On the Wings of the Storm

Chapter 1

October 3018, the Eastfold.

The riders coalesced out of the autumn mist like grey ghosts. One moment saw us riding along huddled into our cloaks, cold and weary, the next a menacing thicket of spears surrounded us. My father’s men responded at once by forming a tight circle around me, their hands on their sword hilts. Although what they could do, I did not know, for the riders far outnumbered us and some of them had arrows nocked to their bows. These were supposed to be allies not foes, I reminded myself, my throat dry. But they did not look friendly.

One of them nudged his horse forward. A tall man, clad in mail, with a white horsetail flowing from his helmet. “Who are you?” he asked, speaking Westron. “And what do you want in the Mark?”

“We come in peace,” Dirhael, the captain of my escort, answered. “Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, sends us and we bear letters from Steward Denethor to King Théoden.” At his sign young Megil lifted our banner, the swan-prowed ship hanging limply in the moist air.

The man surveyed us, keen eyes missing nothing, his distrust evident. I wondered what he made of our company of ten Swan Knights and one reluctant princess. Involuntarily my hand twitched towards my bow, useless though it was wrapped in oilcloth. A mistake. The movement arrested his attention. “You there,” he commanded, looking at me. “Show your face.”

When I hesitated, not used to such a tone of voice, he rode forward another few steps and levelled his spear at me. As Dirhael’s hand whitened on his sword hilt, I reached up to push back my hood. But the rider forestalled me, deftly slipping the tip of his spear past my cheek to flick back the heavy cloth.

A murmur of surprise, quickly suppressed, went up from the men surrounding us. Their leader’s eyes widened behind the slits of his helmet, but he showed no other reaction. “And who might you be?”

Drawing on years of deportment and etiquette lessons, I squared my shoulders and tried to infuse my voice with confidence. “Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth. Your king is expecting us.”

He looked me up and down, missing nothing, from my mud streaked boots to my crumpled tunic. Why hadn’t I put on a fresh one that morning! The rider shrugged. “He might be, but I am not, so you had better explain yourself.” His stallion chomped on the bit and he checked him absentmindedly. “And be quick about it!”

Resentment rose within me at his arrogant tone. It was not as if I had wanted to come to this chilly and inhospitable land after all. “And who might you be?” I echoed his words.

At some subtle sign of his, the Rohirrim relaxed and raised their spears. I got the impression they did not consider us a threat. “My name is Éomer, Éomund’s son, Third Marshal of the Riddermark,” he answered. “My charge is to keep the East-mark safe.”

Next to me, Dirhael cleared his throat, but I ignored him. He might have heard this man’s name before, but I’d had enough of his high-handed ways. “Well, Third Marshal of the Riddermark,” I shot back, “in that case I advise you to do so and to cease bothering your king’s allies.”

His jaw tightened, but all of a sudden he laughed. “No one could doubt that you’re a genuine Gondorian princess. Welcome to the Mark, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth!” He turned to Dirhael. “Where are you headed?”

“With your leave, my lord, along the Great West Road to Aldburg and from there to Edoras.”

With your leave? Who was this man? The rider seemed to have come to some decision. “I do not have the time to deal with you now, but you seem to be who you claim you are,” he said. “I will let you pass and what is more I will provide you with a guide as far as Aldburg. You will wait there for me.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but closed it again when Dirhael shook his head. After all he had been chosen as the leader of my guard because he’d been to Rohan before. And because the old soldier had known me from childhood.

The Marshal noticed anyway and his eyes glittered with amusement. “I will see you there, my lady, and you can explain more fully what fortuitous chance brings you to our lands.” He gave an order in his own tongue and one of his riders trotted forward. “This is Breca, your guide.” All trace of amusement gone from his face, he gave a curt nod. “Now I have to make haste, for we’re hunting orcs, doing our best to keep you safe.”

Before I could think of an answer he urged his stallion forward, his riders passing us by either side like water flowing around a rock. The mist swallowed them up once more.

I looked at Dirhael and he sighed. “Lord Éomer commands their Eastern forces. He is the king’s nephew.”

“Oh!”

I bit my lip. What had my father said to me at our leave taking? I rely on you to conduct yourself with all due courtesy, for you will be seen as representing our country and one day soon we might need Rohan’s aid. But then he should have known better to send me instead of Elphir, the diplomat of the family!

We reached Aldburg late the following day. Whoever had long ago decided to settle here had chosen well. Nestled against the mountainside and encircled by a broad wall, it commanded the road. Our guide exchanged a few words with the guards at the gates and wearily we followed him between low houses thatched with straw. He led us to the heart of the town, a cobbled square fronted on three sides by houses and stables and overlooked by a mighty hall built entirely from wood. This apparently was the seat of Lord Éomer, where we were supposed to wait for him.

Well, I did not mind, for it meant the first hot bath and proper bed after eight days on the road from Minas Tirith. I felt so tired that I did not even bother to get out one of my books to read that evening, and when I laid my head on the soft goose feather pillow, I was sure nothing could possibly wake me up.

However, I thought wrong. In the middle of the night shouts and the clatter of hooves tore me from formless dreams. I sat up straight in my bed, my heart pounding. Where was I? Then I remembered and hastily throwing a robe over my nightdress got up to investigate. Dirhael met me in the hallway outside my room, naked sword in hand. He stopped a servant hurrying by with a pile of linens. “What is the matter?”

“The Marshal has returned,” the woman explained. “We have to see to the wounded.” She carried on down the hallway.

Looking after her, I hesitated, for I knew a little leech craft, learnt from the healers in Dol Amroth. Should I offer my help? Coming to a decision I stepped back into my room and unearthed the small satchel of healing supplies from my pack.

Dirhael had sheathed his sword. “Lothíriel, what are you doing?”

“I want to help.” I headed out the door again, my captain following behind.

At the sight meeting me in the hall I rocked to a halt on the threshold. The tables had been pushed back against the wall and the wounded lay in long rows on the floor. My bile rose at the smell of vomit and fresh blood filling the enclosed space. Groans rose from them and somewhere a woman sobbed hysterically. I hesitated. What good could I do here? And they were not even my own people. Dirhael looked at me, a question in his eyes. I shook myself. They were people. Swallowing down my nausea, I approached the first of them.

A child! Forgetting my discomfort I knelt down beside the boy. He had a gash on the side of his head, inexpertly bandaged and bleeding sluggishly. “Get me boiled water!” I told Dirhael and started to unwrap the stained linens.

“Modor!” the boy moaned and my heart contracted with pity. Had his mother survived?

“Hush,” I said, stroking his matted blond hair, “you’re safe now.” Although he did not understand them, my words seemed to calm him.

When Dirhael returned with a crock of warm water I cleaned the boy’s wound to my best ability and wrapped a fresh bandage around his head, applying enough pressure to stop the bleeding. A maid passed by with a jug of water and I begged a drink for my patient from her.

I pushed the cup into Dirhael’s hand. “Look after him and make sure he drinks plenty of water to make up for the loss of blood.”

He nodded and I passed on to the next one in the line, a man whose broken arm had already been set crudely and who only needed it fastened more securely, a task well within my abilities. The young woman next to him had blood encrusted cuts along her arms and thighs, but a healer already attended to her. I looked away sickened when I realized that the regularity of the cuts meant they had been administered deliberately.

In no time at all I had used up my meagre supplies of healing materials, but one of the other healers wordlessly handed me a fresh pile of bandages. Despite the apparent chaos in the hall, made worse by the flickering light of the torches, these people quite obviously had dealt with this kind of crisis before. How often? And to think that my father had sent me here for safety.

The next of the wounded lay with his arm pillowed on blankets, face white from blood loss and with his eyes closed. Not wanting to disturb him, I carefully lifted the edge of the cloth and dabbed a little water on the dried blood, intending to wash it off.

He twisted round and grabbed me with his other hand. “Orc!”

I yelped in surprise, spilling the water. Feverish blue eyes met mine for a moment. What should I do? He reached for my throat.

“Beorngar!” The voice cut like a whip across the hall and the man hesitated. I scrambled backwards.

Then somebody stepped across me and took the man by the arm, easing him back onto his pallet. The wounded man let loose a confused torrent of Rohirric. I sat down on the ground heavily and became aware that everybody was staring at me. Across the hall Dirhael had jumped to his feet, looking alarmed, but I waved him back. Slowly normal activity resumed.

The man who had intervened looked round. Lord Éomer. I had not recognised him at first, lacking the horsetail helmet and with his armour covered in grime. He gave me a sharp look. “My lady, are you all right?”

Too shaken to reply I just nodded and tried to get up. At once he leapt to his feet and took my arm to assist me. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

His eyes slid down me and away. Suddenly I became aware of the fact that my robe gaped open and the silken nightgown beneath it was soaked with water. Blushing furiously I wrapped the robe tighter around me and belted it firmly at the waist. “How is your man?”

“Still confused.” He shrugged. “I’m afraid Beorngar thought you were an enemy. We doused him with spirits on the way to take the pain away.”

“Well obviously you gave him rather too much if he mistook me for an orc,” I said tartly.

His eyes glinted. “I suppose so. You do not really resemble one.”

The man was insufferable! I knelt by the injured man’s side again. “Can you tell him that I need to have a look at his arm?” I asked Lord Éomer.

Kneeling on the man’s other side he nodded and translated my words. Gently I started to unwrap the stained linens. The man hissed with pain and clenched his fingers, but otherwise held still. A nasty wound. Ragged and clotted with old blood, it ran in an irregular line from his elbow up to the armpit.

I swallowed. “This needs stitching.”

Lord Éomer regarded me doubtfully. “Can you do it?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? Have you done it before?”

I sighed. “Yes, many times.” Stitching wounds was an easy skill to learn and the healers in Dol Amroth had valued my neat stitches, probably due to sewing and embroidering from an early age. But I had hoped to get away from that here. I reached for my healer’s satchel. “I will need a candle, more hot water and if you have any spirits left you had better give them to him.”

He sent a servant running for a bowl of water and produced a wineskin, the contents of which he proceeded to ruthlessly pour down the poor man’s throat. By the time the water arrived, Beorngar had his eyes closed and hardly twitched when I washed out the wound. From my satchel I took out the gently curved suturing needle and passed it several times through the candle flame.

“This burns off any bad humours clinging to it,” I explained.

He nodded and watched closely as I threaded some of my supply of string through the needle. Made from specially treated sheep gut, it would dissolve within a few weeks, leaving the wound to heal of its own accord. Next I regarded the arm stretched out before me, mentally planning the placement of my stitches. His sword arm. It was vital to join the muscles in a way that allowed them to grow back together smoothly.

“Beorngar needs to keep completely still,” I told Lord Éomer. “Will you hold him for me?”

“Yes.” He leaned over the prone body, gripped the man’s wrist in one hand and placed the other on his shoulder. “He will not move.”

I did not doubt it. And with all preparations concluded, I could not put off the moment any longer. Taking a deep breath to steady my hands I made the first puncture. A shudder ran through Beorngar’s body, but the arm never moved. I bit my lip and continued steadily, trying to be quick yet as neat as possible. The trick was to imagine to be sewing together an old shirt rather than human flesh. But it never quite worked. Shirts don’t bleed.

In some places bone shone palely below the torn muscle and the last part inside his armpit proved difficult to reach. Sweat clouded my vision by the time I tied off the last stitch. Finished. I looked up to find myself only inches away from Lord Éomer’s face. He had a smear of dried blood across one cheek and his hair hung in a wild tangle down his back. Throughout the procedure I had been aware of him watching me, but now his eyes seemed to catch mine, trapping me in their dark depths. Not the cool, detached grey of Númenor, but an intense blue, alive and hungry. Hungry? Where had that thought come from? I tore my gaze away.

To regain my composure I busied myself putting away my needle and thread, but much to my annoyance my hands shook. I cleared my throat. “Make sure he does not strain the arm until it is fully healed.”

“We will. Thank you, my lady.”

Nothing but polite attention on his face now. I chided myself for my silly fancies and blamed my interrupted sleep. Looking around the hall I realised that the chaos had turned into order, some patients being helped away, the others made comfortable on a row of pallets. Dirhael stepped forward from the shadow of one of the pillars and offered me his hand. Wearily I rose to my feet. “If my help is no longer needed I will retire now.”

“Of course.” The bow Lord Éomer gave me would not have been amiss in my father’s halls. “Good night, Princess Lothíriel.”

Barefoot and in a night robe stained with gore, I did not feel particularly dignified, but I dropped him my best curtsy. “Good night, Lord Marshal.”

His eyes followed me as we left the hall. Or at least it felt like it.

A/N: absorbable sutures were invented by an Arab physician in the tenth century, so I thought I could let the Gondorians have them as well.

A/N: once again many thanks to my wonderful beta Lady Bluejay and to Willow-41z for her comments.

Chapter 2

One of the servants woke me the next morning far too early. My own maid from Dol Amroth being too old to brave the long journey to Rohan, I had decided to do without one for the time being and instead one of Lord Éomer’s servants attended me. I groaned when she pulled back the curtains of my bed and the sunlight hit my eyes.

“Your pardon, my lady,” she said, “but Marshal Éomer sends his compliments and he wants to leave in half an hour.”

“Well let him,” I mumbled, trying to bury deeper under my sheets. Did the man expect a send-off?

“You are to accompany him to Edoras,” the maid explained.

I sat up straight. “What?”

She motioned nervously to a tray. “I have brought you breakfast.”

I opened my mouth to make a sharp rejoinder for being woken so rudely, only to close it again. She was not to blame for the message after all and I did not want these people to think me a spoilt Gondorian princess. Obviously the man wanted to provoke me. Well, I would not rise to the bait that easily.

“Thank you, Winflaed,” I replied, remembering her name. “Tell the Marshal I will be ready.”

It meant a hasty meal, only a quick wash and having to throw my belongings into my pack randomly, but I kept my word. Dirhael met me at the door to the courtyard and escorted me to where a stable lad stood holding my mare’s reins. Nimphelos’s dappled grey coat shone with health and when I mounted her she arched her neck and danced nervously to the side. Plenty of oats and more sleep than her mistress. I checked her gently and sat deeper in the saddle, letting her know I would not tolerate any tricks today. Not in front of a courtyard full of horselords. And especially not in front of the particular horselord who after a last consultation with one of his men swung into the saddle of his stallion and gave the sign to depart.

Unlike the previous days no mist wreathed the road. Instead the sun shone from a sky the deep blue of autumn, casting our shadows before us as we rode along under the eaves of the White Mountains. Beech trees covered their slopes and a slight breeze blew down their leaves like a rain of gold coins. A beautiful day – too beautiful to hold a grudge. Gradually I felt myself relax and when after an hour’s ride Lord Éomer let himself drop back to my side I gave him a spontaneous smile.

He took off his helmet and smiled back. “My lady, my apologies for having to wake you up so early. But I got an urgent message this morning requiring me to attend my uncle, so I thought to offer you our escort.”

Glad now that I had not caused a fuss, I inclined my head. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Not at all. We are in your debt.” Yet a quiver in his voice made me think he knew only too well what my initial reaction had been. The cheek!

His stallion threw up his head and gave a deep-chested neigh. Showing off for Nimphelos’s sake? With a grin Lord Éomer shortened his reins and reached forward to pat the stallion’s neck.

“Do you like the lady, Firefoot?” he asked.

He did not look like a man who had been up most of the night after a hard fight. All traces of gore gone, his mail gleamed in the sunshine and his hair fell in a tawny curtain across his shoulders.

Remembering the ghastly scene in the hall made me shiver. “I noticed last night that most of the wounded were women and children rather than warriors. What happened?”

“Orcs raided one of our villages in the East Emnet.” His expression turned grim. “But we interrupted their sport.”

Their sport? Suddenly I remembered the pretty young woman with cuts all over her. Bile rose to my mouth.

Lord Éomer lifted one hand as if to touch my face, but did not carry through with the gesture. “I’m sorry! I should not have told you that.”

I shook my head. “No. I’d rather know the truth.”

Next to me, Dirhael leaned forward. “My lord, is this a common occurrence?”

“Only lately. They used to raid our herds for black horses, but only in small groups, easily defeated. But the last few months they have stepped up their attacks and are burning whatever they cannot take with them. This last pack numbered over a hundred of the foul beasts.” His hands clenched on the reins. “We have taught them to fear the thunder of our hooves, but we cannot be everywhere.”

“So what can you do?” I asked. The tale sounded so familiar. Only last June Sauron’s forces had overrun Osgiliath, leaving Gondor’s defences in disarray.

“I want to withdraw our people to the other side of the River Entwash, leaving only guards and fast scouts in the Emnet. Although this does not please everybody.”

“Why not?” Dirhael asked. “It seems a sensible thing to do.”

Lord Éomer shrugged evasively. “I cannot say.” He nodded at me. “My lady, will you now tell me what brings you to the Riddermark?”

“My father has arranged for me to stay in Edoras for a while,” I answered. “With the storm brewing in Mordor he thought it safer than either Dol Amroth or Minas Tirith.” A belief I could not quite share anymore after what I’d seen and heard.

The Marshal looked troubled. “Until recently I would have agreed with him. But now we seem to have strife threatening on every border.”

“What do you mean?”

“The wizard Saruman.” He said nothing more for a moment and if sensing his rider’s dark thoughts the stallion shook his mane. “You know that he dwells in Isengard?”

Remembering that fact from my reading about Rohan, I nodded.

“We had always considered him a friend of the Mark,” Lord Éomer explained. “But less than a month ago Gandalf the Grey came to Edoras, begging our help and warning us to prepare for war. Since then tidings have reached us that Saruman is stirring trouble amongst the Dunlendings in the West who still resent our settling here.”

I exchanged a look with Dirhael. Sent to safety! “Does Lord Denethor know of this?” I asked.

“I have no idea. Théoden King would not listen to Gandalf and told him to take a horse and be gone.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “The wizard took Shadowfax, the chief of our horses, and now the very mention of his name provokes the king to anger.”

Troubling news. I had been reluctant to leave my home and my family at a time like this, but had submitted to my father’s wishes. Now it looked as if I might have done better braving the dangers of corsair raids.

The Marshal seemed to read my thoughts. “My lady, please do not disquiet yourself. Edoras is the heart of the Mark, and I promise we will keep you safe there.”

He spoke the words in a low, steady voice and for some reason my mood lightened. A promise from a man who would do his utmost to keep his word – and his utmost would be very good indeed. “Thank you.”

Lord Éomer inclined his head and spurred his horse forward again. When I looked over at Dirhael I caught him watching me thoughtfully. “What is it?” I asked.

“Nothing... just that the Marshal is a dangerous man.”

I frowned. “A great warrior you mean.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” He hesitated. “Lothíriel, you are the Princess of Dol Amroth and as such your fate will be shaped by forces beyond your control.”

As if I needed reminding that the men of my family would decide my future. Or more precisely my uncle Denethor – Lord Steward of the Realm and willing to use everything and everybody for the good of Gondor. It was him who had first suggested sending me to Rohan, an important ally whose crown prince at the age of forty still lacked a wife. Coincidence? I did not think so. Still, I told myself bitterly, I should probably consider myself lucky not to be sent to the Haradrim for safety.

Dirhael still regarded me steadily, his kind face troubled. “Lothíriel?”

“I know that,” I snapped and urged Nimphelos into a trot. Besides, I didn’t even like the man.

Every now and again we would pass small hamlets encircled by a stockade of wood or thorn and surrounded by well-tended fields of barley. The houses huddled close together, their thatched roofs touching each other and offering shelter to the chickens and pigs disturbed by our passage. The people seemed glad to see the riders, calling out greetings in their clear voices, and offering food and drink. I noticed that always Lord Éomer took the time to stop and exchange a few words with the headmen, who treated him with marked respect.

At midday we stopped in one of the villages to water the horses and have a quick bite to eat from our saddlebags. I slipped off Nimphelos’s back, glad for the opportunity to stretch my legs and as I strolled around, the sound of hammer on anvil drew me to the open door of the smithy. One of the horses had cast a shoe, and I watched with interest how his rider calmed the nervous gelding while the smith fitted a new one. Then I turned round, and much to my surprise found myself the centre of a circle of small faces watching me curiously. It seemed like all the children of the village had assembled to see the stranger in their midst!

“Hello,” I said, smiling at them.

A whisper of excitement ran around the circle. One of the boys at the front pointed at me, saying something under his breath, and when he caught me looking at him blushed and quickly hid behind one of the bigger children.

I crouched down to their level. “My name is Lothíriel.”

The children nudged each other in the ribs. A pretty girl, amongst the oldest of the lot, touched her thatch of blond hair and said something that sent the others into giggles.

“They are asking if your hair is hard.”

I started, for I had not heard Lord Éomer approach. “Why should it be hard?”

“Because it glints blue in the sun, like black steel.”

“I see!” In the rush of getting ready for the journey I had not had the time to braid my hair, so it just hung loose down my back. I pulled a strand forward and held it out to the girl. “Would you like to touch it?”

Not needing more encouragement, she darted forward to reach out a tentative hand. “Hnesce!”

I looked up at Marshal Éomer who translated. “Soft.”

Suddenly all the other children followed suit and I found myself surrounded by little hands reaching for my head, stroking it. Losing all shyness, they chattered away to Lord Éomer, who laughed. “They say it’s beautiful, like the mane of Aldfrid’s black stallion. Aldfrid is the headman of the village,” he explained.

Momentarily rendered speechless at being compared to a horse, I stared up at him. A corner of his mouth quirked and I realised he was teasing me. “Thank you,” I answered. “Please tell them that is praise indeed, coming from Rohirrim.”

Grinning, he translated my words and the children beamed at me, obviously finding my reaction quite reasonable. The girl who had first dared to touch me asked him another question, which he answered with a shake of the head and a quick explanation.

“What did she say?” I asked.

“She asked if you are an Elven princess.”

“Oh! And what did you answer?”

He bowed. “That you’re just an ordinary princess.”

No disguising the teasing now. I lifted my chin. “Do you bait all travellers to your lands in this manner?”

He raised a hand, acknowledging my hit. “I find it shows their mettle.”

“One day you might overreach yourself.”

Unconcerned, Lord Éomer shrugged. “I don’t think so.” He held out a hand to me. “We have to leave now if we want to reach Edoras before dark.”

I smiled at the children as I got up. “Goodbye.”

“Westu hál,” they echoed back at me. The girl regarded me with serious blue eyes and asked a last question, which the Marshal answered with a grin.

As we walked away I nodded at him. “What did the girl ask?”

He looked down at me, something in his eyes causing heat to rise to my cheeks. “Whether I am going to marry you.”

Thoroughly disconcerted, I busied myself with shaking out my riding skirts and said nothing more. Raised in the courts of Gondor and used to admiration, I should have had no difficulty in coming up with a playful retort. Indeed I knew plenty of ladies who would have laughed, lowered their eyelashes flirtatiously and said something clever and witty, but I just found myself tongue-tied. And I absolutely knew I would not be able to pluck up the courage to ask what his answer had been.

The road turned due west now and many swift-running brooks crossed our path, on their way to swell the River Entwash. As the afternoon drew on we met other travellers: a patrol out of Edoras and farmers on their way back from a market. They followed behind a big cart drawn by a pair of oxen and loaded high with bags of grain. Two young girls riding bareback on a pony exchanged good-natured banter with the riders, but fell silent when they spotted me. Growing up as the only daughter of the Prince of Dol Amroth I was used to being constantly observed by curious eyes, but never had I felt so conspicuous before!

