written on her face as they danced.
"You concealed your skill," she remarked quietly as they spun in unhurried circles. He shrugged one shoulder and gently squeezed the hand he held.
"It is not so dissimilar to a dance we have in Rohan. Slower and smoother. But I am no stranger to the steps now that I understand the rhythm. Although partners are not so close."
At these words she became acutely aware of just how near they were, the King's other hand pressed lightly to her midback as the negative space between them shortened. Her heart beat erratically in her ears as her face tilted up to his, hoping to interject a witty comment but she could not find the words. This was not aligning with the intention to honor her anger toward him. Instead, she felt herself melting into his touch, reminded of their closeness a year ago. His gaze was sharp, but his expression was uncharacteristically soft and unguarded.
"You are a capable dancer, my Lady," he murmured, hazel eyes meeting hers as they pivoted with the song.
"As are you," she replied. "Certainly more than you led to me to believe."
"I have no talent with music, as my sister can surely attest," he paused, their hips touching as he pulled her close to avoid another couple. Once the danger of crashing was averted they resumed their distance, though his hand was undoubtedly firmer on her back. "But I can maneuver my way on the floor if convinced."
Lothíriel canted her head in understanding, trying to focus on the movements instead of the closeness of their bodies. It was folly that she urged him to dance for now, once again not sober, she was beguiled by her feelings and the nearness of Éomer. She tried to remind herself of the hurt and disappointment she endured in Rohan and the shock of his revelation but it was all falling short in his arms. Where was her resolve?
"Are you alright?" she met his gaze, realizing her brow had furrowed and she likely appeared disconcerted. Adjusting her expression to one of neutrality she nodded.
"One too many cups of wine."
"I hope it is not my presence that inspires such abandon."
"No," she lied, avoiding his eyes as their dance slowed in tandem with the music. "The wine is particularly strong this time of year."
It was a pathetic excuse and they both seemed aware but he was kind enough not to push. Instead they finished the dance in silence, acutely aware of one another's body as they maintained a respectable distance. Releasing hands, they bowed to each other as the crowd began to disperse. Lothíriel could not read his expression, unsure if he was disappointed or relieved they'd broken apart. Camaen and Galieth approached with warm smiles.
"You did well for your first pair," the Captain commented as he and Galieth led them from the floor. Éomer smiled appreciatively, accepting a goblet of wine from a servant.
"Thank you. The Princess was a gracious partner, far more than I deserved."
"You can try your hand, rather feet, again. There's at least another hour of dancing," the Prince's niece added, fanning herself with her hand as she and Lothíriel took seats on a bench.
"Another hour?" Éomer's balked expression caused the others to smile. "I cannot compete with that type of stamina."
"Really? I've seen firsthand the fortitude of the Rohirrim during celebrations," Lothíriel remarked offhandedly. A silence followed as Camaen and Galieth locked eyes and then looked to Éomer. The King ran a hand along his jaw and tilted his head, brows drawn.
"Yes. Well. I am a guest. I will not shame your Lord Father's hospitality with unruly behavior. It's for the best that I check in on my men, ensure they are also abiding by expectations. Lady Lothíriel, thank you for your tutelage and for the dance. Lady Galieth, Captain."
The trio bowed as Éomer made a hurried retreat, avoiding Lothíriel's gaze with a stoic expression. Once he left Camaen nodded to his wife, making himself scarce as she turned to her cousin, concern lingering in her eyes.
"Was that an intentional jab?"
"No," the Princess answered with a frown, shifting to face the other woman. "It just tumbled out. Do you think he took it as such?"
"He looked wounded enough."
"Damn it."
"You seemed close during the dance. Was it uncomfortable?"
"No, but I wish it had been. I should not be so near to him, Galieth. It will undo my resolve."
"Then let it be undone!" Lothíriel surprised expression made the older woman grin as she rested a forearm on the table next to them. "He is here by providence –"
"The providence of Faramir," the Princess muttered.
"– he is here. It is unlikely you'd otherwise have a chance to determine if there is something between you."
"Something between us?" Lothíriel's voice lowered as she stared at her cousin, bemused and slightly annoyed. "Earlier you were insisting I not let him off so blithely."
"Both estimations can be true. Lothíriel, his actions hurt you. You ought not give him your forgiveness so freely. He should endeavor to earn it. But you may also use this opportunity to decide if he's worthy of pursuit. Worthy of you."
Galieth reached out to cover her cousin's hand with an empathetic smile. Nodding slowly the Princess closed her eyes, considering this counsel. She felt the other woman move away and stand, giving her hand another reassuring squeeze before departing. Lothíriel let herself consider the possibility of Galieth's words, fearful that she might end up in the same position she found herself last year.
Fatigue from the day's excitement hit her then, the wine no longer motivating her to revel but instead to find a place to lie down. She bid farewell to her remaining siblings and was escorted by Swan Knights back to the Keep. Once in her chamber, the Princess sat before the long window overlooking the sea, a maid undoing the plait and brushing her hair silently.
She felt burdened by the unexpected intimacy with Éomer, though it equally stirred her blood and quickened her heart. As she prepared for bed her thoughts lingered on the way he looked at her throughout the day, culminating in their dance; the way his hands move along her body and his smile that seemed for her alone. Equally did the resentment and hurt rise to challenge her affection. She was reminded, then, of Galieth's counsel – that contradicting feelings may live together, which only irritated her further. Sleep came blessedly quick, silencing the turmoil and offering her a final thought of Éomer's hazel eyes finding hers amidst a crowd.