The sun had started to descend towards the mountains, setting the sky ablaze, when we finally rounded one of the foothills and caught sight of our destination. At the entrance to a wide valley rose a green hill, a mighty wall surrounding it. Many houses clustered around its foot or clung to its sides and on a wide terrace at the top stood a large building, light flaming from its roof. For a moment I thought it was on fire and gasped.

“The Golden Hall,” Dirhael said.

Realising that what I had taken for flames were the rays of the setting sun glancing off the roof, I took a breath of relief. The road took a sharp turn south now and as we drew near I saw that low mounds lined the road, covered in a carpet of tiny white flowers. From my reading I knew that the former kings of Rohan were buried here. The riders took off their helmets and dipped their spears in a gesture of respect as we passed between them. Then big wooden gates loomed up above us and the horses strained forward, eager for the stables they knew awaited them.

However, at a low word from Lord Éomer, Dirhael and I remained mounted and followed him up a winding way between the houses. I looked around with interest – after all Edoras might be my home for quite some time to come. A clear stream ran chattering in a stone channel by the road and the men and women we met greeted us courteously. At length we reached a small square with a broad stair leading up to the hall, at the bottom of which we dismounted. I patted Nimphelos’s neck in gratitude before stable lads ran to take our horses’ reins and lead them away to their well earned rest.

Lord Éomer offered me his arm and suddenly weary to the bone, I leaned on it heavily as we ascended the stairs.

“Lady Lothíriel,” he said in a low voice, “a quick word of warning: please watch what you say here.”

What did he mean by that? “I do usually manage to be polite to kings,” I tried to pass it off as a joke.

He hesitated visibly. “It’s not the king you have to watch yourself with.” When I stared at him he shook his head. “Do not worry yourself. But I will make sure you get guest rights.”

I did not get the chance to ask for an explanation, for we had reached the top of the steps, where two doorwardens waited. While the Marshal exchanged a quick word with them I turned to the west. With a last shaft of fire the sun sank behind the rim of the world, sending the shadows of the mountains grasping for us. A sudden wind sprang up, whipping my hair out behind me, and I shivered.

“You are cold!” Lord Éomer said and motioned for the guards to open the doors.

Ponderously the heavy wings swung inwards and the low murmur of voices met us. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I perceived rows of pillars marching away from us, holding up the roof lost in the shadows above. Torches fixed to brackets along the wall cast pools of light on a floor patterned in twisting devices running into each other and called up secretive glints from the carvings adorning the pillars. When we started walking down the hall a gust of air followed us, making the tapestries hanging on the wall billow out so the figures embroidered on them seemed to move in the darkness.

An open fireplace marked the centre of the hall, its fires lit against the autumn chill, and servants hurried about, laying the wooden tables either side for supper. Most of the places were taken already, but although Lord Éomer exchanged a nod with some of the men seated there, he did not slow his steps.

Gradually as we advanced, their voices fell silent, leaving the footfall of our boots to echo hollowly. At the other end of the hall I perceived a raised dais and there in a large gilded chair sat a man. His long white hair falling in thick braids and his hand grasping a short black staff, he watched us approach intently. King Théoden. Behind his chair stood a blond woman, tall and slim, dressed all in white.

Then something stirred in the shadows at the king’s feet and I realised there sat another man. He lifted his pale face to us and smiled as we came to a halt in front of the dais. Sudden tension radiated from the man next to me. When I shot Lord Éomer a startled glance I saw that his face had become an expressionless mask, but his muscles bunched as if he readied himself for combat. The remembrance of his words of warning sent a trickle of unease running down my spine.

Chapter 3

Marshal Éomer bowed deeply. “Westu hál, Théoden King.” He changed to Westron. “May I present Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth and Dirhael, the captain of her guard? Her father has sent the princess to Edoras to sojourn with us for a while.”

As I sank into a curtsy, the king beckoned me closer. “Come here, child.”

I found myself looking into a pair of kind blue eyes. Faded with age now, once they must have been the same intense colour as the Marshal’s. King Théoden smiled. “My mother hailed from Lossarnach and was kin to the Princes of Dol Amroth. Welcome to my hall.”

“Thank you,” I answered.

The other man rose to his feet and took my hand, bowing over it. “Allow me to introduce myself as well. Gríma, son of Gálmód, and humble councillor by King Théoden’s will. At your service, my lady.”

Humble? That sentiment did not agree with the manner he let his glance linger on my face. He had dark hair, unlike the usual flaxen colour of the Rohirrim, which made his skin look even paler by contrast, and his fingers were long and slim, unmarked by toil or training for war. They felt clammy with sweat and I had to suppress the impulse to snatch my hand away. “Thank you,” I murmured again and under the pretext of smoothing my skirts took a step backwards. The air seemed warm and close.

“You honour us with your gracious presence,” the man answered. His eyes flickered past me in the Marshal’s direction. “I hope you have been treated with all due courtesy?”

My chance to get back at Lord Éomer for his highhanded treatment of me? I smiled politely. “Certainly. Marshal Éomer was so kind as to escort us to Edoras himself.”

Lord Gríma lowered heavy lids over his eyes. “Indeed? It’s good to see the Marshal attending to his duties.”

I held my breath, expecting an explosion of wrath from behind me at this veiled insult, but Lord Éomer ignored the words completely. “Théoden King,” he addressed his uncle in a clearly audible voice, “will you grant the princess guest rights in your hall?”

The king frowned at him. “Yes, of course.”

The councillor stayed silent, but I got the impression that nothing escaped him. All of a sudden I felt intensely grateful for Lord Éomer’s solid presence at my back.

“You are very kind,” I answered the king, even though I had no idea what boon I had just been granted.

King Théoden waved my thanks away. “No, no.” With a tired sigh he leaned back in his chair.

“My Lord King,” the councillor spoke up at once, “you are weary. Why don’t you retire now?”

The king looked into his eyes and his shoulders sagged. “So tired,” he agreed, in the manner of a man already half asleep.

“Uncle,” Lord Éomer protested. “You summoned me to appear before you urgently. Will you not hear the report I bring of how things fare in the East Mark?”

“Can’t you see the king needs his rest?” Lord Gríma hissed. “Are you so eager to have him overextend his strength?”

A muscle bunched in the Marshal’s jaw. “Uncle! Orcs are plundering our villages and slaying our people. We need more riders to patrol the border to catch the fiends before they have a chance to do harm.”

“Always you ask for more men,” the councillor sneered, “caring little that you would leave the king without protection in his own hall.” He turned to the king. “Doesn’t he, dear master?”

King Théoden nodded as if in a dream. “Yes indeed.”

Marshal Éomer clenched his fists, but said nothing as Lord Gríma helped the king rise from his chair. King Théoden must have been a tall and powerful man once, but now he walked bent over with small uncertain steps, leaning on his councillor’s arm.

“Tomorrow,” Lord Gríma said over his shoulder. “You may plead your case and also give an account of your actions.” The last had an ominous sound to it.

“Tomorrow,” the king murmured.

With the soft rustle of skirts the woman went to take the king’s other arm. I had forgotten all about her, she had kept as still as if she were one of Uncle Denethor’s marble statues. Then the door leading to the private quarters at the rear of the hall thudded closed behind them.

I avoided looking at Lord Éomer. Unless I misjudged him completely this was a man who would not take defeat gracefully. And that he had just suffered defeat, there could be no doubt. He said a few words in their tongue, short and very much to the point I suspected.

From one of the tables a rider rose to join us. His hair and beard streaked with grey, he nevertheless moved with the trained grace of a fighter. “Éomer?”

The Marshal gave him a rueful smile. “I know. My temper again.” He clasped the other man in a quick embrace. “But I’m forgetting my manners. Princess Lothíriel, please meet Marshal Elfhelm, who commands the Muster of Edoras.”

The rider inclined his head, but his mind was clearly on other concerns, for he started talking to Lord Éomer at once in a low voice. Several times I heard the name Isengard mentioned and that of the sorcerer Saruman. Trouble? But just then I felt too tired to enquire into the matter, let alone worry about it. Instead I looked around, wondering whether I could find a servant and discover if these so called guest rights extended to a room and a bed. Also the smell of roast pork wafting over from the platters distributed by the serving maids made my stomach growl.

Lord Éomer seemed to read my thoughts, for he drew me towards an unclaimed table and motioned to one of the girls to serve us, all the while plying Marshal Elfhelm with questions. The food was simple, just a nourishing vegetable broth followed by slices of roast pork covered in thick gravy, but I set to with a healthy appetite. As if drawn by a lodestone, by and by more men drifted over to join us and soon a lively conversation in Rohirric got going. I listened to it with half an ear as I wiped up the gravy with a piece of bread. It seemed to me the language bore some relationship to Westron and I might almost understand it, if only my mind were less sluggish. Every now and again a familiar word would jump out at me, usually to do with war and fighting. Just like at home – had there really once been a time when dinner conversation had revolved around such peaceful matters as the planting of fields or the latest book brought from Minas Tirith? This set me to wondering what my father and brothers were doing right at that moment. I imagined them having dinner, sitting at our big oak table, silver plates and crystal goblets glittering in the candle light and throwing reflections on the polished surface. Amrothos would flirt with all the lovely ladies while in his wake Elphir would smooth their fathers’ ruffled feathers.

“My lady, are you tired?”

The question startled me upright and I realized I’d half closed my eyes and sunk against Lord Éomer’s shoulder.

“Would you like to retire?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” I replied, blushing.

He helped me rise from the bench. “You look almost asleep already.”

I suppose it was his understanding smile that made me let my defences down. I smiled back at him. “It’s your fault for keeping me up half the night.”

The moment the words left my mouth I realised how they would sound. Why couldn’t you catch words from the air and stuff them back in your mouth! Now he would laugh and make a clever riposte and his men would snigger behind my back. My cheeks heated up.

“My wounded riders were deeply grateful to you, though,” he replied in a serious tone and only a tiny crinkle in the corners of his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Let us go and seek my sister Éowyn. She will know which quarters you’ve been assigned.”

This enabled me to wish the men at the table a good night, which they all echoed courteously. Lord Éomer motioned for me to ascend the dais and led us through the same door the king and his advisor had used. Behind it lay a hallway leading to a series of rooms, from one of which the blond woman who had attended King Théoden was just emerging.

“Here she is,” my companion said and introduced us to each other. “Éowyn,” he addressed his sister, “would you please look after Princess Lothíriel for me? I want to talk to Elfhelm some more, he’s been telling me how Théodred fares in the West.” Not giving her the chance to reply, he turned to me. “She will take good care of you.” A quick bow to me, a nonchalant wave at his sister and he left.

For some reason I felt alone and vulnerable with him gone, but I managed to suppress the annoying urge to run after him and beg him to stay. After all I hardly knew the man!

Lady Éowyn waited patiently. “This way,” she said, beckoning me to follow her down the corridor. Though she had the look of the Rohirrim with their blond hair and blue eyes, it seemed to me I could discern traces of her Numenorean blood in her slender build and uncommon height, similar to my own. As we passed their ornately carved doors she named the rooms: the king’s study, the library, Prince Théodred’s rooms, her own.

“This is yours,” she said, opening the door next to her own. “We have been keeping it in readiness ever since we received Lord Denethor’s message.”

I stepped across the raised threshold into a large room. As Lady Éowyn went round, lighting lamps with a taper, the furnishings emerged from the shadows. Simple enough. A bed covered in a quilted counterpane, a large clothes chest, a desk, a weapons stand.

A weapons stand? I stared at it, stories of Shieldmaidens running through my mind. Surely they wouldn’t expect me to learn sword fighting, would they?

Lady Éowyn followed my glance. “This used to be my brother’s room. Would you like me to have the stand removed?” Perhaps it was my imagination, but I fancied I heard a trace of contempt in her voice. Did she take me for a soft Gondorian princess?

“No, of course not,” I answered at once. “I can store my bow on it.”

Her cool blue eyes sharpened as if truly seeing me for the first time. “You know archery?”

“I have a little skill at it.”

“Good. You’ll have to show me sometime.”

I could not help thinking that she would be a stern judge, but nodded agreement. The servants had piled my bags by the door and I checked that all the books had been brought in, but I felt little inclination to start unpacking. Instead I sat down on the bed with a tired sigh.

Lady Éowyn showed me the washstand with its jug of water. “Is there anything else you require? Otherwise I will leave you to your rest now.”

“Thank you.” I really only wanted to shut my eyes and seek the oblivion of sleep. Only as she reached the door a thought struck me. “Lady Éowyn?”

She turned round. “Yes?”

“What does being granted guest rights by the king signify?”

“It means you are made a member of the king’s household and he owes you protection.” Her voice held absolutely no expression as she wished me a good night and closed the door behind her.

I stared at the wood, inlaid with a sinuous pattern of leaves and flowers. So the Marshal thought I needed protection. From what or whom exactly? And more than ten Swan Knights could provide? I suppose it was silly, but I got up and shot the bolt to my room.

The next morning, with the sunlight streaming in through the window, my fears seemed groundless and slightly absurd. I slept in late, had a leisurely breakfast and then decided to explore my new home. In the passageway outside my room gossiping maids went about their tasks, a reassuringly mundane sight. Instead of passing through the hall I took a side door used by the servants, which lead directly onto the terrace surrounding Meduseld. The guard stationed there bid me a cheerful good morning.

When I stepped to the edge of the terrace wind rushed around me, tangling my hair, and my heart lifted. So much like home! Except for the absence of the salty tang of the sea – instead the air smelled of wood smoke and moist earth. Children’s laughter reached my ears and when I looked for them I saw a group of them a little lower down the hill, flying kites. The familiar sight sent a pang through me.

It had rained during the night and I had to step around puddles as I walked along the side of the hall towards the main door. At the top of the stairs I hesitated, knowing that I should take a guard along if I wanted to look around Edoras, but having no idea where Dirhael and his men had been quartered. The doorwardens stared straight ahead, only their blond hair moving in the wind showing that they were made of flesh and blood rather than stone.

Just then in the square below a man caught my eye, leading out a horse from a building. Of course! I would visit Nimphelos and see how she had recovered from the journey. Picking up my skirts, I descended the stairs.

I found the royal stables to be rather grand and impressive, as befitted a king of horselords, but the same welcoming smells of horse and hay as at home pervaded them. The stable master himself showed me the horsebox where my mare was stabled and smiled with pleasure when I complimented him on the excellent care she had received. Indeed her dappled coat shone like the pearl my father had named her after. By habit I had saved a couple of apples from breakfast and gracefully Nimphelos condescended to accept this tribute to her beauty.

“This one knows her worth,” Cuthwine laughed, patting her neck. Then the stable master excused himself to see to the rest of his charges.

I caressed the mare’s soft coat while she munched contentedly, promising her a ride later in the afternoon. Further down the passageway another horse watched us, lifting his head over the top half of the door, and I recognized Lord Éomer’s stallion, Firefoot. Nimphelos shook her mane flirtatiously, well aware of her charms, and I had to smother a laugh when in response the stallion arched his neck and pawed the ground.

Suddenly his ears flicked forward and he turned his attention towards the main doors. I heard somebody exchange a few curt words with the stable master, then come our way. I only caught a brief glimpse of him as he strode past, his lips pressed together, eyes flashing with fury. Lord Éomer.

“Come on, Firefoot,” he said and picked up the saddle from its hook outside the box, “we’re leaving.”

Leaving already! Carefully I eased open the door and stepped out onto the corridor. “Lord Éo–“

The saddle crashed to the ground. He spun round, sword drawn. Before I even had the chance to scream, he had slammed me against the wall and naked steel pressed against my throat. Just as abruptly he let go again.

“Lothíriel! What are you doing here!”

I gasped for air, my heart pounding like a galloping horse. “My mare,” I managed to choke out, “I wanted to check on her.”

“Oh! Well, you shouldn’t creep up on me like that.”

Creep up on him! I pushed away from the wall. “And you shouldn’t jump somebody who just happens to pass by!” What was wrong with these people? This was the second time in as many days that one of their warriors had attacked me. I wiped my sleeve across my eyes. Why had my father sent me here.

“Forgive me if I frightened you.” His voice had softened. “I’m afraid I just reacted by instinct. Are you all right?”

I nodded and took a deep breath, trying to still the trembling that threatened to overwhelm me. “It’s just that I’m not used to being startled like that.”

“Of course not.” He cursed softly. “Lothíriel, please don’t look at me like that. I’m sorry! I should have better control over myself.” Suddenly he searched the corridor. “And where are your guards?”

“I don’t know.” As a matter of fact we were the only people in the stables. I could not help thinking that everybody else had possessed the good sense to seek cover from his temper.

Lord Éomer sighed. “I think I saw them in the hall, they’re probably waiting for you there. Promise me to take them with you from now on.”

“Oh I will,” I said with fervour.

Lord Éomer winced. “I suppose I deserved that. Will you forgive me?” Gently he brushed his knuckles across my cheek.

My heart speeded up again, but this time for a different reason. Suddenly aware of how close to me he stood, I lowered my eyes. I had noticed before that he had a magnetic presence, not just caused by his size and physical power, but by the raw force of his personality. With a sinking feeling in my stomach I realized that if I wasn’t careful, he would pull me in like a riptide pulls in an unwary swimmer. A dangerous man.

Schooling my features to cool politeness, I took a step back and gestured at the saddle lying on the floor. “You are leaving, my Lord Marshal?”

“Yes.” Slowly he lowered his hand, then bent to pick up his gear. “The king has ordered me to return to Aldburg at once.”

I couldn’t quite decide whether to regret or welcome this news. He opened the door to Firefoot’s box and stepped inside. “Anyway, there is nothing more that I can do here.”

Remembering his words to the king the day before, I frowned. “Did you get the additional riders you asked for?”

He brushed out the stallion’s coat before spreading the saddlecloth. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I have been told to use my men more wisely.” Biting off every word, he heaved the saddle onto Firefoot’s back. “I have also been taken to task for my plans to pull our people out of the East Emnet.”

I could guess whose influence was at work here. “But why?”

“Wormtongue – Gríma – accused me of abandoning our lands and told me to fight instead.” He slewed round. “To fight! What kind of fight does he expect women and children to put up?” Laying back his ears, Firefoot sidled nervously and he reached out a hand to calm the stallion. “I’m sorry, but I’m in a foul mood. One of these days I will lose my temper with the Worm and cut him to pieces.”

And probably do just what Lord Gríma intended, playing right into his hands. To draw steel in the king’s presence was a serious offence. I gripped the side of the door. “So what will you do?”

“Draw them back anyway. I will not leave my people out there ready for slaughter. The king need never know.” He fitted the bridle over Firefoot’s head. “If only Théodred were here, but he’s needed on our western border.”

I nodded in sympathy, although I could not quite share his regret at the Crown Prince’s absence. It had foiled Uncle Denethor’s plans quite nicely.

Lord Éomer led Firefoot out of the box and paused next to me. “My lady, I have to leave now.” He took my hand and raised it to his lips. “Remember you have guest rights and the king’s men owe you protection. Marshal Elfhelm is a good man and so is Háma, my uncle’s chief doorwarden. Look to them if you feel troubled.”

He searched my eyes as if for reassurance and I managed a shaky smile. It could not have been very convincing, for his brows drew together in a worried frown. He opened his mouth as if to say something more, but then closed it again and just brushed a kiss across my knuckles. “Westu hál, Lothíriel.”

“Westu hál.”

Firefoot tossed his head impatiently and with a last lingering glance my way Lord Éomer led him down the passageway. As I watched him go, I could not help feeling that my only point of certainty in a shifting quicksand world had just left me. It didn’t even help to tell myself that I was better off without his dangerous presence.

Chapter 4

The next morning brought Lady Éowyn to my door early. I had just finished putting the last of my clothes away in the chest at the foot of my bed when she knocked.

“I’m riding down to the training grounds,” she said without preamble. “Do you want to come along?”

I had actually looked forward to spending the rest of the morning curled up in the window seat, reading one of the books I had brought with me, but I couldn’t very well decline the invitation. After all I wanted to make friends in my new home. So I agreed, and she sent a page running to order the horses to be made ready while I changed into my riding habit. Lady Éowyn wore breeches, I noticed enviously. My aunt had confiscated mine when I started to develop womanly curves at the age of fourteen, insisting I wear riding skirts instead. I couldn’t help wondering what my escort would say if I turned up in a woollen tunic and doeskin leggings.

Dirhael did gape at Lady Éowyn when we met him outside the stables, but he caught himself quickly. Her horse would not have been considered a suitable lady’s mount in Gondor either. Large and powerful, the grey gelding was obviously trained as a warhorse and well up to carrying a fully armed warrior. When I commented on this, she nodded.

“Windfola is one of my cousin’s remounts. But Théodred keeps him here in Edoras, and I get to ride him.”

It was a market day, and many people thronged the way down to the gate, which slowed our progress. Stalls lined the road all along one side, most of them selling food brought in from the outlying farms, but a few also had leather goods and woollen cloth on offer. One man sat cross-legged on the ground, a pile of pelts in front of him. They caught the morning sun with their rich colours: russet fox, silvery wolf, brown beaver and pure white ermine. Very soon we had a gaggle of children trailing us at a discreet distance, watching with big eyes and whispering amongst each other. I almost expected it by now. The adults showed more restraint, greeting us courteously and some of them even exchanging a few words in Westron with me. They were a forthright people I judged, meeting my eyes directly without undue deference.

Once past the gates Éowyn turned right and took a bridle path that ran along the foot of the dike encircling Edoras. It looked much travelled and led to a large field divided into smaller sections by fences. In one of them a dozen riders practiced throwing their spears at a target while cantering by. The wood gave a dull thump every time it got hit. In the next section a series of circles had been traced with sawdust on the ground, four of which were occupied by warriors sparring with swords. Others sat on the grass watching and calling out encouragement.

When we rode up one of the men came over to meet us. His blond hair peppered with grey and face tanned brown from constant exposure to wind and sun, he called out a greeting to Éowyn. Then he turned round and barked orders at the swordsmen who had broken off their bouts and craned their necks to watch us. They renewed their efforts with fresh determination. Éowyn introduced the man as Heorogar, her uncle’s master-at-arms, and went on to inform him that I wanted to practice archery.

“You are Prince Imrahil’s daughter?” he asked. At my confirmation he looked pleased. “When I was younger I served under Steward Denethor for five years and I met your father during that time,” he explained. “The archers of Dol Amroth have an excellent reputation. We are honoured to have you here.”

“The honour is mine,” I answered weakly. It did not seem the right time to point out that it had all been Éowyn’s idea. Did she share her brother’s penchant for testing his guests’ mettle?

Heorogar led us to another field where a line of straw butts had been set up at varying distances. Half a dozen men were busy shooting, but all activity ceased when we rode up. I felt everybody’s eyes on me when I dismounted and got out my bow. Beautifully crafted and polished to perfection, it had been made especially for me by my father’s bowyer and took less strength to draw than normal bows. Hopefully it would bring me luck!

For my first try I chose a butt about forty paces away, well within my range. Stringing the bow and strapping on a brace gained me a couple of minutes’ grace, but then I had to step up to the line. Why did it feel as if the honour of Dol Amroth or indeed of the whole of Gondor rested on my shoulders? I squashed that thought as I nocked an arrow to my string, telling myself to concentrate on the target instead. To do anything else would be to invite failure. Emptying my mind of all considerations except hitting the concentric circles marked in black and white paint, I drew the bow and sighted down the arrow.

It hit the target to one side, nearly missing it altogether. I adjusted my aim and managed to get the outermost black circle with the next one. Biting my lip I withdrew another arrow from the quiver. I could do better than that! But I had not practised since leaving Dol Amroth and before then only intermittently, being busy in the library. I pushed these useless excuses from my mind and took aim again.

The arrow. The target. Nothing else mattered. I concentrated on my breathing, inhaling deeply, filling my lungs, and then releasing my breath and the arrow at the same time. Nock another one, shoot on the next breath. And another one. The world melted away around me and did not take form again until my fingers reaching for another arrow met empty air. I looked up to see the straw butt stuck full with arrows, massing in the black circle in the centre.

I had done it again. I suppose I had to thank my father for that. He insisted a Gondorian princess should be able to go hunting in the morning, make witty conversation with foreign ambassadors in the afternoon, preside over a state dinner in the evening and dance away the rest of the night. All this while being charming and beautiful of course. High expectations to fulfil, but surprisingly I had found I liked archery and had a gift for it – perhaps inherited from some long ago Elven ancestor.

Suddenly I remembered the spectators and turned round. Dirhael grinned from ear to ear, but the Rohirrim wore a surprised expression on their faces. Clearly I had done better than what they had expected from a soft Gondorian princess. Not that I could fault them for it, for I considered my skill at archery a pure fluke.

Heorogar inclined his head. “An impressive performance.”

“Thank you.”

“Impressive?” Éowyn’s eyes were shining. “She’s absolutely lethal! Do you think you could put enough force behind your arrows to puncture armour?”

Puncture armour! Where did she get such ideas? I shook my head. “I’ve never tried.”

“Well, with precision like that, if you hit the right spot it doesn’t matter.” She demonstrated by pointing out the vulnerable places at the neck and under the armpit on one of the swordfighters. The man nodded enthusiastically and I felt faintly sick, knowing only too well what damage arrows could inflict on a man’s body.

I turned back to the field. “I think I will practise some more, my range needs improving.”

My father might have insisted I learn to shoot a bow in order to go hunting, as Gondorian noblewomen were expected to, but while I liked to chase through the forest I did not enjoy the killing. Amrothos always teased me how little enthusiasm I showed for hunting when I was such a good shot. Only Cousin Faramir understood, saying the world was too simple when viewed down the shaft of an arrow.

Around me, the other bowmen took up shooting again. I felt out of place amongst them, for they were skilled and far excelled me in physical strength. Yet they appeared friendly enough, giving me encouraging nods and welcoming me as one of their own. My arms started aching from the unaccustomed exercise, but I gritted my teeth and continued practising. No doubt I would pay for it the next day.

“My lady, do not overdo it.”

The voice came from behind me and I turned round. Heorogar sent one of the boys waiting on the sideline to go and collect my arrows. “You will strain yourself if you do too much all at once.”

I nodded, feeling sheepish that my limitations were so easily perceptible. “May I come back another day?”

“You are very welcome to.” He grinned. “It puts my men on their mettle to have a woman shoot so well.”

Warmed by the compliment, I smiled back. “I’m not distracting them?”

“They will have to learn to cope with distraction. Besides, they fight better with a pretty woman watching them.”

That made me blush. I looked round for a diversion. “Where is Lady Éowyn?”

“Knocking the stuffing out of one of my young trainees.”

When I stared at him in surprise he guffawed. “Come and have a look yourself.”

Heorogar had spoken truth. Éowyn was sparring with a lad about my own age, both using shields and swords with blunted blades. Tall and heavily built, he had the reach of her and outweighed her, but again and again she used his own momentum against him. As I watched in disbelief, she ducked one of his charges, landing a blow on his unprotected back as he went by. I winced. Surely that had to hurt even through the padded armour.

“It teaches them not to underestimate an opponent because of his size,” Heorogar commented. I nodded mechanically, finding it hard to accept that they allowed her to put her person at risk in such a way. To ride and shoot was one thing, but to fight with swords! Even with their edges blunted, they routinely caused nasty bruises and could even break bones.

“Does King Théoden know she’s practising sword fighting?” I asked.

“Of course.”

I marvelled at his complacency. “And her brother?”

“Marshal Éomer? Oh yes, he knows. Although I suspect he’s not altogether happy at her desire to train as a Shieldmaiden. But she’s of the House of Eorl, it runs in her blood.”

That moment Éowyn tripped her opponent as he went by on another futile charge, making him fall to the ground. When he rolled over he found her sword pointing at his chest.

“Yield?” she asked. Amazingly, she wasn’t even breathing hard.

With ill grace he conceded defeat and Éowyn stepped back. Heorogar barked an order and another of his men picked up his sword to face her in the training ring. I had watched enough of my brothers’ bouts to judge this one an experienced fighter as they exchanged the first blows. Even so she held her own. Lithe and graceful as a cat, she evaded closing with him, melting away under his strokes and letting him do all the work. I had thought her cold, but now I saw her eyes flash with temper when he managed to get a touch on her. She possessed the same fire as her brother I realized, only she hid it under a mask of ice.

Then at the crucial moment she struck. Sliding her blade under the man’s guard, she unbalanced him, forcing him to give ground. He took a step back, but she gave him no chance to recover, pressing him and letting his riposte slide off her shield harmlessly. In what looked almost like a dance move, Éowyn spun round, following through her momentum and ending up with her sword against his throat. “You’re dead, Wiglaf!”

“So are you.”

Éowyn looked down at the sword at her midriff and laughed. “I am!”

Beside me, Heorogar stiffened. “What’s the matter with you, Éowyn. You know your defensive movements better than that.”

She shrugged. “I get tired of defending myself all the time. I want to attack.”

Heorogar opened his mouth as if to argue the point, but at that moment a boy came running up. His green tunic with a white horse depicted on it identified him as one of the pages from Meduseld. He gasped out his message and I caught King Théoden’s name.

The animation drained from Éowyn’s face. “We have to go back. My uncle is asking for me.”

Wordlessly Heorogar helped her out of her padded armour while some of the other men fetched our horses. “Will we see you tomorrow?” he asked.

“I hope so.” She swung into the saddle and waved a curt goodbye.

Yet as we trotted back to the gates she let herself fall back to ride beside me. “Did you like it? Will you come again?”

My arms ached dully and my back muscles still protested at the abuse they had received. I thought longingly of my books, but there was something in her face that made it impossible to refuse. “It was…interesting. Yes, I’ll come again.”

A brilliant smile rewarded me. “It would be nice to have another woman along, a friend. The other girls here have nothing in their head but to moon over men.”

Which men? I wondered involuntarily, then pushed the thought of a certain Marshal from my mind. With that smile of his he would be popular, but it was none of my business.

We reached the gates and had to slow down with the press of people on the main road. “Do you go for training often?” I asked. “You’re very good with that sword.”

She looked pleased. “I go every day if I can manage.”

“Don’t your uncle and brother object?” I tried to imagine my father’s reaction if I announced the intention of taking up a sword and failed.

Éowyn raised an eyebrow. “Why should they?”

“You might get hurt!”

“I might get hurt if an orc attacks me and I cannot defend myself.” She gave me no chance to answer that, but went on at once. “And don’t tell me that the men will protect me.”

I glanced back at the guards trailing us. My father always made sure I had a sufficient escort when I left the castle and I actually worried much more about my brothers’ safety than I did about my own. “But that is their duty.”

“Duty!” Éowyn spat the word. “And I suppose it is the women’s duty to cower safely behind high walls whenever there is a threat.”

I stared at her. “What else do you want us to do?” True, I tried to help by making myself useful looking after the wounded, but when it came down to it, we depended on our menfolk to defend us.

“I want to fight.” Her fingers clenched on the reins. “Why should the men get all the glory?”

Glory. I had encountered no glory in the aftermath of battle, only blood and pain. Honour and bravery in the men who fought for those they loved, yes, but precious little glory. I looked away. “War is not as you imagine it.”

She made a cutting gesture with her hand. “I don’t care if I get hurt.”

“You might die.”

“Yes, but at least I would have had the chance to make a difference – doing deeds of valour that might be remembered down the long years.”

With a sigh I brushed back a strand of hair. There were many who thought like her and loved fighting for its own sake. And with war looming on the horizon I suppose we should be grateful for them. “You might find what you’re seeking for sooner than you think. Although I hope not.”

Éowyn caught her breath. “The Shadow in the East?”

“He is rising.” I shivered. “My father would not have sent me away if he had not been worried about it.”

“Still, you are lucky to get away, to see the world. I’ve never been further from here than a couple of days’ ride!” Suddenly she seemed to realize her words weren’t exactly tactful. “I’m sorry. You must miss your family.”

“I do.”

We rode on in silence, each caught up in her thoughts. How ironic that here I was, thousands of leagues from home, when I had never wanted to leave Dol Amroth. Would Éowyn like to exchange places with me? She reminded me of a creature gnawing at the bars of her cage, pining for freedom. Yet one day she might find that simply leaving home did not solve all problems.

Growing up a Princess of Gondor, I had always known that the privileges of my rank were offset by duty to my father and the responsibility for the people looking to us for protection. Not to forget owing allegiance to the Steward of the Realm, I thought bitterly. A cage wrought from love and obligation, which I carried with me wherever I went. Perhaps only those who had nothing to lose were truly free.

Soon we reached the courtyard fronting the stables, where we shed our guard. Éowyn led the way up the stairs and through the great Hall, empty at midmorning. In the corridor leading to the private quarters she stopped. The sun shining through one of the windows lit up dust motes in the air and cast a golden halo over her as she looked at me. “Please don’t mention to anybody what I said earlier on, will you?”

“Of course not.” Did she think I would carry tales to her uncle?

She twisted her mouth. “I don’t want to worry my family. You mustn’t mind what I say.”

I inclined my head. “You have my word, Lady Éowyn.”

“Oh, just call me Éowyn. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Warmed by her words, I smiled at her. “I would like that.”

That moment something stirred in the shadows behind her and the form of a man materialized from the darkness. “What a pretty sight,” he said. “The golden fairness of a summer morning accompanied by the midnight beauty of a star filled night.” Lord Gríma.

At his first words Éowyn had frozen, all expression wiped from her face. “What do you want, Worm?” she asked without turning around, her voice dripping contempt.

A flash of anger, quickly hidden as he lowered heavy lids over his eyes. “The king asked for you, my lady.”

“I know.” Slowly she faced him. “And I am on my way.”

He approached further, but stopped short of stepping into the sunlight surrounding her. “Your uncle ate nearly his whole bowl of gruel for breakfast, you’ll be pleased to hear.”

I had read enough about the deeds of Théoden, Thengel’s son, to feel pity for such a great warrior in his dotage. Éowyn paled, but held herself straight as a spear. “I will attend him once I have changed.” Sidestepping Gríma, she continued down the corridor to her room, banging the door shut behind her.

Lord Gríma watched her go and for a moment I caught an unguarded expression on his face. A mix of anger and longing that made me feel queasy. What did he want with Éowyn? Then he turned his attention to me and I realized I had missed my chance to make my escape as well.

He smiled. “How nice to see you’ve already made a friend, my Lady Princess.”

“Yes indeed.” I did not have the nerve to just brush past him and edged to one side. The corridor was deserted with not even a guard in sight. Where had all those maids disappeared to?

“Friends are important.” Politely he offered me his arm and I had no choice but to accept it. Gríma lowered his voice. “Especially when one is so far away from home as you are.”

I let my fingers rest as lightly as possible on his arm as he escorted me down the passageway towards my room. At the door he stopped and brought my hand to his lips. The touch was moist and flabby, making me shiver with revulsion.

Gríma smiled. “But you know, Princess Lothíriel, you should choose your friends wisely.”

What was he insinuating? “Should I?”

“You have come to Rohan for safety, haven’t you?” Clammy fingers brushed across my palm. “Let’s just say that not everybody can offer you real protection, though they might look the part.” He smirked.

Slow anger kindled within me. “And I suppose you can?”

“To a beautiful woman like you? I would be honoured to.”

I snatched my hand away. “No thank you. I’d rather take my chances.”

Then I pushed open the door to my room and slammed it behind me. Yet as I rammed home the bolt and leaned against the heavy wood, my heart hammering away in my chest, I could not help thinking that I had reacted exactly as he had wanted me to. Snatching up a handkerchief I rubbed at my hands, trying to erase all trace of him. Éowyn might treat him with easy contempt, but the man frightened me. He was so cocksure of himself – as if he knew something we did not.

Chapter 5

Over the next weeks the weather turned cold and grey, yet still every morning Éowyn came to collect me to go down to the sparring grounds, fretting whenever rain kept us housebound. Left to my own devices, I would not have kept up such a vigorous training regime, but she seemed to appreciate my company. My archery skills benefited anyway.

The afternoons I spent exploring Edoras and its environs. It was a strange feeling to have so much free time on my hands. At home assisting my sister-in-law with keeping Dol Amroth’s household ledgers had kept me busy, but here I had no duties to occupy me. Soon I discovered that there existed Houses of Healing of a sort in Edoras, although they almost did not deserve the name, being no more than a single building with a small herb garden attached. Master Aethelstan, the eldest of the three resident healers, had visited Gondor in his youth and trained in Minas Tirith.

After two weeks of having nothing to do besides reading the books I had brought with me from home, I approached him and offered my help, which he accepted gratefully. It was refreshing to have nothing worse to deal with than the occasional broken bone caused by a fall. In fact most of our patients suffered from ailments brought on by the cold weather, aching joints or gout, for which Aethelstan had an excellent if malodorous ointment.

I also enjoyed getting to know some of the common people, although most of them only spoke a limited amount of Westron. This meant I soon acquired a large if rather strange vocabulary of Rohirric, including such words as splint and bedpan. It was Aethelstan who recommended I should consult the king’s library when one day he found me writing down simple phrases in Rohirric.

“I believe there exist several books on the language of the Mark compiled for Queen Morwen, Théoden’s mother,” he said. “She hailed from Gondor, the same as you.”

I had of course seen that there existed a library, but had not wanted to approach the king to ask permission to use it. Somehow Gríma always hovered about him, and the man made me deeply uneasy. But now that I had a good reason, I decided to speak to King Théoden.

A few days later I happened to exit my room, just as Gríma went down the hallway on some errand, vanishing through the door to the Hall. Seizing my chance, I approached the men standing guard outside King Théoden’s chambers. One of them I knew from the training grounds, and he greeted me with a bow. “Princess?”

“Good morning, Háma. Do you think I could speak to King Théoden?”

He looked surprised at my request, but told me to wait while he went inside to ask permission. When he came out again he nodded to me. “The king will see you.”

The first thing that hit me when I entered the chamber was the stifling heat. Then the gloom. A large fire burnt in the grate, but shielded by metal screens it did little to actually light the room. Heavy curtains covered the windows, cutting out all the daylight, and it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness.

King Théoden sat in an ornately carved chair by the fire with Éowyn standing in her usual place behind him. As I advanced across the room, my feet sank into thick furs, which muffled my steps completely. Through another doorway I caught a glimpse of the bedroom, its massive four-poster bed equally shrouded in darkness. Getting closer I noticed the king’s face was lined with tiredness, which did not surprise me with the room so stuffy. I ached to fling open a window and let in fresh air. But I suppressed the impulse and sank into a deep curtsy instead.

He motioned for me to rise. “You asked to see me, Princess Lothíriel?”

When I nodded and went on to explain my request, he stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Yes, I remember,” he said. “My father commissioned some books for my mother to help her learn the language of Rohan. Without much success I might add.” His eyes crinkled with laughter. “She was of the opinion that people should conform to her ways and not the other way round! And nobody dared contradict her either, she had such an imperious manner.”

King Théoden’s smile invited me to join in his amusement, and I found myself grinning back at him. “She sounds like Aunt Ivriniel.”

“Does she? You will have to tell me about your aunt sometime,” he said. “But as to the books, they should still be in the library.”

“May I have your permission to use it?” I had carefully phrased my request to refer to more than just Queen Morwen’s books, well aware that libraries were jealously guarded. Scholars from all over Gondor came to Dol Amroth to petition my father to look at ours. “I know how to handle precious volumes,” I added.

“Of course you may.” He reached for a short black staff that leant against his chair. “Éowyn sister-daughter, help me up.” When I wanted to go to his other side, he waved me away. “I can manage. You go and open the door, child.”

Háma looked surprised to see his master leave his room, but quickly went to the king’s assistance while the other guard was sent ahead to throw open the doors to the library. The heavy wings creaked a protest when they swung inward.

I took a deep breath of the air as I entered the chamber. Musty and stale with the smell of aging parchment and dry ink. How I loved it. This room, too, was wrapped in gloom, but I felt no compunction in drawing back the curtains here. King Théoden blinked as light flooded the lofty room, even though it was only an overcast winter’s day. He straightened up and looked around at the bookshelves that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. “I haven’t been here for months,” he murmured.

I had already started to covertly inspect the spines of the books on the shelf nearest to me, unable to keep my hands off them. “Oh! You have The Prince by Mardil Voronwe,” I exclaimed in delight.

King Théoden laughed, a surprisingly deep sound. “I see we have a scholar here. It’s nice to find somebody to appreciate this room again. Please feel free to use the library at your leisure.”

“Thank you!” I beamed my pleasure at him and he smiled back. A smile full of warmth and kindness. I was starting to understand why his men showed such devotion to him. And also where the Marshal had got his charm from.

A couple of uncertain steps brought the king to the desk standing against one wall. “I used to work on my papers here.” He brushed a finger across the surface, leaving a trail in the dust. “Of course Gríma does all that now.”

Éowyn and Háma stood by the door, watching him closely. It took me a moment to identify the emotion on their faces. Hope? On a sudden impulse I turned back to the window and pushed against the iron latch holding it shut. Obviously it had not been opened in a long time, yet I managed to push it ajar slightly, dislodging dirt and staining my hands red with rust in the process. Fresh air stole into the chamber through the narrow chink, disturbing the dust of long neglect. By the desk King Théoden straightened up and breathed in deeply.

“What do you think you’re doing!”

Gríma stood in the doorway, his pasty face flushed with anger. But at once he modulated his tone. “Dear master,” he said, striding up to the king and taking his arm. “It gladdens my heart to see you up, but you have to conserve your strength.” A venomous look came my way. “Though some people here seem determined to have you catch your death from cold.”

I opened my mouth, prepared to give a heated reply, but Théoden forestalled me. He waved his advisor away. “Do not fuss over me so, Gríma. I merely wanted to show Lady Lothíriel the library.”

Gríma rubbed his hands together unctuously. “You are always so generous with your strength, my Lord King,” he said. “But surely you must be tired. Let me escort you back to your chambers now.”

The purpose seemed to drown out of King Théoden as he looked down at his councillor, and he leaned heavily on his staff once more. “Yes, I suppose I should rest. I am feeling weary.”

Behind him I saw Éowyn bunch her fists in her skirts. Háma just looked sad. Even the breeze had died down.

Gríma helped the king walk back to the door. “I have prepared your cordial, which will hopefully keep the chill from settling in your bones.”

Apart from his first furious exclamation he had ignored me, but as he left the room he looked back over his shoulder. The icy threat in his eyes made me shiver, but I lifted my chin and stared right back. Let him make of that whatever he wanted.

I also wondered about the ingredients of this so called cordial, and the next time I caught Master Aethelstan on his own I asked him if he knew.

“I’m not sure,” he replied, staring down at the dried leaves of sage and lovage he was grinding up in the mixing bowl. “Wormtongue has never shared his secrets with me. But then many healers do not want to give away knowledge of their personal preparations.”

“Have you ever attended the king yourself?” I asked while handing him a flask of wine, trying for a casual tone.

He poured a measure of wine into the mixing bowl. The potion was meant for a couple of our patients who had developed a nasty hacking cough. Aethelstan pondered my words. “Only once when Wormtongue was away for a few days.” He sighed. “The king weakened considerably just in that short time. I have to admit I was glad to see Wormtongue return. The king’s health improved immediately he came back.”

I nodded and kept my thoughts to myself. From my days in the Houses of Healing in Dol Amroth I knew there existed substances – though proscribed of course – that made the body crave for them and if withdrawn too quickly caused serious illness. Possibly even death. Aethelstan presumably knew this, too. Yet I could not blame him for not wanting to utter such suspicions against the influential councillor. Everybody might call him Wormtongue, but it happened behind Gríma’s back, not to his face. Very few people dared to do so openly. Thinking of one of them, I could not help wondering when Marshal Éomer would come to Edoras next.

The weather continued overcast and grey for another week, but then a strong westerly wind blew away the cover of cloud lying like a heavy blanket over the land, and for a brief time the golden days of autumn returned. One morning found me trudging up the hill after attending one of the births brought on by the change in the weather. It had been a difficult one due to the babe lying breech, so the midwife had asked for a healer’s assistance, and I had accompanied Master Aethelstan. My own part had largely been to hold the woman’s hand and comfort her between labour pains, yet I had felt a deep personal satisfaction when at last the infant had been laid in her arms.

By now I knew many of the citizens of Edoras and exchanged greeting with them as they went about their morning chores. Dirhael walked by my side, alert as always, yet his watchfulness seemed hardly necessary, and when I reached the bottom of the stairs leading up to Meduseld I dismissed him to his bed.

He yawned. “You will be seeking yours, too?”

“I will indeed,” I answered. “I’m tired.”

The sunlight flamed off the roof of the Golden Hall as I ascended the steps, reminding me of my first glimpse of Edoras. Meduseld no longer seemed proud and inaccessible as it had that day. Instead, as I got to know and like the people living here, it had started to feel like home – even if only a temporary one. Except of course for the one dark spot blighting it. But I had seen so little of Wormtongue lately that I had almost convinced myself to forget his presence.

At the top of the stairs I turned right to follow the path along the side of the hall leading to the back entrance, when one of the doorwardens hailed me. Surprised, I stopped. The doorwardens usually sat as still as carved statues, their business only with those seeking entrance to the hall. “Yes?”

“Forgive me, my lady,” he said. “But you are training with the healers, aren’t you?”

I had met him down at the sparring grounds and groped in my mind for his name. “Yes, I am. Do you need assistance, Odda?”

“Not me,” he replied, “but Marshal Éomer has come from Aldburg and he’s hurt.”

The Marshal hurt! I grabbed Odda by the arm. “Where is he? Have you sent for a healer?”

He recoiled in surprise at my vehemence. “Oh, he’s not hurt badly, only a glancing arrow wound. Don’t worry, my lady.” He patted my hand awkwardly. “But he would not let anyone see to it, so knowing that you have some experience with healing I thought maybe you could help?”

Only an arrow wound! If not treated properly they could turn infected just like any other injury – as the fool Marshal surely had to know. Men and their cursed pride! “I certainly will,” I replied at once. “Where is he?”

“In the hall, having audience with Théoden King.”

That gave me pause. The king might not appreciate me barging in on his presence. But on the other hand why shouldn’t I pass through the hall on the way to my quarters? I inclined my head at Odda. “If you’d open the doors for me, please?” He obliged me with alacrity, looking relieved to have handed over his responsibility.

The hall had become familiar to me by now and I quickly passed by the beautifully worked tapestries, all my attention focused on the scene at the dais. Flanked by four guards, King Théoden sat on his chair while Gríma crouched behind him, whispering into his ear. Éowyn was missing from her customary place and I realized that this time of the morning she would be down at the training grounds.

Marshal Éomer stood at the bottom of the three steps leading up to the dais. “I’m telling you this was not a hunter missing his aim,” he said, his words carrying across the hall. “The arrow was meant for me.”

Gríma straightened up. “Really, Marshal, you should not overestimate your importance in the scheme of things.”

Lord Éomer took a step forward. “And how would you like to have somebody shoot at you?”

I had reached the hearth in the centre of the hall, but now I slowed my pace, not sure what to do. Breaking in on the king’s audience did not seem very politic. A small crowd of servants had gathered a safe distance away, so after a moment’s hesitation I joined them. It seemed to me that Gríma’s eyes flicked my way briefly, but the Marshal did not notice me. A trickle of unease ran down my back when I recognized the guard captain as one of Gríma’s few followers amongst the king’s men. An ambitious man keen to rise in the ranks, Wulfstan had recently been promoted over Elfhelm’s objections. And why were there so many guards present in the first place?

Wormtongue raised an eyebrow. “My Lord Marshal, are you threatening me?”

“No.” Not yet, hung in the air.

“Good. After all you would not want to distress the king over such trifles.”

“I do not consider an attempt upon my life within a couple of hours’ ride of Edoras a trifle,” Marshal Éomer bit out between his teeth. At least he appeared fighting fit, so the arrow wound could not be too serious. Then I saw that his cloak was stained with dried blood on the shoulder and had to clamp down on the sudden urge to run to him at once.

Gríma waved his words away. “Yet you said you could find no trace of this archer.” Somehow he managed to insinuate that Lord Éomer had made up the whole story.

“We searched for him, but with night falling early this time of the year we had to break off the hunt and stay overnight in a woodcutter’s hut.”

“Did you.” The councillor sniffed in audibly and wrinkled his nose. Behind him, Wulfstan sniggered.

Throughout the whole exchange King Théoden had sat in his chair, eyes open, but I doubted whether he had heard anything. He had taken a serious turn for the worse the last few weeks, and seemed aware of very little going on around him. Now the Marshal appealed to him directly. “Uncle! Our enemies lurk on our very doorstep. We must do something!”

The king looked up at him, his attention sharpening at last. But Gríma leaned forward at once. “Must? Who are you to give the king orders?”

Lord Éomer dropped to one knee in front of the king. “Your servant, sire. Will you not listen to what I have to say?”

Tears stung my eyes. How could King Théoden not heed the love ringing in those simple words. The hall hushed.

Then Wormtongue broke the silence with a laugh. “How touching, Marshal. But really, a huntsman’s arrow gone astray hardly calls for such dramatics.”

Lord Éomer’s whole body tensed. “You and I both know, Worm, that there was nothing accidental about this arrow.” Watching him, I could not help fearing he would not be willing to curb his temper much longer. And then?

“No?” Gríma rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But perhaps you are right and your past has caught up with you.”

“What do you mean?” The words radiated menace. Standing behind the throne, Wulfstan shifted forward onto the balls of his feet, his eyes fixed on the Marshal.

Gríma lowered his voice. “Well, everybody knows how popular you are with the ladies. Could it be an angry father perhaps? Or a husband…”

Marshal Éomer jumped up, his hand going to the hilt of his sword.

“My Lord Marshal!” I stepped forward.

He spun round. “Princess Lothíriel. What are you doing here?” His frown let me know he was less than pleased to see me. What could I say to distract him?

“I might ask you the same,” I replied, giving a polite laugh. “But then I suppose you took advantage of the lovely weather to come for a visit. What a pleasant surprise to meet you again. Don’t you think it’s ever so nice to see the sun again after all the cold weather we’ve had?” I was babbling of course, but it seemed to achieve its end, for the rage drained out of him to be replaced by bafflement.

“Yes, I…”

“But you will think me a spoilt hot house flower for complaining about the cold already,” I continued my silly chatter, “when it hasn’t even snowed yet. I have been told we might get as much as two feet of snow.” I stopped, rapidly running out of things to say about the weather. Lord Éomer stared down at me in bemusement and I forced a smile. “Just think, all that snow. It must be quite a sight.”

“Lady Lothíriel,” Gríma interrupted me, “if you don’t mind. The Marshal is having an audience with King Théoden.”

“I’m sorry!” I sank into a deep curtsy. “How silly of me. You mustn’t mind me, I was just passing through on my way to my room.” I made as if I spotted Lord Éomer’s bloody cloak for the first time. “Oh dear. That looks a trifle nasty. Promise me you will have it seen to.”

“Thank you, my lady, I will,” the Marshal answered, his humour restored.

I hesitated, but there was nothing more I could say. “My lords,” I dropped another curtsy and continued to the door leading to the private quarters as if that had been my destination all along. Behind me, Lord Éomer addressed the king again, but his voice was level and controlled now.

Chapter 6

I breathed in a sigh of relief when I reached the sanctuary of my room. For a moment there I had thought Lord Éomer would draw his sword in the presence of the king, thus breaking the peace of the Hall. An act that would have meant certain dishonour and possibly banishment. Or his death? I did not even dare to think of that possibility. More and more it had become clear to me what kind of game Gríma was playing here. He knew his adversary far too well, knew how to use the Marshal’s love for his uncle and his sense of honour against him. But to what end? From what I’d heard about Prince Théodred’s opinion of him, Wormtongue’s influence would only last as long as King Théoden lived. Surely the councillor would have been much better off trying to curry favour with the Prince and the Marshal. Yet instead he appeared determined to set the king against them. As if he wanted them eliminated? The notion no longer seemed ridiculous after hearing how narrowly Lord Éomer had escaped an arrow.

I shook my head. That was taking a silly fancy too far. Maybe it was just personal animosity on Gríma’s part, to do with his unhealthy interest in Éowyn. The way he constantly watched her through those heavy lidded eyes of his made my skin crawl. I did not know how she could stand it.

Just a little while ago I had been ready to fall into bed and sleep the morning away to recover from the previous night’s vigil, but now I found myself too unsettled to do so. After taking a few restless turns about the room I sat down in the window-seat, my favourite place, and looked out over the thatched roofs of Edoras. The ever-present wind chased the shadows of clouds across them, turning them from gold to brown and back again, while in the distance the White Mountains reached out to touch the sky, unconcerned by the troubles of us short-lived humans. They would have looked this way the day my ancestors first set foot upon these shores, ages of men ago, and they would look the same when we would all be gone. I found that a comforting thought.

A knock sounded on the door. Not the usual polite rap by the servants, but loud and firm. My heart speeded up. “Come in!”

Marshal Éomer stood in the doorway. He took in the room with a quick glance, checking the layout being second nature to him, just as it was to my brothers. Then his eyes settled on me.

“Lady Lothíriel.” He bowed. “I had hoped you might take pity on me and dress my wound.”

“Of course!” I scrambled to my feet. “Your audience with the king is finished already?”

Lord Éomer shrugged. “It was pointless. I did not have an audience with the king, I had one with Wormtongue!” He spat out the name.

“I’m sorry.” It seemed such an inadequate thing to say, yet it did earn me a tired smile.

“Not your fault. Indeed I owe you my thanks. You saved me from myself earlier on.”

Silly how much those words warmed me! “You’re welcome, my lord.” Suddenly it seemed very important to set one matter clear, though. “I don’t usually babble like that.”

That earned me a real smile. “I guessed as much.”

Pulling out the chair from under the desk, I motioned for him to sit in it. “May I examine your wound?”

Once his cloak was off a single look sufficed to inform me that before anything else, I would have to wash off the dried blood. I went to the door and sent one of the pages to bring a jug of hot water. Turning back to my patient, I saw he had set his helmet on the floor and was examining the items on my desk. When I had put my clothes away upon first arriving in Meduseld, I had found a carved horse at the bottom of the clothes chest. A child’s toy and crudely made, it had nevertheless caught my fancy, for it looked much loved with one broken leg mended carefully. On a whim I had placed it on my desk where it could enjoy the sun again and watch me read.

He picked it up and turned it round in his fingers. “Felaróf. This used to be mine, you know. Where did you find it?”

“At the bottom of the clothes chest.” It was strange to watch those big, capable hands handling the horse and imagine him as a child. What had he been like? A handful I would bet. “Did you carve it yourself?”

He nodded. “Yes. My uncle showed me how.”

At my surprised look he grimaced. “Théoden was not always as he is now. When Éowyn and I first came to Edoras, he welcomed us into his heart. But I had difficulties adjusting, even ran away to Aldburg once. I suppose I thought if only I could get home, things would go back to the way they used to be. Even though I knew better of course.”

How old had he been? Éowyn had told me about losing both their mother and father within a few short months and my heart ached to think of the little boy wanting them back. “Did you make it to Aldburg?”

“Almost. My uncle and his men caught up with me just outside the walls. I had stolen a pony and thought I would be in for a good hiding.”

“And were you?”

“No. He let me ride back with him on Swiftleg, his warhorse. And later he gave me a sharp knife and taught me how to carve wood. This was one of my first efforts. In the evenings we used to sit by the fire in his study and talk while we carved things.” He stared down at the little horse. “Uncle must have had other concerns, for even in those days our borders were restless, but he made time for me.”

And now the king did not even seem to recognize him anymore. It had to hurt. Wordlessly, I started to tidy up the books lying on my desk and put them away on the new shelves on the wall. Lord Éomer got up to help me.

“Your wound!” I protested.

He grinned. “I’m not at death’s door yet, you know.”

I put my hands on my hips. “My Lord Marshal, if you think I want blood all over my precious volumes you are very much mistaken. You will sit down again this instance or I refuse to treat you.”

“Yes, my Lady Princess.”

The meekness in his voice did not fool me. At least he took his seat again and let me continue with clearing the desk. One of the books caught his eye and he started to look through the pile. “Did you get all these from our library? I didn’t know we had anything on the language of the Mark.”

“King Thengel had them compiled for your grandmother and I got your uncle’s permission to use them.” I had to extract the book from his grasp, for he showed every intention of starting to read it.

He looked up at me. “Spricst tu se tunge thaera Mearc, hlaefdige min?”

“Thankas, hlaford min. Ic forstande wel.” I laughed at the surprise on his face. “Actually, I speak very little. But I have found that I understand a great deal. It’s almost as if your language and Westron were related to each other and after a while the ear adjusts to make sense of what it hears.”

Lord Éomer nodded thoughtfully. “It’s true many words sound similar. But you must have a talent for languages if you’ve learnt so much in two short months.”

“Thank you.” I gave an exaggerated curtsy to hide my pleasure at his compliment.

With all the books put away, I got out my healer’s satchel and rummaged around for a clean cloth. That moment steps in the corridor announced the arrival of the page bringing the hot water. He clutched a large jug, which he set down on the desk.

Lord Éomer smiled at him. “Thank you. Swidhelm, isn’t it? Son of Redwald?”

The lad glowed with pride. “Yes, my lord.” He puffed out his chest and I could almost see him telling his friends how the Marshal had known his name and thanked him for his service. Clearly Lord Éomer possessed the same unconscious gift of winning his men’s allegiance as my father did.

Before leaving, Swidhelm bowed to me. “Is there anything else you require, my lady?”

“No thank you,” I told him. “You may leave the door open.”

Lord Éomer did not comment on this, but for myself I had no intention of causing gossip by treating him alone in my bedroom. Once again I inspected his wound, washing away the worst of the caked blood. The arrow had grazed a deep groove across one side of his neck, catching him in the vulnerable place where the mail shirt ended. A little to the side and it would have hit him in the throat, a fatal wound. The thought made my hands tremble.

“You will have to take your hauberk off,” I told him brusquely.

With my help he lifted the heavy mail shirt over his head, wincing as the movement opened his wound again. I staggered under the weight of the chain mail and he jumped up to steady me.

“Sit down!” I ordered him and dropped my heavy load by the foot of the bed. Let somebody else worry about sorting it out.

Underneath the mail he wore a thick padded tunic that laced up the back. It joined the growing heap on the floor, as did the shirt beneath it, leaving him with a bare chest. A very well muscled chest, I noted, but then that was hardly surprising. I told myself I had seen plenty of bare skin lately and to get on with my task.

“How did this happen?” I asked, stepping behind him and lifting away his hair from his shoulder. “Didn’t you wear a helmet?” His tawny mane was surprisingly soft under my touch as I brushed it to one side. It smelled of wood smoke.

“I took my helmet off to enjoy the sunshine,” he explained. “That should teach me a lesson.”

I dipped my cloth in the water and began to wash off the blood. “Did you see the bowman?”

“Only a glimpse in the woods above the road. By the time we’d climbed up there, he had disappeared. My men managed to track him a little way, but then it got too dark and we did not want to risk an ambush.”

That made sense. “Yet you’re sure it was no common huntsman?” I reached for the bottle of spirits. “This will sting,” I warned him.

He drew in his breath with a hiss when I poured the liquid on his wound, but showed no other sign of discomfort. “I just know, call it instinct. It was almost as if he’d been waiting there for us. And then I was careless and he got lucky. If I hadn’t turned round to say something to Éothain just at that moment, he would probably have killed me.”

He said it so matter-of-factly! I rested one hand on the smooth skin of his back as I dabbed off the surplus spirit. Warm, firm and very much alive. The thought that life and death had lain but a heartbeat apart frightened me.

“Please be more careful in the future!” Then I chided myself for my outburst. He was a warrior, every time he rode to battle he risked his life. And he did not have to tell me that he was not the kind of commander to lead his men from the back.

Lord Éomer looked down at his hands. “Would it grieve you very much if I came to harm?”

What did he expect me to reply to that? A Princess of Gondor could not wear her heart on her sleeve. I stepped away from him and busied myself laying out a bandage. “Of course it would, my lord, for I consider you a friend.” When he did not answer, I babbled on in desperation. “And it would grieve your sister sorely.”

Fortunately he did not press the issue any further. “Yes, I know,” he said. “Éowyn worries about me all the time. Will you promise me not to tell her what a narrow escape I had?”

I got out my jar of wound salve. “But she is no child, surely she would want the truth.”

“She carries so many cares on her shoulders already with looking after my uncle, I do not want to burden her even more,” he explained, adding with a smile. “I suppose I will always think of her as my little sister.”

My brothers were just the same. They still treated me like the little girl running after them with her plaits flying in the wind. “Very well then,” I agreed. “Now hold still.” Perhaps he was right, I mused as I slathered on the honey salve generously. Éowyn possessed an unyielding will, yet it seemed to me a brittle strength. She would not bend, no matter the pressure applied to her – but she might break.

The injury was in an inconvenient spot and would need some sort of protection to keep the mail shirt from chafing it. So I made a pad by folding a clean handkerchief in half and then fixed it in place with a linen bandage that I wrapped across his neck, down the back and under his arm. It was an awkward business and necessitated me ducking under his arm several times and leaning across his chest. Fortunately nobody passed my room just then, for I do not know what they would have thought. And all the while those dark eyes followed every move.

When I finished tying off the knots he moved his arm experimentally. “Thank you. That feels much better.” He lowered his voice. “You have gentle hands, my lady.”

Unbidden, Gríma’s words came to me. Everybody knows how popular you are with the ladies. While I refused to believe what he had said about Lord Éomer’s past catching up with him, I recognized the Marshal for a dangerous man. Especially for a Princess of Dol Amroth who would have no choice in the man she would wed.

I became aware of the fact that I was staring at him and took a step back. “You are welcome, my Lord Marshal,” I replied formally, my training as a princess coming to my rescue. But how I cursed my fair skin betraying me with a telltale blush as I turned to my desk to tidy away my healing supplies. In fact they needed very little tidying-up, but I busied myself rolling up one of the unused bandages with great care, all the while supremely conscious of him sitting there, watching me. He filled my little room with his presence.

I was both relieved and disappointed when he got up and put his shirt back on. “With your permission I will send my squire later to collect the hauberk,” he said. “I just want to speak to Elfhelm and Éowyn quickly, then I have to be off again.”

“You won’t stay the night?” To my chagrin I found that I had looked forward to his presence at the evening meal. The atmosphere in the hall weighed like a heavy pall on me at times.

“I can’t.” Was there a trace of regret in his voice? “I have to be where my scouts can find me quickly. As it is, we are often too late by the time we get to the Emnet.” He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I asked my uncle to let me station my éored at the Entwade, but he - or rather Wormtongue - refuses to countenance the idea.”

“I’m sorry.” From my studies I knew the Entwade was the only place where the River Entwash could be crossed for many leagues. “Would you be a lot quicker?”

“Oh yes.” I had hung up a map of Rohan on the wall above my desk and he crossed over to it to illustrate his point. “In summer my scouts swim their horses across the Entwash further down to reach Aldburg directly, but now the river is treacherous with icy water from the Misty Mountains and they have to detour all the way to the Entwade.” He pointed out the ford north and east of Edoras. “It adds half a day to their journey. Time we can ill afford.” Broodingly he stared at the map as if he could find the marauding orc bands by sheer will power.

I ached to help him somehow. “Can’t your scouts cross the river by boats?”

He shook his head. “Too dangerous. The river seeks a new course every year, so the channels are never quite the same. In some places it runs swift, in others you get bogged down in swamp and quicksand. We have tried attaching a message tube to an arrow and shooting it across, but often the arrows fall short or the message is lost.”

Reliable communication. The basis of warfare as Hyarmendacil had written in his famous treatise. Raking my mind for an idea, I joined Lord Éomer at the map. “I wish I could help you.”

“Thank you. It’s a shame you cannot teach my scouts to fly.” His laughter held no mirth.

In my books I had read about the use of mirrors as signalling devices, but the weather here was too unreliable for that, for at any time the wind might blow clouds across the sun and block the light. Teach them to fly. The wind!

“What about kites?”

He looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Kites? What do you mean? They are but children’s toys.”

In my mind the idea was blooming into its simple beauty. “Tie your message to a kite and fly it across the Entwash. If you station a man with a kite on either side of the river you can fly them no matter where the wind comes from. And you always have wind in this country.”

Lord Éomer looked sceptical. “I don’t think a kite could carry a message tube. Its own weight and that of the long line needed to reach across the river would drag it down.”

“Not one of your kites, no.” I could not help feeling slightly superior. “They really are children’s toys. But the silk kites we fly in Dol Amroth are to your kites like race horses are to a mountain pony. In strong wind they nearly pull you off the ground.”

“All very well.” Clearly he did not appreciate my disparaging tone. “But where will we get these miraculous devices? Do you mean to send to Dol Amroth for them?”

However, I had already thought of that. “No, I will make them for you. You will see.” With a pang I realized I would have to sacrifice one of my silk nightgowns for the material. No matter, the nights were getting cold anyway and I would simply have to change to a woollen one.

His eyes bored into me. “It might just work. Very well, I’m willing to give it a try. A few hours’ head start might make the difference between victory and defeat one day.” He tapped a finger on the map. “This would be a good place to station those men. And I will be back in Edoras for Yule in three weeks’ time. Can you have the kites ready for me by then?”

“I will.”

In one of his lightning shifts of mood he grinned at me as at a fellow conspirator. “Good. I will take my leave of you then.”

I accompanied him to the door, where he took my hand. “You have my thanks, Lady Lothíriel. And I will try and keep my temper in the future, so as to need no further rescue.” He dropped a kiss on my knuckles. “Although rescue by you is rather pleasant.”

Why did he do this to me? Here I’d thought myself on solid ground again and then he pulled the carpet from under me with as little as a jest and a smile. I hesitated, smoothing my features to cool courtesy, but floundering in my search for an innocuous reply.

Lord Éomer seemed to read the confusion in my face and took pity on me. “I’m sorry.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’m tired, don’t mind me. We only just got back from riding patrol on the Emnet when the summons from Edoras came, so I haven’t had much sleep the last few nights.”

He bowed and would have left, but I reached out a hand to stop him. “Wait!“ Something in his words nagged at me. What had he said about the hidden archer? The man had waited for him? I closed the door and leaned my back against it to make sure nobody would enter. “Lord Éomer, who summoned you to Edoras?”

He raised his eyebrows quizzically. “The king of course.”

“So Gríma would have known.” My mind racing, I tried to think back on the day before. “He was here yesterday, for I saw him briefly in the hall, but he could easily have passed the word to somebody to ambush you on the road.” I nodded to myself. “Yes. Your uncle might not even remember sending for you, the way Gríma keeps him drugged half senseless.”

“What!” He grabbed me by the shoulders. “Lothíriel, whatever has given you that idea?”

Quickly I recounted my visit to King Théoden, talking to Aethelstan afterwards, and the conclusions I had drawn.

His grip on my shoulders tightened until it was painful. “Have you spoken of your suspicions to anybody else?”

I shook my head. “Not even to Éowyn.”

“Good. Then don’t.”

I couldn’t believe he’d said that. “But don’t you want to help your uncle?”

“Of course I do!” he exploded. Abruptly he let go of me and started to pace the room. “My lady, do you realize you’re accusing the king’s councillor of treason here?” He held up a hand to ward off interruptions from me. “And you have no proof.”

I took a couple of steps after him. “Proof! You want proof when you should act?”

He whirled round. “And what do you want me to do? March into my uncle’s rooms and take away his medicines? You said yourself that the only time Aethelstan looked after Théoden, the king got worse.”

I bit my lip. Somehow I had thought that once I confided my suspicions to Lord Éomer, my part would be over and he would take matters into his own hands. How naïve of me. “I’m sorry.”

His anger faded and with it the animation on his face, leaving him looking tired and discouraged. “I see no other choice but to wait and watch. Wormtongue is just hoping for me to make a misstep, which he would use to take my office away from me. He would like nothing better than to leave my people without protection. I cannot afford that.”

This tallied with my own impressions so closely that I had to agree. “Very well.” I turned away to hide my disappointment.

Lord Éomer knew anyway. A hand landed gently on my shoulder. “Don’t give up, I will think of something. But promise me not to mention these suspicions to anybody else.”

A lump in my throat, I nodded. His hand gave a quick squeeze. “Believe me, feigning ignorance is safest for you.”

He did not have to add that as a stranger to Rohan I held a precarious position anyway. Wormtongue had made that clear already. “And you?” I asked, turning round.

“I will manage,” he replied with a shrug. “I always have.” A frown of worry still marred his face. “I just wish I did not have to leave you here all on your own. Listen Lothíriel, if you ever need me, send word by Elfhelm.”

“Would you come?” I whispered. Of their own volition my fingers crept up to his chest.

He caught my hand in a firm grip. “I promise.”

The door flew open with a bang. Before I knew it, I found myself pushed behind his back, away from harm’s way. Then he relaxed just as suddenly. “Éowyn!”

His sister launched herself at him. “Éomer, are you all right?”

He held her off. “Yes I am. Don’t fuss so, Éowyn!” Perhaps it was my imagination, but he did not sound particularly pleased to see her.

“I just got back from the training grounds. Odda said you were hurt!” She hugged him.

“Only a scratch. Lady Lothíriel was so kind as to patch me up.”

She peered round him and noticed me for the first time. “Oh, there you are, Lothíriel. Thank you for looking after my brother.”

I took refuge at my desk once more, lining up my healing supplies in a tidy row. “No need to thank me, I’m glad to be of use.”

Lord Éomer took her by the elbow and steered her towards the door. “You see, I’m in capable hands. But we mustn’t trespass on Lady Lothíriel’s time any longer, and anyway, I want to talk to Elfhelm, to see if Théodred has sent word. Are you coming with me?”

She preceded him out the door, but he paused briefly before leaving. “Lothíriel, remember what I said.”

Once the door had closed behind them, I sat down heavily on the bed, suddenly grateful not to be forced to make polite conversation with Éowyn. A stab of pure annoyance ran through me. What was she doing barging into my room unannounced like that! I picked up Éomer’s helmet from the floor and stared at the empty vizor. My heart sank as I recognized my emotion: envy. I envied Éowyn for being allowed to show her worry for her brother openly and not having to hold back.

For as long as I could remember, the path I would tread in life had been clearly marked for me. Constricting my choices, true, but making the world a dependable and orderly place. Now the Marshal threatened to lure me off this safe path. I smoothed out the white horsetail crowning his helmet. One day duty would dictate whom I would marry, be it a foreign prince or one of Gondor’s rich southern lords. That Denethor would let me settle for a mere Third Marshal of the Mark, when I could be used to bind a much more powerful man closer to his interests, was about as likely as the King returning.

*

*

*

A/N:

Spricst tu se tunge thaera Mearc, hlaefdige min? – Do you speak the language of the Mark, my lady?

Thankas, hlaford min. Ic forstande wel. – Thank you, my lord. I understand it well.

Chapter 7

The next morning I excused myself from accompanying Éowyn down to the training grounds. Instead, I spread all my silken nightgowns and petticoats out on the bed, hoping to find enough suitable material to make four kites. I had decided it would be good to have spares available if one got broken or lost and now the time had come to decide which of my clothes to sacrifice, as I would need a considerable amount of material. Looking down at a nightgown embroidered with tiny red roses and hemmed with frills of lace I could not suppress a giggle at the thought of bits of my underwear flying around Rohan. I put that one aside again and made a note to myself not to tell the Marshal where I had got the silk from.

That moment somebody knocked on my door. To my surprise it was Dirhael, who entered my room with quick strides and slammed the door behind him.

His eyes alighted on the pile of clothes on my bed. “You’re packing already! Good. When can you be ready?”

I stared at him. “Ready for what?”

“So you haven’t heard!” Dirhael’s usually placid face was flushed with anger. “I’ve just had an audience with this so called councillor of the king. Lord Gríma has informed me that the presence of me and my men is no longer necessary. We are to leave on the morrow.”

“What!” I could not believe my ears. “And what about me?” I asked.

“You have guest rights in this benighted place, so the king has apparently decided that a guard is unnecessary.”

Not the king. Wormtongue. Gríma wanted to get rid of me! Trying to force my thoughts into some semblance of order, I jumped up and paced to the window. As clearly as if I’d heard him issue the command, I recognized the councillor’s hand in this. A warning? Or possibly revenge for foiling his plans in the Hall the day before. I had asked too many questions, had helped the Marshal against him, so now he wanted to remove this particular pawn from the board.

“Lothíriel?”

“I’m staying.”

“What? Certainly not!” Dirhael exclaimed.

I pressed my forehead against the cool windowpane. “Steward Denethor sent me to Rohan, so that’s where I’ll stay.”

He gripped me by the shoulder and forced me to turn round. “Listen, Lothíriel, now is not the time to turn stubborn. Nobody would expect you to stay here without a proper honour guard, not even your uncle.”

“He is my liege. I won’t go against his wishes.” And I was no pawn.

“It’s because of that Marshal, isn’t it!” Dirhael exploded. “He is the reason you do not want to leave.”

“Nonsense!” But my flushed cheeks gave me away. “I will not be pushed around by Wormtongue. And that’s my final word.”

And I stood my ground, even though Dirhael did his utmost to convince me to go with him. In the end he left in disgust to tell his men to get ready. I stood a long time staring out the window, wondering what had got into me. Only a little while ago I would have jumped at the chance of returning home, but now that I had it, I did not want to take it.

What would have happened the day before if I had not intervened? Nobody could say. I just knew that I did not want Gríma to succeed with his plans, for whatever they were, they did not bode well for my friends here. Not just Lord Éomer, I told myself, but Éowyn, Aethelstan and the other people of Edoras I had come to know. I would do whatever I could to oppose Gríma.

And besides, I had promised to make those kites by Yule. As my father always said: once you make a promise you keep it. With fresh determination I returned to my task.

***

I needed that determination the next day to stiffen my spine when I went down to the gates to see my men off. Dirhael had managed to delay his departure until late afternoon, yet finally all the horses had been checked over, all the loads balanced evenly, all the journey bread stored away. The time to say goodbye had come.

Leading his horse behind him, he came over to me. “Please, Lothíriel,” he said. “It’s not too late yet. Won’t you reconsider?”

At a loss for words, I stroked the gelding’s nose. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

I shook my head and gave him the letters I had penned for my father and brothers. “Will you deliver these, please?”

“The Valar only know what Prince Imrahil will say to me when I come back without his daughter,” he muttered, tucking them away in his pocket.

“Tell him I will be fine.”

Behind him, the leader of the escort detailed to see my guards to the border cleared his throat. He looked ill at ease at the task given to him, but I did not doubt that he would do whatever needed to see his king’s orders fulfilled. Reluctantly, Dirhael and his Swan Knights mounted up and left. By the time I had climbed the hill and reached the platform outside Meduseld they had passed the Barrowfield and turned right along the Great West Road. I stood there a long time, watching them dwindle into the distance.

It was strange that night to sit at our usual table without Dirhael and his men keeping me company. Yet I had no sooner taken my place than Háma’s wife and her young daughter joined me. A pretty woman with reddish hair and her face covered in freckles, Aescwyn was heavily pregnant with their second child and laughed at having to squeeze her large belly between bench and table. Her little girl watched me solemnly all through the meal while Aescwyn kept up a flow of amusing chatter. Several riders dropped by for a word and later Marshal Elfhelm made a point of coming over to our table and enquiring after my day. Unusually for him, Gríma had also chosen to take his evening meal in the hall, and several times I caught him watching me. Still warmed by my anger I stared back boldly. Let him remember that the Princes of Dol Amroth had been warriors for over a thousand years.

***

Marshal Elfhelm had told me to just ask for an escort if I wanted one, but in truth I did not really need a guard while going about Edoras. My black hair and unusual height made me stand out from the crowd and by now everybody knew me for a guest of King Theoden’s anyway. Éowyn for her part never bothered with guards unless she went for a ride further afield. In the end it was mostly Dirhael’s silent companionship that I missed, the certainty he would be there to back me up if I ever needed him. On the other hand I found a curious kind of freedom in the fact that for the first time in my life I had nobody to account to anymore, not even a kindly old servitor of my father’s. Like a bird about to try its wings - a feeling both daunting and exhilarating.

However, my daily life continued much as it had before Dirhael left. A few days later I was in the stillroom of the Healing Houses when one of Aethelstan’s fellow healers called me over.

“Somebody here you know, Lady Lothíriel.”

Thinking it one of my patients, I joined him. A big burly man sat in a chair, having his arm examined. He did look faintly familiar, but I could not quite place where I had seen him before. Then I spotted the irregular scar running from his elbow to the armpit and recognized my own handiwork. The rider I had stitched up that night in Aldburg!

“This is Beorngar,” the healer introduced the man. “Neat work,” he commented, inspecting the fading scar.

Beorngar looked up with a grin. “I know. Though I did not appreciate it at the time.” He held out his hand. “I never thanked you either, my lady.”

I wiped my fingers on my apron and shook his hand. “You’re welcome. I’m pleased to see your wound has healed so well. But I hope you’re still taking it easy?”

“Oh, yes,” he nodded. “Marshal Éomer has sent me here to recuperate. When I’m better I will start training with the king’s men.”

He seemed fit enough and I wondered why he could not recuperate in Aldburg, but then perhaps Beorngar had family in Edoras to look after him. I thought nothing of it when he left the Healing Houses at the same time as me and accompanied me up to the Hall. But then I went down to the market the next day and again he happened to come along, difficult to overlook with his great bulk and his swordsman’s gait. My suspicions were confirmed when I found him loitering about the training grounds whenever I went down there with Éowyn. Apparently I had acquired a new guard. Even if neither of us ever openly acknowledged the other.

***

While my days went on much as before, divided between the training grounds in the morning and the Healing Houses in the afternoon, my evenings were taken up with my new project. I had decided not to go for the simple diamond shaped kites common in Rohan, but for a better balanced triangular model. It looked like a bird with its wings spread wide and had a short tail to lend it additional stability. The children of Dol Amroth loved kites of this particular type and painted them gaily for the annual Autumn Festival.

When I told Éowyn about my plans, she offered to help, but I soon found out she wielded the sword better than a needle and thread. However, she proved adept at whittling down the willow branches we used for struts. And sewing the kites actually turned out to be easier than coming up with enough light yet strong string. In the end I sacrificed more of my clothes and undid the silk thread, spinning it into stronger twine and then rubbing a little beeswax into it to make it waterproof. A laborious process, but at least it kept me busy. Sometimes I wondered what the servants made of the pieces of butchered nightgowns lying around everywhere – probably they put it down to the eccentricity of a Gondorian princess.

The first time I took one of my kites down to the fields outside the city to try it out and adjust the balance, I caused a sensation amongst the children of Edoras. In no time at all crude copies of my kite were flying everywhere. The adults just looked on indulgently, thinking me kind to amuse their children in this way, which suited me fine.

Winter had really settled in by now and we even had a snowfall the week before Yule. I think I amused the whole of Edoras with my antics at the first snow, even though it was only a couple of inches deep, but then it was the first I had ever seen. When she saw my delight Éowyn promised to take me for a ride up the mountains after Yule, but for the time being preparations for the celebration took up most of her time. Prince Théodred and many of the lords from the West Mark would come, as would Lord Éomer. Knowing this, I worked tirelessly every evening and finally had all four kites finished at the end of three weeks.

***

The day before Yule visitors began to pour in. Many stayed with friends or relatives in Edoras, but the staff had also readied guesthouses and a few would enjoy the king’s personal hospitality in Meduseld. In the afternoon I made myself scarce and took my kites down to the horse training grounds, accompanied by a crowd of children. Across the plains to the north dark clouds were moving in, but where we stood the sun still shone.

Admittedly I had chosen that particular field because it afforded a good view of the road leading up to Edoras. After all I wanted to show the results of my labours! My kite had no sooner gained the air, tail fluttering in the strong wind, when another group of riders came into view. I recognized the powerful grey stallion in the lead at once and felt a tingle of excitement when his rider waved the rest of his escort on while he took the bridle path leading along the foot of the dike.

Upon arriving, Lord Éomer handed the reins of Firefoot to the ever-watchful Beorngar, who was leaning on the rails of the enclosure, and joined me in the centre of the field.

“I see you’ve kept your word, Lady Lothíriel,” he greeted me, “and I’m impressed.”

“Thank you.” I could not help preening at his words. The kite pulled at the line like a living thing, a brave, graceful bird flying high above us. I had painted a sun on it, one of the emblems of Rohan, and the gold glowed against the dark, stormy sky.

Carefully I gave it more line. “See how high it flies.”

“It will clear the Entwash easily.” He frowned and brushed back hair that the wind blew in his face. “But how are we going to get it down and reach the message tube attached to it?”

“Watch,” I laughed, releasing my hold on the string and just letting it run through my fingers. With the tension gone, at once the kite began to float to the ground. The children squealed and ran down the field.

“Of course!” Lord Éomer grinned at me with delight.

I grabbed the line again, pulling it sharply backwards, and with a snap the wind filled the sails of my kite, making it rise into the sky, out of reach of those little hands grabbing for its tail. Howls of outrage mixed with laughter rose from the children, for this was a game we had played before. Deeming my demonstration successful, and with an eye on the approaching storm, I then started to wind up the string on the wooden spindle I used for that purpose, but I had forgotten to bring gloves and my fingers were clumsy with cold.

Suddenly he stepped up behind me, arms reaching round me to assist my fumbling attempts. “Let me help.”

Surprise nearly made me drop the spindle. His warm hands guided mine to wrap up the string and while he did not touch me otherwise, I was intensely aware of how close he stood behind me. The memory of touching his bare skin came rushing back at this most inopportune of moments and I had to tell myself I could not possibly feel the firm muscles of his chest through several layers of clothing and chain mail. Where had all these thoughts come from all of a sudden?

When the kite came within reach I stepped forward and grabbed it, busying myself with detaching the horizontal piece of willow branch holding the sails taut. “You can undo this and roll up the kite so it fits into a quiver.” I demonstrated how. “The struts are quite elastic, but in case if any ever break I have included spares. Just undo these stitches and slip them in.” Without meeting his eyes I pointed out the exact place. “It’s more of a problem if the fabric tears, in which case you will have to use one of the other kites. There are four of them altogether.” And I was turning into a right babbler! Why did the man have that effect on me? I just hoped he would attribute the heightened colour in my cheeks to the icy wind.

With a bow he took the four quivers I held out to him. “Thank you, my lady. That was an enjoyable experience.” Startled, I looked up at him and he added, “a sight both brave and beautiful.” His tone carried nothing but blandness, but his eyes conveyed a different message as they lingered on my face.

I felt resentment rise within me. He had no business to tease me like this. “I’m cold, so I will return to Meduseld now, my Lord Marshal,” I told him, striding off across the field. “A good day to you.”

“Wait!” With his long legs he caught up with me easily. “Please forgive me if I have offended you in any way, my lady. Let me assure you that I did not mean to.”

Grudgingly I nodded. After all I could not even put my finger on what exactly he had done to unsettle me. Something in the tone of his voice, the faint emphasis he put on my lady. His smile.

When he saw us coming, Beorngar swung the gate of the enclosure open. He had been walking Firefoot to keep him warm, and Lord Éomer thanked him while he fastened the quivers holding my kites to his saddlebags. “How is your arm?” he asked.

“Recovering nicely.” Beorngar grinned at his Marshal. “I’m showing Elfhelm’s men a few tricks.”

Lord Éomer snorted with amusement. “Just don’t overdo it.”

“When do you expect me back, my lord?” Beorngar asked, carefully avoiding looking at me.

Just as carefully ignoring me, Lord Éomer tightened Firefoot’s girth. “Not anytime soon. I don’t think you’re fully fit yet.”

Beorngar beamed happily. “I feel a definite strain in my arm.”

“Good man. I will see you later.”

His orders received, the rider gave a cheerful wave good-bye and sauntered away. To enjoy a day off, now that he’d been dismissed? “You sent him to guard me, didn’t you?” I asked abruptly.

Lord Éomer stroked Firefoot’s nostrils and with a huff the stallion nudged his master for more. “What if I did?”

“Then I would thank you.”

“In which case I would answer that when escorting you to Edoras, I promised to keep you safe. And I keep my word.” He motioned for me to walk with him along the bridle path. “But the truth is of course that your father’s captain just happened to stop over in Aldburg on his way home and Beorngar just happened to need further treatment in Edoras.”

“I see.” I wondered what Dirhael had said to Lord Éomer. After all he had more or less blamed him for my resolution to stay in Rohan. I pondered this with half a mind as we walked back to the gate and up the road to the royal stables.

“How long are you staying for?” I asked.

“Only for Yule. The day after tomorrow we’ll all be off again.”

“So soon!”

“We cannot let up our vigilance.” Firefoot swivelled his head to look at a passing mare and Lord Éomer pulled on his bridle. “Although we’ve had no raids the last few weeks.” For some reason he didn’t sound pleased.

“Surely that’s a good sign?” I asked. “Maybe the orcs have decided that raiding Rohan isn’t worth the losses?”

He shook his head. “The Enemy doesn’t care about losses. It feels more as if his attention is elsewhere, as if he’s waiting for something to happen.” He lowered his voice, almost speaking to himself. “The calm before the storm.”

Shivering, I wrapped my cloak tighter around myself. He noticed, as he noticed everything. “Forgive me, I did not mean to disquiet you.”

I nodded and by unspoken agreement we kept the conversation to innocuous topics after that, Lord Éomer making polite enquiries as to how I liked Edoras and I entertaining him with recounting my first encounter with snow.

But when we reached the courtyard outside the stables he stopped and rummaged through his saddlebags. “This is for you,” he said, handing me a large package.

“For me?” Curiously I inspected the parcel wrapped around with brown cloth and tied up with a length of twine. It felt soft and quite heavy. “But why?”

“Call it a thank you,” he replied with an impish grin. “It is Yule after all.”

Cuthwine emerged from the stables that moment, accompanied by a couple of grooms, and called out a greeting. With a jaunty nod my way Lord Éomer went to talk to the stable master while I was left turning the parcel over in my hands. A Yule gift? Tucking it under my arm with some difficulty, I slowly ascended the steps to Meduseld and made my way to my room.

Once there, I plumped down on the bed and placed the parcel in front of me. Large and squat, it sat there and waited for me to open it. With my family so far away, I had not expected any gifts for Yule this year. True, I had bought a small trinket for Éowyn from one of the silversmiths, a pendant in the shape of a falcon, but I did not expect anything back. In Gondor, the giving of gifts between men and women was limited to close family: fathers, brothers and husbands. Or those who wanted to become husbands…

But perhaps customs differed in Rohan. And he had called it a thank you. For what – my help in Aldburg? Patching him up on his last visit? The kites? I told myself that I was reading too much into a simple present and reached for my scissors. They cut through the fine stitches holding the cloth together easily and as it parted I saw something blue peeking through. Impatient now, I pulled back the wrappings to find a tightly folded pile of fabric. Released from its constraints, it tumbled across my lap in a rich cascade, the colour of the evening sky before the first stars come out – a blue so intense it was almost black.

A cloak? Getting up and shaking it out, I found that the inside was lined with silver fur, incredibly soft under my hands. Unable to resist, I wrapped it around myself and twirled round. It fell in elegant folds past my knees, not so long that it would drag on the ground, yet cut wide enough that I could use it on horseback. I put up the hood, the fur tickling my cheeks, and luxuriated in the feeling of warmth enveloping me. Like a pair of arms wrapping themselves around me.

That brought me back to my senses. What was I thinking of? I could not possibly accept the cloak! It was much too costly. Not something you could pick up from a market stall, but obviously made to order.

“Silver and blue,” I whispered and sat down on the bed heavily. The colours of Dol Amroth.

He must have commissioned it especially for me. But how long ago? Surely such a fine garment as this must have taken many weeks to make, even with several seamstresses working on it. It spoke of an amount of forethought that almost frightened me. I stroked the soft fur. Winter lynx? Dirhael would tell me to give it back at once.

Dirhael wasn’t here.

What should I do? I bit my lip, thinking furiously. Maybe customs really differed in Rohan and the exchange of gifts between men and women was commonplace. For certain, refusing his cloak would be like a slap in Lord Éomer’s face. And he had been so kind to me. I reminded myself that before parting, my father had repeatedly adjured me to be diplomatic. In trying not to offend the Marshal I would merely be following his orders.

I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged them. Yes, customs had to be different here and anyway, nobody back home need ever know. After all, why shouldn’t he give me a present to show his appreciation of my assistance to his men? And that was all it was, I told myself as the cloak pooled around me like the petals of an exotic bloom.

*

*

*

A/N: Kites have a long history of being used in war, although not necessarily as described above. And if you want to know what kind of kite Lothíriel made, you can google ‘Delta kite’ for pictures.

Chapter 8

I got the chance to wear my new cloak the very next day. Apparently tradition demanded that a Yule hunt be held, so Éowyn had organized an outing into the mountains. The whole court assembled outside the gates of Edoras just after sunrise, the horses’ breath hanging in the cold air in big white clouds. Swathes of mist drifted past us, swallowing up the grey horses favoured by the Rohirrim, so only the jingle of tack and occasional creak of leather revealed their presence. It reminded me of that day three months ago that I had met the Marshal on the road to Aldburg. How threatening his men had seemed then. Now I found comfort in their presence, their manner and speech no longer strange.

A hunting horn interrupted my thoughts, the call taken up all around me, until the mist rang with the sound and our pack of hounds started howling and barking. Nimphelos threw her head up nervously, and I leaned forward to pat her. Suddenly Éowyn appeared out of the fog.

“Théodred’s given the sign to depart!” she called. “This way.”

I followed her towards the front of the column, but then hung back, not wanting to particularly meet the two men riding there. Prince Théodred and Marshal Éomer were deep in conversation, their kinship evident from their looks, with both of them tall, powerful men with the blond hair of the Rohirrim, although the prince’s hair was darker than his cousin’s. His party had arrived late in the afternoon the day before, and I had been introduced to him after the evening meal. Fortunately Lord Éomer had claimed his attention just that moment, enabling me to fade into the background and slip away to my room soon after. Now I let Éowyn ride ahead and pulled up next to a woman on a dark grey palfrey. I had met Lady Ceolwen the day before, though I had not expected to see her at the hunt, for she was visibly pregnant.

“Princess Lothíriel.” She smiled a greeting at me. “That’s a lovely cloak you’re wearing.”

“Thank you. I have found I need warm clothes in this northern climate.” I did not elaborate on the provenance of my newest garment.

Ceolwen gave a sympathetic chuckle, her blue eyes twinkling at me. “I imagine so!”

Beside her, her husband Lord Erkenbrand leaned forward. “Ceolwen, love, are you warm enough?” I had heard him called the Bear of the West Mark and he dwarfed his delicate wife, but that moment he resembled nothing so much as an anxious mother hen. Turning my face away, I hid a smile.

Ceolwen patted his hand. “Don’t worry about me.” Leaning towards me conspiratorially, she explained. “You see, this is our first child.”

As I congratulated her, he looked on proudly. Éowyn had told me he had full-grown twin daughters from a first marriage and idly I wondered what they made of their father doting on a woman half his age. Our road had started to climb the mountains behind Edoras by now and the rising sun turned the streamers of mist clinging to the trees pale gold. Somewhere in the forest a jay called out his warning and behind me a rider cursed the vigilant bird for alerting the other animals. For myself I did not mind. I might have brought my bow with me, but I did not intend to spill any blood on such a beautiful day.

Ceolwen went on to pepper me with questions about Gondor, and Dol Amroth in particular, showing an artless curiosity in foreign peoples and customs. Telling her about my father’s Yule Ball I found myself suddenly longing for home. Not the great hall lit with thousands of candles and thronged with lords and ladies in their finery, but the quiet evenings spent reading in the library with my father sitting in his worn leather chair by the fire. And my brothers! Elphir, who had got me out of many a scrap, quiet and scholarly Erchirion and even the ever-teasing Amrothos. A pang of homesickness ran through me at the thought of spending Yule so far away from them. Were they thinking of me? Dirhael had been gone three weeks, he might well be home by now. I had received no news from Dol Amroth since I got here, but surely that just meant they were busy. I pushed the thought away from me that something might have happened to them in Gondor’s many wars.

All of a sudden I became aware of Ceolwen peering at me anxiously. “Are you all right, Lady Lothíriel?”

I forced a smile. “Just thinking of my family.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” she exclaimed. “It must be truly awful to be so far away from them.” Then she seemed to realize that this was hardly a very tactful observation. “I mean…that is…” I could see her rack her brain for something to say to cheer me up, her expression of dismay almost comical.

Suddenly, from up ahead, we heard a woman’s voice raised in annoyance. “It’s mine!” she shouted.

Erkenbrand cursed under his breath. “Excuse me,” he said and spurred his horse.

Nimphelos neighed and would have followed him, but I reined her in. At my questioning look, Ceolwen shrugged. “Just the twins. Both of them want to become Hunt Queen. They’ve probably spotted something and are arguing who gets to shoot first.”

Well, with the racket they made, any game would be long gone by now. “What is the Hunt Queen?” I asked.

“The prince will choose the best huntress at the end of the day.” Ceolwen grinned. “And more importantly, he will share his evening meal with her at the head table. That’s why they are so keen.” She rolled her eyes. “I overheard them joking that whichever of them becomes Hunt Queen will get a clear shot at the prince, the other having to settle for Éomer.”

“The Marshal!” I quickly modulated my voice. “They seem rather certain of themselves.”

“Well, admittedly the two together are rather eye-catching,” Ceolwen said dryly.

Having seen Leofe and Aeffe briefly the night before, I had to agree. They had identical faces, shaped round like dolls, with cerulean eyes and golden hair. Taken together the effect was downright disconcerting.

At least the altercation up ahead seemed to have been resolved and quiet reigned again. As we climbed higher, patches of snow appeared between the trees. Nimphelos snorted in distrust at the unfamiliar substance, but stepped on it daintily, following the other horses. And having seen snow before, I managed to refrain from dismounting to play with it. However, I could not resist reaching out a hand every now and again to shake off the snow from low hanging branches. I was so caught up in this little game that I did not at first notice who had let his stallion drop back to our side.

“Shall we have a snowball fight later on?” I looked up in surprise to find Lord Éomer grinning at me.

Ceolwen laughed. “What a wonderful idea, Éomer. I haven’t had one of those for ages!”

“That’s because you’re a married woman now. A dignified matron.”

“A matron!” she exclaimed in mock anger. “Just you wait, you will pay for that with a load of snow down your back.”

When he saw my surprise at their easy banter, Lord Éomer leaned forward to explain. “Ceolwen is my cousin on my father’s side and grew up in Aldburg as well.” His eyes seemed to linger on my cloak for a moment, but he did not comment on my wearing his gift. Instead he nodded at the bow in its scabbard by my leg. “Éowyn has told me you’re a good archer. Are you going to join the hunt?”

I wrinkled my brow in confusion. “What do you mean? Aren’t we all going hunting?”

“Oh no!” Ceolwen exclaimed. “I for one have no desire to get all sweaty and dirty scrambling through the underbrush. I leave that kind of thing to my husband.”

“There is a small lake ahead where refreshments have been provided,” Lord Éomer explained. “The hunt proper will start from there, but those who wish can stay behind and enjoy the sun. Many of the ladies will probably do so.”

Ceolwen gave what could only be described as a snigger. “Except those who want to become Hunt Queen…”

That decided me. The prospect of a gallop through the woods might sound enticing, but I had absolutely no desire to catch the prince’s eye. “I will stay, too.”

“And you, Éomer?” Ceolwen asked. “Although I suppose that’s a silly question. You’ll want to accompany Théodred.”

“Oh, I think he can manage on his own for once.”

Ceolwen raised her eyebrows in surprise, but whatever she wanted to say was lost on me as we emerged from the forest into a valley cradled between two gently sloping mountains. Glittering brightness hit my eyes and I exhaled my breath in wonder. Snow everywhere! And so much of it. Covering everything under a thick blanket that softened any sharp edges, it lay much thicker here than in the woods. Solitary fir trees dotted the slopes, throwing blue shadows, but in the sun the snow sparkled like diamonds. A limitless expanse of glittering white, except where the lake stretched before us like a black mirror. Frozen!

The horses followed a narrow path down to the lakeshore, and I noticed that animal tracks crisscrossed the snow everywhere. We had nearly reached the shore, when with a hoarse cry a golden eagle launched itself from one of the trees. It soared up into the sky, dipping its wings at us contemptuously. Wild and free.

An arrow whizzed through the air. The bird banked steeply, shrieking his outrage at the disturbance to his peace. Another arrow. Fly higher! I nearly shouted it aloud. Up ahead the quarrel erupted again and I held my breath, praying for those stupid girls to get distracted. Flapping his huge wings, the eagle gained height. But oh so slowly! The next arrow fell short, but only just, and I knew the bird was still within reach of a more experienced bowman. Then it caught an updraft and soared away.

I released my breath in relief and became aware of Lord Éomer watching me. He had his bow out, but no arrow nocked to the string. However, he said nothing, just put it away and picked up Firefoot’s reins again.

“You dislike hunting?” he asked.

Did he think me silly for wanting the eagle to get away when it would make such a splendid trophy? I shifted on my saddle uncomfortably. “I know we need to fill our larders for the coming months, but surely that bird wouldn’t feed anybody. Let it be free.”

Whenever I made this argument with Amrothos, my brother would laugh at me fondly and call me his softhearted little sister. Not so Lord Éomer. He rubbed his beard, considering my words. “Yet in order to defend our own in times of war, we need to practise our skills,” he pointed out. “The hunt serves that purpose as well.”

“Yes, of course. You’re right.” I bent forward to stroke my mare’s neck, taking comfort from the touch.

“No. You are right.” The words startled me and made me look up at him. The Marshal had a vertical crease between his eyes as if annoyed that I gave in so easily. “You are right,” he repeated. “Lately everything has narrowed down to concerns of war, yet we do not fight for its own sake. At times we need something to remind us what we’re fighting for.”

He had a way of looking at you as if you were the only person in the world that mattered. I dropped my eyes. No wonder that his men rode into battle so willingly at his command, and for a nod of approval from him would probably follow him to the very Gates of Mordor. And myself? I strangled the thought. And I was intensely grateful to Ceolwen for covering the rest of the trip to the lake with inconsequential chatter.

Once there, we dismounted and grooms ran up to lead our horses away to an area where the snow had been compacted and straw spread on it. Firefoot made a fuss at being picketed away from Nimphelos, and the Marshal had to go and calm him down. The servants had lit several fires as well and over one a huge pot bubbled away, giving forth the smell of mulled wine and spices. As hunting horns announced the departure of Prince Théodred’s party, Ceolwen took my arm and we wandered down to the lakeside, drawn by the blank sheet of ice. Reeds bordered the shore, frosted over with a thin cover of snow that gave them a fragile beauty.

I heard footsteps crunching in the snow and turned round. Lord Éomer strode towards us, a grin on his face and strange contraptions dangling from his hands. “Look what I’ve found.”

He handed me one and I turned it over curiously, never having seen such a thing before. A flat piece of wood, shaped like the sole of a shoe, with some kind of gently curved metal blade fitted to the underside and laces dangling from it. “What is it?”

“We call them skates. You strap them onto your boots and slide across the ice.”

I stared at Lord Éomer uncertainly. Surely he was making it up? At the expression on my face Ceolwen broke into laughter. “It’s true! Unfortunately, in my condition I cannot risk a fall, but you will have to try.”

Behind me, somebody whooped loudly and as I looked on in disbelief a couple of the young guards in our party glided out onto the lake. I grabbed Lord Éomer’s arm. “Won’t they break through the ice?”

“No need to worry,” he reassured me, “my uncle’s foresters tell me the lake has been frozen for over a month. By now the ice will be as thick as a man is tall.”

I found that hard to believe, but by now the two men had reached the middle of the lake without any mishap. Their gliding motions looked so elegant and easy, like a shearwater skimming along the surface of the sea. Deceptively easy, I realized, when one of them stumbled and went flying. Propelled by his own momentum he went on sliding for several more yards before coming to a stop. His friend bent over with laughter.

Lord Éomer dangled those things - skates - in front of me teasingly. “Well, my lady, are you game?”

How could I resist such a challenge? I lifted my chin. “Certainly.”

Ceolwen settled down on a boulder and patted the stone, inviting me to sit down beside her. “They have to be fastened correctly. Let Éomer do it for you.”

It felt strange to have him kneel down in front of me while I held out first one foot, then the other to have the contraptions fitted. I wore heavy winter boots lined with felt and should not have been able to sense his touch, but nevertheless warmth crept into my cheeks. Just the sunshine, I tried to convince myself.

By now more people had come down to the shore and several more ventured out onto the ice wearing skates, although not all were as accomplished at using them as the two guards now drawing circles in the centre of the lake. Lord Éomer tied on his own and then held out a hand. “Shall we?”

I got to my feet, wobbling uncertainly. Just standing upright on solid ground required all my concentration and he actually wanted me to walk on ice with them? Holding onto his arm, I managed to take the few steps down to the lakeshore. The metal blades fitted into the wood were only thin and I had to be careful to keep my weight balanced. He stepped onto the ice and helped me do the same. Instantly one of the skates skidded out from under me.

“Careful!” Strong hands caught me and I clutched at them gratefully. He stood solid as a rock while I clawed my way back to an upright position. Only to have to other boot slide on the ice, pitching me forward right into his arms. Lord Éomer caught me by the elbows and steadied me. “Take it slowly,” he laughed.

How could he stand so firm? Unsteady as a child taking its first steps I clung to him and looked back at Ceolwen longingly. What had possessed me to try this mad venture?

She waved to us. “Go on. You’re doing fine.”

“Lean forward,” he advised me, letting go of one arm and helping me slide a couple of yards very cautiously.

“Why?”

“It’s the less painful way to fall.”

The man was enjoying himself! I realized that by agreeing to come out onto the ice I had committed a tactical error - I was clearly out of my element here. Moving as surely as if he stood on solid ground, he transferred my grip to his other hand and shifted closer. “Allow me to assist you.”

Suddenly his arm slipped under my cloak and around my waist. Surprised, I nearly fell backwards again and his hold tightened. “Steady!” When I had caught my balance again he started propelling me forward gently. In no time at all we were gliding along as fast as a man can run, but completely without effort.

Laughter bubbled up within me. “It’s like flying!”

Growing more confident by the minute, I relaxed and even risked a glance down. The trick seemed to be to set one foot at an angle and use it to push off with the other. At his nod of encouragement I tried to imitate Lord Éomer’s easy movements. After all I was an accomplished dancer, it couldn’t be all that difficult. The moment I thought that, our skates somehow got tangled. I stumbled and trying to keep my balance yanked on Lord Éomer’s arm.

The result was spectacular. He lost his footing and pitched forward, somehow managing to twist and fall onto his side. His momentum carrying him along, he slid across my path, only just missing being cut by my runner blades. Spinning round slowly he came to rest a few yards away, flat on his back with arms and legs stretched out. Without him pushing me I soon stopped moving and turned round carefully. He had put his hands on his face, his whole body shaking. With laughter I realized after a moment.

I did not know how to propel myself forward on my own, but solved the problem by kneeling down and crawling across the ice to him. “Are you all right?”

When I bent over him, he lifted his hands from his face. His hair had picked up a thin coating of snow from his glide across the ice. “I am afraid you were my downfall, my lady. However, only my pride is hurt.” Lord Éomer wiped tears from his eyes. “I haven’t laughed like this for ages.”

He grinned up at me, the habitual strain and worry forgotten for a moment, giving me a glimpse of the man behind the accomplished warrior. But slowly the mirth faded from his face and he reached up to touch my cloak that had fallen across his chest. “The colour suits you. I knew it would.”

The low intensity ringing in his voice gave the words more weight than they should have. I knew I ought to pull away from him, but found myself drawn to him as to a lodestone. Confused, I retreated into formalities. “I haven’t thanked you properly for your gift yet.”

“You do me honour by wearing it.” One of his slow smiles blossomed, and I noticed how a few tiny flecks of amber speckled his blue irises. “Lothíriel, my people hold Yule to be outside the normal progression of days. A special time, with the sun perfectly balanced between the old year and the new. Shall we make a pact?”

“What do you mean?”

He sat up and held out a hand. “A pact for today: not to talk of war and sorrow or whatever else the future might hold, but to just enjoy the moment here and now.”

An undercurrent of recklessness ran through his words and I hesitated, at a loss what to answer. Prudence dictated that I refuse.

I did not want to be prudent. “A pact,” I agreed.

His hand swallowed up mine, sealing our bargain. “Will you call me Éomer?”

What had I let myself in for? No properly brought up lady of Gondor called anybody but her family by their first names. “For today,” I agreed.

His teeth flashed in a grin. “Very well, Lothíriel.” He had a way of drawing out my name, as if enjoying every syllable of it. “May I claim your hand in a dance tonight?”

I might as well carry on with the course I had committed myself to. “Yes.”

“That is agreed then.” He exhaled his breath in satisfaction and scrambling to his feet, pulled me up, too. “So are you up to more ice skating?”

Perforce I had to cling to his arm, dependent on him to keep my balance. Well, I would change that and master this art. Even if I broke a leg in the process. “Of course.”

“My brave girl!” Once again he laid his hand lightly on my waist, pushing me forward. “But then I never doubted your courage. Not after you faced down a whole éored and their belligerent Marshal.”

That surprised me into a laugh. “I rather had the impression the Marshal faced me down.”

“Oh no. My riders all agree who came off better in that encounter between Marshal and Princess.”

I was starting to get the knack of gliding along without watching my feet all the time and shot him a quick look. “That should teach you a lesson.”

“It has. Next time I ride that way I will make sure I have the full muster of the Mark behind me.”

The picture of Éomer needing the whole army of Rohan to back him up made me chuckle. I relaxed and let him guide my movements. He was right, such a beautiful day should be enjoyed and not spoilt by worrying about the future. The sky stretched above us unmarred by any cloud, and the sunlight sparkled off the deep green ice sheet. Storms would come soon enough, we did not have to anticipate them.

By the time the servants called us back for a midday meal of chunks of bread with vegetable stew, it actually felt strange to walk on solid ground again instead of gliding along effortlessly. Ceolwen laughed at me when I wanted to get back on the ice immediately, but Éomer humoured me.

In the late afternoon hunting horns announced the return of Prince Théodred’s party and reluctantly we made our way back to the lakeshore. Anyway, the sun was starting to set and we would have to leave shortly in order to make our way down the mountains in daylight. While Éomer went to talk to his cousin, I collected Nimphelos from the picket line. The hunt had been successful with the carcasses of several deer and even a chamois slung from long poles, but the smell of blood made the mare skittish, so I led her away from the press of horses. In the thick of it I spotted Éowyn, her cheeks rosy from the chase, and Lord Erkenbrand’s two daughters. They each had several braces of bloody birds hanging from their saddles, which they were busy counting. Feeling nauseated I made my way down to the lakeshore.

Ceolwen sat on a boulder a little apart, enjoying the view, but wanting time to myself I walked further along the shore. The setting sun turned the ice to molten gold and far out a solitary figure still drew lazy circles, his shadow grotesquely elongated. The day was ending - a day filled with laughter and sunshine. The thought made me sad, but I decided to put the memory of it away in my mind, like a sparkling piece of treasure, to be taken out in darker times. Scratching Nimphelos’s poll, I watched the skater for a while longer and then turned to stroll back.

Ceolwen had got up and stood at the shore looking out, her rounded belly easily visible. In the reeds behind her a small shadow moved and I frowned, trying to make out what it was. Four legs, a bushy tail. A dog? Then it staggered out from behind a clump of cattails and I recognized the animal for a fox. But what was a fox doing so close to people? It seemed disorientated and something about the way it moved, the strange jerky motions tugged at my memory. Where had I seen its like before? Suddenly the image of a patient in the Healing Houses of Dol Amroth a couple of years ago sprang to my mind. The foaming disease!

What should I do? Call out to Ceolwen? But if she made any sudden movement the animal might attack her. And nobody else near enough to help! Beside me, Nimphelos whickered nervously when she caught the sharp fox reek. Of course! I spun round and reached for the scabbard holding my bow, nearly dropping it in my haste. Fit an arrow to the string, turn round, aim. The fox had taken a few staggering steps towards Ceolwen.

“Elbereth!” I breathed, releasing my arrow.

A sharp yelp told me it had found its mark. Ceolwen looked round and cried out in surprise. Running towards her, I fitted another arrow. “Get back!” The animal gathered itself to jump at her. I was still too far away!

Time slowed down. Ceolwen stepping back, a hand going to her belly in a protective move. Flecks of foam from the animal’s mouth falling to the ground. Sharp teeth glittering in the setting sun. The arrow. The target. Then my bowstring twanged and time speeded up again.

Hit midair, the fox crumbled to the ground. Ceolwen shrieked. I ran towards her and pulled her back from the carcass. “Did it touch you?”

That moment somebody grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me round. “What do you think you’re doing!” Lord Erkenbrand’s fingers dug into my arms. “You could have hit her, you fool! Killed my wife!” Red with fury, he shook me like a rag doll.

“Erkenbrand! Let her go!” At the command, Lord Erkenbrand’s grip weakened. Éomer interposed himself between us and I clutched his arm.

“The fox,” I gasped, “it was going to bite Ceolwen.”

“Nonsense,” Erkenbrand declared, pulling his shaking wife into his arms. “Foxes don’t attack humans as anybody but a witless Gondorian princess would know.”

“That’s enough!” Éomer snapped. “Control yourself.” His arm went round my shoulder protectively.

By now a crowd of people had gathered around us. Suddenly out of the corner of my eye I saw somebody bend over the fox’s body.

“Don’t touch that!” I shouted.

The man jumped at my tone and looked at me with a frown. Prince Théodred. My heart sank. “I’m sorry, my Lord Prince,” I stammered, “but the fox–”

“The trophy is yours, my lady,” he interrupted me, his face stern. “But let me tell you, I do not like the way you came by it.”

He thought I had shot the fox because I wanted to be Hunt Queen! The idea was so ludicrous, I did not know what to answer. Éomer forestalled me anyway.

“I am sure Lothíriel had a very good reason for what she did,” he declared firmly. “If she says the fox was going to attack Ceolwen, I believe her.”

Lord Erkenbrand snorted loudly, but unexpectedly Ceolwen came to my assistance. She pushed herself away from her husband’s chest. “It did jump at me.”

“The fox had what we call the foaming disease,” I cut in. “I recognized the symptoms. We had a patient with the same staggering walk in the Healing Houses of Dol Amroth.”

At my words, the people standing near the carcass retreated hastily. Not even Gondor’s healers had a cure for this disease, picked up by being bitten by an infected animal and invariably fatal. Prince Théodred drew his sword and gingerly turned the fox onto its side. There was the typical foam at the mouth, caused by the inability to swallow liquids.

Ceolwen fainted.

Chapter 9

“You’ve caused quite a commotion, haven’t you!”

I looked up in surprise, for I had not heard Éowyn come in. But then she had the habit of knocking on my door and entering straightaway, without waiting for an answer.

“It wasn’t intentional,” I replied, unable to keep the defensiveness out of my voice.

She laughed, and sat down on my bed. “Oh, I know. But what a shame I missed seeing you shoot that fox. Théodred said it was spectacular.”

Spectacular! When I had been utterly terrified. Some things Éowyn and I would never see eye to eye on. “How is Ceolwen?” I asked.

“Asleep. Master Aethelstan says she will be fine in the morning.”

A great weight dropped from my shoulders. “I am so relieved.”

Éowyn frowned down at the gown I had laid out ready on the bed. “What is this? You can’t wear that.”

“Why not?” I asked, holding it up so it fell in soft brown folds to the floor.

“Haven’t you got something more festive?” Without asking for my leave she got up and started to look through my clothes chest. Éowyn herself wore white as usual, a dress with long sweeping sleeves and the skirt embroidered with tiny seed pearls.

“Now this is more like it,” she said, pulling out the dress I had buried at the bottom of the chest.

The dark red silk glowed in the candlelight. A farewell gift of my uncle’s – Steward Denethor, who never did anything without half a dozen reasons, some open, some less so. Lord Húrin’s wife had chosen it for him with her usual impeccable taste and the colour would set off my black hair and fair skin to perfection.

“It’s too rich,” I protested.

“Nonsense!” Éowyn plucked the brown dress from my unresisting fingers and threw it back on the bed. “You are a member of the king’s household now and we have to uphold the honour of Edoras.”

When I still hesitated, she ordered me to stand still and threw the new gown over my head, settling the folds around me. The sleeves were tight fitting, as was the bodice, and the neckline revealed rather more than I was accustomed to.

“After all we do not want Erkenbrand’s daughters to outshine us, do we?” Éowyn said with a chuckle while lacing up the back. I had never seen her so high-spirited before.

“You are in a very good mood,” I observed.

For a moment her clever fingers paused, then she tied the final knot and reached for a hairbrush. “I will go back to attending faltering steps in the morning,” she said in a level voice, “but tonight I intend to enjoy myself. Yule only comes once a year,” she added in an uncanny echo of her brother’s words that afternoon.

And they were right, I decided. Why shouldn’t I too snatch a little happiness in these dark times? And perhaps a dance? Once Éowyn had brushed out my hair in the loose style appropriate to an unwed maiden, I rummaged in the clothes chest and soon found the soft leather bag I was looking for. It contained dancing slippers the exact shade of the dress and an elegant gold fillet to hold back my hair. Denethor had not stinted me.

“My!” Éowyn lifted one eyebrow. “Leofe and Aeffe won’t stand a chance.”

I tossed back my hair and matched her smile. “No.”

Fortunately I had been forewarned; otherwise the dimness that met me when I entered the Hall would have alarmed me. We were amongst the last of the household to assemble there, but courteously people made way for us to pass through to the centre. For the first time since my arrival, the fire burning in the hearth there had been allowed to go out and even as we took our places, servants doused the last remaining torches. All over Edoras lights would be going out at that moment, indeed all over the Mark.

Slowly my eyes adjusted to the darkness. A little starlight still filtered in through the windows set high on the wall and I could make out Éowyn in her white dress. Behind me somebody coughed and the little shuffling noises that a crowd this size made seemed suddenly much louder. Then slow steps approached and I could hear the distinctive tap of a staff on stone. Even without expecting King Théoden I would have recognized his silvery hair and bent stature. Two tall figures accompanied him, one either side, and my heart gave a funny little hiccup at the familiar way one of them moved.

The king stopped in front of the hearth, and his companions helped him to kneel down, whereupon Prince Théodred handed him something. The sharp crack of stone on steel sounded and sparks flew. For a moment all three faces were illuminated, then Éomer caught some of the sparks on a piece of tinder. He blew carefully until the tinder started to glow, before handing it to his uncle. Prince Théodred guided his father’s hand towards the fireplace and together they lit the new fire. The wood had been soaked in oil in preparation, so it caught quickly. Bright light filled Meduseld again, and people clapped and cheered.

One of the servants handed King Théoden a torch, which he lit at the hearth. We all followed behind when he carried it towards the door, where the doorwardens stood ready to pull open the heavy wings. In the square at the bottom of the stairs a huge pile of wood had been stacked up and what looked like the entire population of Edoras surrounded it. Shivering in the cold night air, I stepped to the edge of the terrace. The plains of Rohan stretched into darkness before me and no light anywhere betrayed the habitation of men. In his father’s stead, Prince Théodred descended the stairs, the light of his torch brave and defiant. He thrust it into the wood stack and with a roar the fire caught.

A heartbeat later a light twinkled into existence at the foot of the mountains, then another one further up. My breath hitched in my throat as a chain of bonfires sprang up across the plains. Pinpricks of light in a dark world.

Down below people lit torches from the fire to carry back to their homes, when the call of a horn summoned us back into the hall. Suddenly Éowyn materialized at my side.

“There you are! You can help with the cup bearing.” Not heeding my feeble protests, she pulled me over to one side, where a group of women had already assembled. Háma’s wife, Aescwyn, gave me a welcoming smile and I recognized them for the women of the household.

Éowyn thrust a lavishly decorated drinking horn into my hands and beckoned to a servant to fill it. “Hilda here will accompany you to refill the horn with mead whenever needed.”

The guests had taken their seats and slowly quiet settled on the hall. “But Éowyn,” I whispered, “I have no idea what to do!”

“Just follow my lead and dazzle them with your smile.”

Straightening her shoulders she stepped out onto the central aisle leading down the hall. With their usual politeness the other women motioned for me to go first and perforce I followed her. The table of honour had been set up on the dais with King Théoden presiding in the centre, his son and nephew and the most important guests at his side. A couple of guards stood behind his chair, one of them Wulfstan, Gríma’s favourite. Reminded of the councillor, I looked for him and found him sitting at one end of the table, empty seats on both sides of him.

Then I had to concentrate on Éowyn to make sure I would not make any mistakes. After all, Gondor’s honour rested on my shoulders tonight. She lifted the drinking horn filled with mead, and with a graceful motion presented it to the king.

“Westu Théoden hál!” she said. “Hearth kindler, foe defeater, shield of your people. Receive now this horn and welcome your guests.”

King Théoden took a small sip and handed it back to her. She proffered it to Prince Théodred sitting next to his father and then moved down the table towards the left, greeting each man as he rose to accept the drink.

Hilda nudged me in the back. My turn! I stepped up to face the king. “Westu Théoden hál.” Again he took a sip of mead, but I did not think he saw me. The pupils of his eyes were strangely dilated and he stared into space.

But I had no time to consider the meaning of this, for I had to present my drinking horn to the next man. Marshal Éomer. A splendid sight, he was dressed in a dark green tunic with a sun embroidered on it. He got up to face me and our fingers touched briefly on the finely chiselled silver of the horn.

“Westu Éomer hál.”

He took a deep draught of the mead. “You honour me, my lady.” Perfectly polite words, but all the while his eyes devoured me. Once I would have looked away in confusion, but a reckless mood had come over me. I met his gaze boldly.

Continuing down the table of honour, I presented my horn to Marshal Elfhelm and Háma. Then I joined the other ladies of the household serving those on the lower tables. As I moved amongst them I could sense men’s eyes following me. A fine company had assembled in the Golden Hall, but suddenly the thought came to my mind that for some here it might be their last Yule. Who could say what would happen in the coming year? So I gave each man my best smile, willing him to enjoy the evening as much as I intended to.

Once everybody had been welcomed, Éowyn and I took our seats at the table set aside for the highborn maidens. Later the guests would mingle, but for the meal only wives joined their husbands.

“What happens now?” I asked in a whisper.

“Théodred proclaims the Hunt Queen.”

As if on cue, the prince got up. From where I sat, I could see Erkenbrand’s twin daughters lean forward eagerly. Both of them were clad in identical rose coloured gowns, only the colour of the ribbons in their hair telling them apart.

“Lords and ladies of the Mark,” Prince Théodred began in a deep, carrying voice. “It is my pleasure to honour as Hunt Queen tonight a lady not only quick in thought and sure of aim, but also valiant.”

Sure of aim? Not from what I’d seen of the twins, but then I supposed the prince was being polite.

“A lady,” Prince Théodred continued while he descended the steps from the dais, “who not only took life, but also saved one.”

While I still tried to make sense of that, he stopped in front of me and held out a hand. I think I stared at that hand like a complete simpleton, but then the cheering began. “Please,” I stammered, “I can’t–”

“I insist,” the prince replied, pulling me to my feet.

To much clapping and stomping he led me to the high table. The tale of what I had done that afternoon must have become grossly distorted; there could be no other reason to explain the enthusiastic applause. Even so, I was touched when I saw Master Aethelstan and the other healers beam at me proudly. At the table the prince settled me in the seat between him and Lord Erkenbrand and I managed to steal a quick glance past the king at Éomer, but he would not meet my eyes, all his concentration on an empty drinking cup he turned round between his fingers. My heart sank.

“You do me too much honour,” I told the prince.

“Not at all,” Prince Théodred replied gravely, giving the sign for the meal to be served. “The Rohirrim honour gallantry.” He had a quiet, assured manner, reminding me of my eldest brother, Elphir.

“Princess Lothíriel,” Lord Erkenbrand said from my other side, “Allow me to apologize for my angry words earlier on. I was out of my mind with worry about my wife.”

“You have no need to apologize,” I assured him. “I am just relieved that Ceolwen took no harm. She will be all right, won’t she?”

Lord Erkenbrand nodded. “Yes. We will leave for home first thing tomorrow morning.” He bowed his head in an oddly humble gesture. “Lady Lothíriel, I owe you my wife’s life and that of our unborn babe. If there is ever any service I can render you, you need only ask.”

The whimsical notion to ask him to exchange places with Marshal Éomer came to my mind, but I suppressed it. “Thank you.” Not that there was much likelihood of taking him up on his words.

The servants now carried in trays heaped with food: slices of venison in thick gravy, baked carrots and parsnips, pork pastries and rolls of bread made from the best white flour. I discovered that I was to share a plate with Prince Théodred. This seemed to be traditional, for he offered me the choicest cuts of meat with practised courtesy while asking me about the way things stood in Gondor. He had been to Minas Tirith a few years previously and had met many of the lords of my homeland there, even my own father. The prince asked many questions about Dol Amroth, and as I described the layout of the harbour to him he nodded attentively. I could not help thinking how pleased my uncle Denethor would be with me, could he see me. How ironic that here I was in my prettiest dress, being honoured by the Rohirrim and sharing a meal with their Crown Prince, when I had tried all day to avoid catching his attention. At least I found him easy to talk to, but many of his questions, being about military concerns, defeated me. While I did know the approximate number of soldiers stationed in our province, since I helped my sister-in-law with organising supplies for them, I had no idea as to their armament.

“I’m sorry,” I replied at last when he asked me about the strength and equipment of my father’s cavalry in the garrisons along the coast, “but I really have very little idea about the disposition of our forces.”

“Of course.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Here a beautiful woman honours me with her company and I can do nothing better than question her on matters of war. My apologies.”

I felt sorry for him, for he looked tired and disheartened. A good man caring for his people – it was not his fault that he was twice my age and did not possess his cousin’s charm. Impulsively I smiled at him. “No apology needed,” I told him. “And perhaps you should try and forget your cares, even if only for one night?”

Dangerous advice to offer I realised the moment the words left my lips. Prince Théodred smiled back at me. “Maybe you are right. I am delighted to see you possess wisdom as well as beauty, my lady. A rare combination.”

I thanked him for his compliment, yet I could not help thinking that I would have done better to keep silent just now. A quick glance past him showed Éomer to be deep in conversation with Marshal Elfhelm, his back turned towards us. I concentrated on the sweet course being served and tried to ignore the looks of speculation cast our way from the people sitting at the other tables. Their prince smiling at me had not gone unnoticed and I had the sinking feeling that he smiled only seldom.

At least the nut cakes topped with candied fruit signified the end of the banquet and at the other end of the hall servants began to stack some of the tables against the walls to make room for dancing. As a group of musicians struck up, young men seeking dancing partners descended on Éowyn’s table. I wondered if I could make my escape from the high table, but Prince Théodred showed no sign of tiring of my company.

“Will you tell me more about your homeland?” he asked, refilling my cup. “I have never seen the sea, though I hope to one day.”

So I told him about the exhilaration of going sailing with a following wind and about tides and tempests. Just as I was describing a particularly bad storm we’d had last year, an exclamation of annoyance made me falter. With a loud scrape Éomer pushed his seat back and jumped up. “That bit of slime!”

He strode around the table and down the steps of the dais. Then I saw what had caught his attention: Gríma stood bowing over Éowyn’s hand. The look of disgust on her face showed exactly what she felt about the idea of dancing with her uncle’s counsellor. He looked up when he saw Éomer bear down on him, but seemed frozen to the spot.

Éomer struck his hand away. “Take your paws off my sister, Worm!”

Gríma cringed back. “I only asked for a dance.”

“Éowyn is far above the likes of you.” The words rang across the deathly silence that had fallen on the hall.

His hands curling into fists at his side, Wormtongue looked up at Éomer. I held my breath. Duels had been fought for lesser insults than this. But Gríma seemed to recollect he would stand no chance against such a warrior.

“I’m sorry,” he said, backing away and bowing to Éowyn. “My lady.”

She took her brother’s arm, lifting her chin in disdain. “Get you gone, Worm.”

At the sniggers from the crowd his face paled further, but he bowed again, before stumbling up the steps to the dais to retake his seat. I almost felt sorry for him, but as he passed us I caught a brief glimpse of his face. His eyes glittered with hate.

Erkenbrand leaned towards the prince. “What has got into Éomer? He is in a foul mood!”

“I don’t know.” Prince Théodred watched Éomer draw his sister away for a dance. “We had agreed to be circumspect with Gríma, but then you know my cousin’s temper. Something must have set him off.”

I only listened with half an ear, for I still watched the counsellor. He sat down and downed his cup of wine in a single draught. After snapping his fingers at a servant for a refill, he stared down at the wine broodingly, his hands clenching and unclenching on the fine silver. The way his lips moved soundlessly made me deeply uneasy. I had to talk to Éomer to tell him to be more careful!

I turned to the prince. “Will you excuse me? I would like to go and listen to the bards playing.”

“An excellent idea.” He got up and offered me his arm. “I need to stretch my legs after all this food.”

I had no choice but to accept his company. Stopping at every table for a word with the men sitting there, we made our way down the hall at a crawling pace, while I fretted inside. Spotting Éomer and Éowyn at the edge of a circle of men playing some sort of game, I plucked at Prince Théodred’s sleeve. “What are they doing? Can we have a look?”

“Of course,” he said politely. “It’s a word game popular in the Mark. Somebody starts by giving an expression and then three others will reply to it.”

Not really listening, I nodded impatiently and pulled him over. Éomer looked up when we joined the circle, his eyes fastening on mine as a cat would leap on a mouse. I could not look away. I did not want to.

Suddenly he smiled. “Fire kindler,” he said.

I blinked. What did he mean?

“The king lighting the Yule fire,” said one of the men standing next to him. The others murmured in agreement, and I realized it was part of their game.

“The sun mirrored in a forest pool,” said another one. The lyre in his hands marked him for a bard.

“Enemies crossing the borders of the Mark.” That from a grey haired warrior. “Death dealer,” he gave the next word.

“A pretty woman’s smile!” somebody called from the back and the crowd laughed.

“Eorl the Young riding to the battle of Celebrant,” Prince Théodred put in gravely.

“Flashing hoofs, glittering armour, warriors singing,” said the bard.

And so it went around, some answers predictable, some surprising. Light bringer, heart piercer, honour bearer, word forger. But how was I to get the opportunity to speak to Éomer privately?

“Thirst quencher,” Éowyn cast into the circle.

“Sharing the cup of honour with my men,” Prince Théodred answered next to me.

Was that the only kind of thirst he knew? “A new book,” I found myself saying and Éowyn gave me a funny look.

Éomer took a step forward. “Fair skin, grey eyes, red lips,” he said, looking straight at me, the words ringing like a challenge. Éowyn’s mouth dropped open.

He held out his hand to me. “And now, my lady, I think you owe me a dance.”

Without waiting for an answer, he whisked me out of the circle and away.

A/N: For the game I borrowed the idea of ‘kennings’, an Anglo-Saxon literary device, in which a noun is replaced by a compound name. For example sea = whale road, king = ring giver.

Chapter 10

I stumbled along in Éomer’s wake, my mind spinning wildly. Thirst quencher? He thirsted for me? Surely there could be no other explanation for his words, not the way he had said them. This was no Gondorian courtier offering polite words of admiration to his prince’s daughter; this was a man who knew what he wanted. And intended to have it. Alarm mixed with excitement ran through me as he pulled me into a dance.

To be abruptly replaced by worry of a different kind. “Éomer, I don’t know the steps to this dance!”

Slipping an arm around my waist, he laughed. “It’s easy. Trust me, I won’t let you trip.”

As if I weighed no more than thistle down, he spun me round and into the midst of the other dancers. The fiddlers’ fingers chased across the strings of their instruments and drums beat a rhythm like a racing heart. I was used to Gondor’s stately court dances, their every step prescribed, and faltered at what looked like wild confusion to me. But Éomer guided me along with a firm hand on my back, and I found it was not so difficult after all.

“See,” he said, “I knew you would do fine. So, are you enjoying your first Yule here?”

Breathless, I smiled up at him. It was rather disconcerting how close he held me while we whirled round. “It’s very different from home.”

“I imagine so.” He grimaced. “I’m afraid you had rather a rough introduction to the Mark, but I hope you like it here nevertheless.”

I knew he meant the troubles encountered in Aldburg and Edoras, but I could not help remembering our first meeting. “Yes, it was rough,” I agreed. “A certain Third Marshal nearly made me turn back on the spot.”

That elicited a chuckle from him. “I’m glad you didn’t!”

The dance came to an end just then, but he gave nobody else the chance to claim my hand, glaring at any riders daring to approach me. The musicians downed a quick round of ale and started playing again – a slower tune, similar steps. But I nearly exclaimed in surprise when, after about ten strokes of the music, Éomer took me by the waist and lifted me high in the air. However, all around us the other couples did the same, and I realized it was part of the dance. There was a definite twinkle in his eyes as he set me down on my feet. He had felt my surprise and was enjoying himself!

“After all,” he took up the conversation again, “you’ve saved my skin several times already.”

Abruptly recalling my earlier misgivings, I clutched his arm. “Éomer, I have to talk to you!”

He tensed at my tone. “Why? Has something happened?”

“It’s Gríma–”

“Wormtongue!” he exclaimed and came to a halt. “What did he do? Let me tell you, I do not like it one bit the way he watches you and Éowyn. If he dared to touch–”

“No, no!” I tried to calm him. “Nothing of the sort.” People were staring at us, and I tugged at him to start dancing again.

Reluctantly he complied, but his face betrayed his murderous thoughts. “One of these days I will…”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” I broke in. “Éomer, he hates you! Please be more careful around him.”

His face cleared. “You’re worried about me?” For some reason the thought seemed to please him. “Don’t be, I can take care of myself.”

“You did not see the look in his eyes when you put him down just now. The man is dangerous!”

He shrugged carelessly. “As you said, he hates me anyway. It won’t make any difference if I let him know what I think of him.”

That did not exactly ease my misgivings. “Promise me you will watch your temper with him,” I begged, clasping his arm and looking up at him imploringly.

A sudden grin chased across his face. “Do you know, I think I like it when you worry about me.”

The cheek of the man! He laughed at my outrage, and lifted me in the air again. “But I promise to take care.”

Mollified, I smiled down at him. How exhilarating it was to be swung around so effortlessly!

“And anyway,” he continued, “we agreed to only talk of pleasant things today. Remember our pact? Breaking it carries dire penalties.”

“What sort of penalties?” I asked, amused.

Another turn, lifted again. “Oh, I’ll think of something,” he answered. “Mucking out stables? Patching up more grumpy warriors?”

“That sounds grim,” I agreed.

By now the dance floor was crowded with couples. Both Erkenbrand’s twin daughters had found partners, and I saw Éowyn dancing with one of the young guards she often sparred with. She laughed out loud at something he said, her usual reserve absent. Then with a last flourish the dance finished. We had ended up near the main doors, which stood wide open tonight to allow guests to pass in and out, and suddenly Éomer pulled me towards them.

“Would you like some fresh air?”

“I’m not sure…”

“It will do us good to cool down after the dancing,” he declared.

A couple of Meduseld’s young pages leant against the wall, and after an exchange in Rohirric too quick for me to follow, one of them ran off. With the same autocratic manner as before, Éomer lead me through the doors and out onto the terrace. His smile dared me to protest.

I deigned to let this pass, but lifted my chin, letting him know I would not always be so compliant. The man was entirely too sure of himself! However, when we strolled to the edge of the terrace to have a look at the square below, the night air felt pleasantly cool after the crowded hall. To our right the waning moon was rising behind the mountains, turning the straw roofs of Edoras to spun silver. By now the bonfire had burnt down to a bed of glowing coals, and some of the young men made a game of taking a run-up and jumping across the embers while the girls watched them and clapped.

“Is it safe?” I could not help asking.

“No,” Éomer replied, “but tonight is not a night to think of safety.”

His low, dark voice made me suddenly overwhelmingly conscious of how close to me he stood. Close enough to touch. I stole a glance out of the corner of my eye at him and then quickly looked away when I saw him watching me.

Running steps approached from behind. It was the young page from the hall and he carried a bundle in his arms. “Here it is, my Lord Marshal,” he panted, handing it over.

Éomer smiled at the lad. “Thank you, Caelin. You’re very quick.”

“At your service, my lord!” With a bob of his head the boy took his leave.

Éomer shook out the bundle and with a start I recognized the dark blue wool. “That’s my cloak!”

“Of course. I can’t have you freezing to death out here, you know.”

The confidence with which he took charge not only of my person, but also of my possessions robbed me of my breath. Éomer stepped round my back. “Allow me.” He settled the cloak round my shoulders, and as he did so, his hands brushed against the bare skin of my neck. The faint contact sent a shiver through me.

“See, you’re cold,” he whispered. Sliding his hand under my hair, he pulled it out from under the cloak and with a deft flick let it fall across my back. His hand lingered there, and for a heartbeat the world around us hushed and I was aware of nothing but his presence next to me.

Then a group of revellers spilled out of the hall, laughing and talking loudly. “Have a happy Yule!” they shouted.

At the first disturbance Éomer had interposed himself between the merrymakers and myself, but he relaxed again just as quickly. One of the group, a young woman, carried a basket on her arm. Approaching us, she took something from it and held it out to Éomer. “A Yule bun for you and your lady, my lord?”

He accepted it with a bow. “Thank you.”

With a pert smile she whirled around and the whole lot descended the stairs to join the group around the bonfire, where they were welcomed with loud cheers. Éomer snorted with amusement when he saw somebody lugging out a fresh cask of ale. “They will pay for that in the morning.”

He led me to one of the stone seats where usually the doorwardens held their watch. With the doors to Meduseld open to all guests, they stood empty tonight, although I supposed there were still men on guard around Edoras.

“Would you like to sit down?” Éomer asked. He settled me on the smooth stone bench and then seated himself at the other end. Breaking the bread roll apart, he held out one half to me.

“What is this?” I asked, accepting it.

“A special bun baked only on Yule.” He leaned back against the stone seat, the moonlight illuminating his face. “It is said that two people sharing one will do so again the next year.”

I hesitated in the middle of raising the bread to my lips. Who could say where and in whose company I would be celebrating the next Yule? But I would not think of that. Not tonight. Very deliberately I took a bite of my bun. Sweet and sticky with honey, tasting of cinnamon, cloves and other spices.

Éomer smiled as if he’d been given an unexpected gift and popped his own half in his mouth, his eyes never leaving mine. “Thank you, Lothíriel,” he said.

“What for?”

“For sharing today with me,” he said in a low voice. “For making me forget about war and fighting.” He turned his head and looked out over the plains. “Tell me, Lothíriel, what do you want in life?”

I hesitated. It was the kind of question that could only be asked in the darkness of a star strewn night and it demanded honesty. “Not having to worry about my loved ones all the time,” I answered at last, “marrying a man of my own choosing, having a family one day, I suppose…” Modest wishes. Impossible to fulfil.

He nodded. “Sometimes I dream that the Mark is a place where those who want to live in peace can do so. Where a Third Marshal can settle down to raise horses and fade into obscurity.”

His hair spilled across the backrest next to me, and a strand brushed against my shoulder. The crazy impulse to lace my fingers in it ran through me, taking my breath away with its urgency. I clasped my hands in my lap.

“When I was a child we used to spend part of each summer on the Emnet, in tents,” he went on, “following my father’s horse herds. In the morning we would rise with the sun and in the evenings we’d sit round the campfire and the adults would tell stories. My mother knew the most wonderful tales. We lived very simply, but how I loved those summers.” He looked straight at me. “Lothíriel, do you think you could come to like this land?”

I froze, suddenly afraid of where his question was leading. When I did not answer, he bent forward and picked up my hand, slowly tracing the shape of my fingers. “I know you’re used to more luxurious surroundings, yet you have settled in here so well…”

Panic rose within me, but I felt unable to move. “Éomer–”

With his other hand he cupped my cheek, leaning towards me. “I realize that at the moment I am away from Aldburg very often, but surely, when times are better…”

Some things were impossible, even on a night like this. I took a deep breath, a sob almost. “I can’t.”

He stopped, arrested in mid motion. Desperately I groped for something to say to ease the situation. “You’re breaking the pact. Remember? We agreed not to speak of the future.”

Éomer searched my face, then slowly inclined his head. “Very well, I won’t…at least not tonight.”

His palm still rested against my cheek. Calloused and a little rough, but very warm. I was exquisitely aware of him: the way his eyes had turned to black pools in the moonlight, the slight smell of ale on his breath, how one knee touched my own. His hair had fallen forward and it would be so easy to reach out and bury my hands in it. Heat flushed through me and coiled into a tight knot in my belly. For a heartbeat I teetered on the edge of throwing all caution to the winds and kissing him.

The call of a horn emanated from the hall.

I jumped at the sudden sound, feeling as if I had been forcefully pulled back from a precipice. “What is that!”

Frowning, Éomer lowered his hand. “The call for the Yule cup.”

Without his touch, all warmth drained out of me and I started to shiver. Forlorn, I wrapped my cloak more tightly around me. “What does it mean?”

“It marks the end of the feast. We will have to go back inside.”

He offered me his arm and we returned to the hall. But on the threshold he held me back a moment. “Lothíriel, I’m sorry if I was too bold just now. I would not want to pressure you.”

I shook my head, unable to voice the emotions coursing through me. On one hand I knew I could not escape the bonds of my station and felt relieved that nothing had happened between us, on the other hand that same fact filled me with a maddening regret. But I could not tell him that, so by common consent we threaded our way along the edge of the crowd towards the dais.

“The call has come very early,” Éomer observed as we ascended the steps.

That explained the disappointed faces all around me. Servants were busy carrying in trays of cups filled with ale and started handing them out. When we reached the high table I saw that our goblets had already been filled.

Prince Théodred handed me mine and turned to Éomer. “So you have finally decided to return my Hunt Queen?”

Unabashed, Éomer grinned. “Only because I had to.”

“I had hoped for a dance myself,” the prince added, “before having her so impudently abducted from under my protection.”

Éomer’s eyes glittered with amusement. “It was my turn, cousin. After all, you had her company all through dinner.”

Prince Théodred bowed to me. “But not enough of it. I am deeply disappointed to have been robbed of my chance for a turn on the dance floor with you, my lady.”

Not quite sure how serious his complaint was meant, I smiled back politely. “I would have been honoured to partner you. Maybe another time, my Lord Prince.”

“I will keep you to your word. I saw that you are an excellent dancer.”

“So she is,” Éomer agreed, a bland expression on his face. He seemed very pleased with himself.

Prince Théodred’s eyes narrowed. “And where exactly did you disappear to after the dancing?”

“Lothíriel felt the need for some fresh air, so we went to sit outside the hall for a little while.”

The prince raised one eyebrow. I did not think Éomer’s use of my first name escaped him, and suddenly I wondered who else might have noticed our absence. Perhaps we had not been altogether discreet? Under Prince Théodred’s scrutiny I could feel my cheeks starting to heat up.

Éomer saved me from having to say anything further by changing the topic. “Théodred, why was the end called so early?”

The prince shrugged. “My father’s wish apparently.”

Gríma’s, I thought. The councillor looked rather pleased with himself for spoiling everybody else’s enjoyment of the evening. He was watching Éowyn, whose face held nothing but cold politeness. A sure sign she was hiding some strong emotion – as no doubt Gríma knew as well.

Once all his guests had been served, the king rose from his chair, assisted by his guards. However, it was Prince Théodred who spoke the traditional farewell words in his stead. “Share this cup with me,” he said, “and may good fortune go with all assembled here.”

He lifted his goblet to his lips and drained it in one go. We all followed suit, but after the first sip I nearly choked. So bitter! The ale must have come from near the bottom of the barrel, for it tasted strange. Out of the corner of my eye I looked at the men beside me, but none of them seemed to notice anything amiss. Trying to be polite, I forced another mouthful down, but then had to put the cup aside, hopefully unobserved. A wave of dizziness swept through me.

Fortunately the king retired to his rooms just then and the ladies of the household followed suit. Some of the men were likely to remain talking over a last mug of ale, but the celebration had ended and there would be no more dancing. At the door I threw a last look back. Éomer was watching me. As I had known he would be.

Back in the quiet of my room I took off my cloak and sank down on my bed. Lifting a hand to my cheek, it seemed to me I could still feel Éomer’s touch there. Perhaps I always would.

“What a fool you are,” I whispered to myself.

I had been playing with fire, I realized. And worse, wanted nothing more than to throw myself into the flames. Wanted him to slip his arms around me, to draw me close, to kiss me, to…

I groaned and buried my head in my hands. Fool, fool, fool! The bitter taste of the ale still lingered in my mouth, clashing with the sweetness of the Yule bun, and I could feel a headache forming. When had I lost my heart to the Third Marshal? Listening to him telling me about his childhood while patching up his wound? When he had said goodbye to me in the stables? Or when he had smiled at me on the road to Edoras? In any case, a long time ago and I had closed my eyes to it ever since. Until today.

The thing was, I didn’t even know why I liked him. Quick to lose his temper, he had been authoritarian and highhanded in his dealings with me from the start. I smiled at the memory of our first encounter. Or how he had steered me out of the hall earlier on without giving me the slightest say in it. The man liked to get his way! But at the same time I knew he would never coerce me into anything I did not want – I was safe with him. For some reason I felt more alive in his presence than I had ever felt before. As if something about him struck an answering chord deep in my soul. And he felt the same! Had said as much. Fire kindler. Thirst quencher. He had intended to ask me to marry him, of that I was sure.

Feeling dizzy, I leant back against the headboard of the bed and pressed the palms of my hands against my eyes. What would my answer have been if we had not been interrupted by the call for the Yule cup? To marry him! For a brief moment I indulged myself with the vision of Meduseld filled with guests, my family amongst them, Éomer and me on the dais exchanging vows.

Impossible. My uncle would not allow it. While I might be able to persuade my dear, kind father to give his consent to the match, Denethor would surely refuse. And the Steward of the Realm had to approve any alliance formed by a Prince or Princess of Gondor. Éomer might be of royal blood and his cousin’s heir, but he would be superseded when Théodred married and had children, as he surely would do eventually. Also Éomer rode at King Théoden’s command and had no military force of his own to bring to Gondor’s aid in times of need. As such he was absolutely useless to the Steward - a Steward who increasingly measured everything and everyone, even his own sons, in terms of usefulness. I sighed. Perhaps in less desperate times such considerations might not have mattered, or if there existed other princesses of marriageable age. But I was the only princess of my generation and Denethor would make sure of squeezing the maximum advantage out of such a prize as my hand.

Which left running away with Éomer as the only option. Startled by the thought, I opened my eyes and lowered my hands. Where had that idea come from! To run away and marry him in secret? Slowly I traced the shape of my fingers, just as he had done. Live in Aldburg with him, share his life, his worries, his bed…

Denethor would be livid! But could he do anything? Yes, he could, I realized with a sinking heart. The Steward’s displeasure was not a matter lightly chanced, and he held his grudges with legendary tenacity. Surely he would bring all his influence to bear on having Éomer disgraced – and Wormtongue would be only too pleased to oblige him. Leaving Éomer’s people without their protector. What would he think of me then?

A wave of dismay swept through me. It seemed to me that whatever I chose, I would lose what I wanted most. My head pounding, I got up to wash my face. I needed to clear my mind, to think things through.

A loud knock sounded on the door. One hand on the water jug, I froze. Could it be him?

“Who is it?” I called. To my annoyance my voice came out in a squeak.

“Captain Wulfstan,” the answer came.

I knew the man was one of Gríma’s few adherents amongst the king’s guard. What did he want with me? Deeply uneasy, I crossed the room and opened the door.

“What is the matter?” I asked, drawing myself up to my full height and using my most imperious tone.

His glance flicked over me and I fancied I saw a trace of disappointment. Had he thought to catch me in my nightgown? “Princess Lothíriel,” he answered, “the king wishes to see you.”

The king? At this time? I frowned at Wulfstan. “The hour is late, surely–”

“King Théoden insists,” he interrupted me smoothly, “for the matter is pressing.”

You did not defy a king in his own house. “Very well,” I agreed, motioning him to precede me. We did not meet anybody in the passageway, although the murmur of voices reached me from the door leading to the Hall. Was Éomer still up? The mad impulse to dash in there and seek shelter in his arms ran through me.

I suppressed it.

Chapter 11

With a bow Wulfstan opened the door to King Théoden’s rooms and held it open for me. “If you please, my lady.”

Hesitantly, I crossed the threshold. A soft thud behind me marked the door closing. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I saw that the room was deserted, the king’s chair standing empty. The fire in the grate had burnt down to embers, but as before, the air was stifling hot. What could King Théoden possibly want from me at this hour? Or had I been called at Wormtongue’s instigation? I told myself that surely there wasn’t anything he could do to me in the king’s own quarters, but the thought held little comfort. My slippers sank into the thick furs as I advanced a few more steps, and feeling unsteady on my feet, I stopped.

The door to the king’s bedroom opened, and Gríma emerged. “Ah, Lady Lothíriel,” he greeted me, “how kind of you to come so promptly. I hope the summons did not inconvenience you?”

He too let his glance linger on my body, making me feel exposed in my low cut dress. “Not at all,” I replied, lifting my chin. “The king has asked to see me?”

“Yes, he has.”

However, the councillor did not elaborate, but instead crossed over to a low table that held glasses and a decanter filled with red wine. His back to me, he poured two glasses. He offered me one, but I declined with a polite smile. Not even my good manners could make me accept a drink from his hand.

Gríma took a small sip. “King Théoden is worried about you,” he stated.

“Worried!” I could not believe the king had uttered any such sentiment, dazed as he had been all evening. What did Gríma mean to accomplish by that statement? My headache worsened.

“The king feels he stands in a father’s stead to you, for you are a member of his household,” the councillor explained in such a soft voice that I had to lean forward to catch his words. In the gloom his eyes glittered deepest black, like splinters of obsidian. The only thing alive in his bloodless face, they seemed to exude a strange power, drawing me towards him. I blinked to clear my mind, but was unable to look away.

He took a step forward. “King Théoden is worried you might have been led astray.”

Nonsense, I wanted to say, but somehow my tongue refused to form the word. The room was so quiet that I could sense the slow, rhythmic pulse of my heart. Not even a muffled sound reached us from the corridor, as if the world outside had ceased to exist.

“You are so young,” Gríma said with a kind smile, “and far away from your father’s protection and guidance. Unfortunately there are those who would take advantage of your situation.”

Under his steady gaze I felt my will eroding. I meant to protest that I was perfectly able to look after myself, but could not formulate a coherent sentence. A strange lassitude had spread through me. I wanted to rub my eyes to clear it away, but could not lift my arm, all my limbs felt heavy as lead. How stifling the air was.

He took my hand and caressed it with slow, mesmerizing strokes. “Sadly, some men make a sport of preying on inexperienced maidens like you. They take their pleasure and then abandon them to find a fresh victim.”

Looking into Gríma’s dark eyes, I found myself nodding agreement. In some weird, convoluted way his argumentation made perfect sense. He was right: I had been reckless earlier on and had not behaved in a way my father would approve of. Perhaps I had really let myself be led astray. “Yes,” I whispered. Just saying that single word took an effort.

Gríma smiled his approbation at me. “I knew you’d come to see it my way.” He continued to massage my hand. “What you need, my pretty princess, is a protector.”

“A protector,” I echoed, feeling completely detached from my body, as if I were a mere observer of myself. The edges of my vision blurred and I felt my eyelids drooping.

Gríma slipped an arm around my shoulder. “Why don’t you sit down? You’re tired, aren’t you.”

With slow steps he led me to the chair by the fire. Somewhere in my mind I was aware that I should be worried, but the floating sensation filling me was so pleasant that I simply dismissed the thought. The thick furs on the floor dragged at my feet and I leant heavily on his arm.

“Here you are,” he murmured and settled me into the chair. My legs gave way and gratefully I sank into the soft upholstery, the thick velvet inviting me to lean back and relax. Kneeling by my side, he reached up and removed the gold fillet holding my hair back, dropping it to the floor where it lay on the dark furs, glinting. Released from its bounds, my hair fell forward and he twined a strand round his finger.

“No wonder he desires you, with hair like that,” Gríma said. “What a delightful weakness in our proud Marshal at last.” I did not like the way he licked his lips while he stroked my hair possessively, but could not quite reason out why. How tired I was.

Gríma reached out a hand and picked up the full glass from the table on the other side. “Have some wine,” he urged, closing my fingers over the stem of the crystal goblet. “You did not drink all your Yule cup, did you?”

“It was bitter,” I whispered in explanation.

Leaning over me, he smiled. “This won’t be bitter, it will be sweet. Very sweet.” He rolled the word sweet on his tongue and I found myself watching a drop of spittle clinging to his lips in helpless fascination. A strange medicinal smell emanated from him.

“Sweet and very enjoyable, my beauty,” he whispered and his hand slithered up my arm. “And now you will be a good little girl and drink up your wine.” His forehead shone with perspiration.

“Drink up…” I agreed obediently, my thoughts moving slow as treacle as I lifted the glass. The wine had the colour of dark blood, and I watched the reflections cast by the dying fire in the many facets of the glass with a detached fascination.

“Drink it,” Gríma breathed, his eyes expanding into pools of blackness filling my vision. With one hand he guided the glass to my lips, the other he slid up my throat to cup my cheek. The sound of his rapid breathing filled my ears and his touch felt sweaty against my skin. Drink…

With sudden clarity the memory of Éomer resting his hand in exactly the same spot came to my mind. His hand warm and sure. Through the fog clogging my mind, very slowly a thought surfaced and I frowned. I did not want Gríma to touch me. It was…wrong. Unable to do anything else, I pressed my lips together, while I tried to make sense of what was happening.

He tilted the glass and some of the wine spilled and ran down my throat to be soaked up by the ruffles of my dress. The sickly sweet smell filled my senses. “Stop fighting me!” Gríma said in a furious whisper. “I will have you.”

A spark of defiance kindled deep in my soul. It was wrong! My fingers closed on the glass and I tried to push it away. “No.” I had meant to shout the word, but it emerged as a mere whisper. What had he done to me? How had he captured my will like a bird caught in a snare?

Gríma’s face contorted with anger. “Yes, I will! And Éomer shall know.”

Bright rage flared within me, burning away the bonds enveloping my mind. “Never!” Suddenly I comprehended his plan in all its horrible details. He intended to use me to revenge himself on Éomer! The spell broken, I found that I could move after all. I threw the wine in his face. And when he cursed and jumped back I surged to my feet, feeling like a swimmer surfacing from murky depths to see clear sky again.

“Guards!” I yelled.

Nothing happened.

Gríma laughed and took a step forward, his hands stretched out in claws. “They know better than to interrupt my sport.”

The swine! I raised my hand and broke the heavy glass goblet on the arm of King Théoden’s chair. Then I thrust the jagged remains in Gríma’s face. Caught by surprise, he scrambled backwards and tripped over one of the furs, falling to the floor.

I ran to the door, stumbling in my haste to get there. Grabbing the handle, I looked back a moment. Gríma had made no attempt to get up, but he watched me with eyes filled with malice. My bile rose at the realization of what had so nearly happened, the memory of his hands touching me with such intimacy.

“You will pay for this!” I hissed. “I will see you hanged for what you tried to do to me!”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Tried to do what?” he asked.

The unexpectedness of his reaction caught me by surprise. “This,” I said, motioning at the chair by the fire. “Drugging my wine, trying to ravish me.”

He rolled onto his side and picked up my gold fillet lying on the furs. Twirling it round his fingers, he smirked up at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, my Lady Princess.”

I curled my hands into fists. “Éomer will have your head.”

He shrugged. “So what? The good Marshal has wanted it for some time. But you have no proof. The word of a woman and foreigner against that of the king’s trusted advisor of many years. Who will believe you?”

Éomer would believe me. And he would take action. But perhaps that was exactly what Wormtongue intended? Seeing my momentary hesitation, Gríma smiled. “In fact, if questioned, I will simply say that I caught you sneaking in here and putting something in the king’s glass, only you smashed it when I came in.”

The liar! “Why should I do such a thing?”

“To poison King Théoden.”

The accusation took my breath away. “That’s ridiculous! I have no reason to do any such thing.”

“Ah, but you do,” he answered and sat up. “With our dear, beloved king removed, the Marshal would be one step closer to the throne. He has been very particular with his attentions tonight, and I might not be the only person wondering if perhaps he hopes that a princess from Gondor would bolster his claim. What if he put you up to it?”

“Nobody will believe you. Éomer would never do such a thing!”

“But will the king dismiss such an accusation? Will Prince Théodred?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Becoming Queen of Rohan is a powerful motivation.”

“You are evil!” I flung at him.

“Because I take what I want?” He took my gold fillet in his hands and ran his fingers along its narrow length. “The House of Eorl is like a mighty oak that is rotten inside, and soon a powerful storm will come and topple it. Then those who are ready can take their chances. Do you think the beginnings of your own noble house were any different?”

Was that his plan? To become King of Rohan himself? Then the full ramifications hit me. “And I suppose to lend your claim legitimacy, you will marry the last surviving descendant of the House of Eorl?”

He narrowed his eyes. “That’s none of your business.”

It was my turn to laugh. “Éowyn will slit your throat.”

The gold fillet bent. “She will come to love me!” he hissed. “I will woo her until she sees how much she wronged me and comes to me of her own free will.”

“After killing the brother she adores?”

“It’s all his fault!” Gríma snapped. “He poisons Éowyn’s mind against me.” The fillet dropped to the floor as his fingers clenched and unclenched by his side. “When I first came to Meduseld she used to smile at me, but now she just treats me with contempt.” He looked up at me, and the hate in his eyes took my breath away. “Before I’m finished with our Marshal, I will see him publicly disgraced and he shall lose everything he holds dear in his life. And you will help me, whether you want to or not.”

I wrenched the door open. “Never!” And I fled outside.

In the corridor I found Wulfstan guarding the door. He spun round at my precipitous exit and his eyes widened with surprise when he saw me. Holding out the shards of glass before me, I edged away from him, but he made no move to grab me. Then Gríma called to him, and throwing a last startled glance at me he went inside the room, closing the door behind him.

I sagged against the wall and the glass fell from my nerveless fingers to shatter on the stone floor. My outrage had carried me this far, but now the realization of what had so nearly happened hit me. I started shaking all over. How had Wormtongue managed to trap my will, turning me into his compliant slave? He must have put some kind of potion into my Yule cup! I gagged at the memory of his sweaty hand caressing my cheek, his fetid breath in my face. And it could have been so much worse, this very moment he might be…

Éomer. I wanted Éomer! Wanted to feel safe again, wanted him to put his arms around me and erase the memory of Wormtongue’s touch. Leaning against the wall, I stumbled down the corridor, my only thought to find him and throw myself into his arms. Only to stop when I reached the door leading to the Hall. Gríma’s last words still rang in my ears. Was I doing exactly as he intended? The door stood slightly ajar, and when I peered through the opening I saw Éomer sitting at a table, talking to Marshal Elfhelm and Lord Erkenbrand. The urge to run to him nearly overwhelmed me, but by an effort of will, I stopped myself. What if I was playing right into Gríma’s hands?

Behind me the door to King Théoden’s chambers opened, and Wulfstan emerged. I pressed myself against the wall to hide in the shadows. But he never looked my way, instead hurrying down the corridor towards the small guardroom situated at the other end. A moment later he returned with six guards in tow whom he let into the king’s apartments.

I closed my eyes. What would happen if I went inside the hall and told Éomer what Gríma had just tried to do to me? I could see it clear as day. His temper would take over and he would storm into the king’s rooms, demanding justice. To be met by armed guards. And whether he fought them or not, the outcome would be the same: shame and disgrace. The Marshal’s weakness, Gríma had called me. And he had been right. By staying in Rohan I had become a sharpened dagger held against Éomer’s throat. Whenever he wanted to, Gríma could carry through his threat and accuse him of angling for the throne by marrying a princess from Gondor. I did not even know for sure if Prince Théodred would think his cousin innocent. True, their banter had sounded easygoing, but the fact remained that the prince would be Éomer’s liege one day. And he might not be too pleased to have the prize offered to him by Denethor snapped up by another man. As for King Théoden, he would believe whatever lies Wormtongue fed him.

I leant my head against the carved doorframe, thinking that I should have returned home to Dol Amroth with Dirhael when I’d had the chance. A tear slid down my cheek and I wiped it away angrily. What a fool I’d been to think I could make a difference here! Slowly I traced one of the carvings on the frame – a horse, his head thrown back in a neigh, nostrils wide, mane flowing in the wind. Eorl at the battle of Celebrant. Would I witness the fall of his house as Gríma had predicted?

For a long time I stood leaning against the doorframe, feeling like an animal cornered by hounds, with no way to run. The hour was late and the whole of Meduseld was asleep, except for the three men in the hall. I listened to the murmur of their voices, unable to distinguish individual words, but recognizing with utter certainty Éomer’s deep tones whenever he spoke. His weakness.

I had to leave Edoras. But where could I go? Return to Gondor? Without an escort and against the Steward’s wishes? I risked another glance through the door. Éomer was explaining something to Lord Erkenbrand, gesturing and using their empty tankards to illustrate a point. He threw back his head in laughter at something the other man said, and I had never in my life wanted to do anything as much as to run to him. It seemed to me that he should somehow sense my desperation, sense me standing so close to him, yet so far away. That moment he frowned and looked around. Hastily I retreated further into the shadows, although he could not possibly see me. By some freak chance the next words carried clearly to where I stood.

“What is it?” Lord Erkenbrand asked.

“Nothing,” Éomer answered. “I just thought I heard somebody call my name.”

How much I needed him. But I would not be used to bring about his undoing. I leant against the cold wall and closed my eyes, for I knew that if I looked at him again my resolution would fail. There was still one course left I could take to get out of Gríma’s clutches. Even if it broke my heart.

So I straightened up, and wiped my face on my wine-soaked sleeve. Now I needed to find a page to fetch Lord Erkenbrand. The Lord of the Westfold owed me a favour.

Chapter 12

I hardly slept at all that night, and when towards dawn I finally slipped into a fitful slumber, my dreams were troubled by pale faces leering at me. Far too early, one of the maids woke me. Not that I complained - after all I had asked Lord Erkenbrand to arrange for an early wake-up call. Grimly I set about packing.

Smallclothes, chemises, a nightgown, riding jacket and skirts, my second best boots, three woollen dresses. My healer’s satchel of course, and the small purse of gold coins that Dirhael had given to me for my expenses before leaving. The books would have to stay behind, I realized with a pang, as I needed all the room in my saddlebags for my warm clothes. I traced the embossed spines for one last time before putting them aside. From the desk, Éomer’s carved horse watched me accusingly.

Impulsively I tossed Felaróf on top of the growing pile on the bed. “You’re coming with me!”

In the corner by the door, my red dress lay like a pool of congealed blood where I had thrown it last night. One thing I did not need to pack, I thought with a shudder, for I had no intention of ever wearing it again.

Sooner than I would have thought possible I was ready, and summoned a page to carry my bags out for me. He went on ahead, but I lingered to pick up my cloak and have a last look at my room. Over the last months it had become home to me, and I would miss it. The cushioned window seat so comfortable for reading one’s books, the bed where I had laboured over my kites for many an hour, the chair by my desk where he had sat while I dressed his wound. Pushing that last memory firmly away, I turned to leave. I could not afford any weakness now. At the last moment I snatched my bow from its resting place on the weapons stand. Although there was little likelihood of needing it again.

In the hallway I ran into Éowyn. My heart sank, for I felt guilty for abandoning her to face Wormtongue’s wiles all on her own. But what else could I do? Surely seeing her brother accused of plotting to seize the throne for himself would be even worse.

“Lothíriel!” she called. “The servants have told me you are leaving. Surely they are mistaken?”

“No, they’re not,” I replied, aware of many curious glances cast my way. “Ceolwen has been so kind as to invite me for a visit to the Westfold.”

“But so sudden!”

I took her arm and drew her down the corridor. “I know. However, I might not get another chance to see that part of the country, so I decided to take her up on her offer.” The excuse sounded horribly thin.

Éowyn did not think much of it either. “What do you want to do there?” she asked. “And in the middle of winter of all times.”

I shrugged evasively. “I’ve read a lot about the fortress of Helm’s Deep and would like to see it for myself.”

We had reached the door leading to the terrace, but Éowyn held me back. “Lothíriel, have you told Éomer you’re leaving?”

“No.”

“But-”

“Éowyn,” I interrupted her, “I do not have to account to your brother for my actions.”

“But I thought… you spent the whole evening together yesterday… perhaps you reached some kind of understanding?”

“Really, Éowyn,” I laughed, doing my best to sound like the spoilt court ladies I had met in Minas Tirith, “your imagination is running away with you. We just shared a dance!”

She stared at me. “It was more than that. The way he called you his thirst quencher!”

“You’re attaching too much importance to a silly game,” I told her.

Éowyn tightened her grip on my arm. “How can you say that! I’ve never before seen him look at a woman in such a way.”

For a moment I forgot the role I was playing. “No?”

“Certainly not!” she exclaimed. “You can’t be serious to be leaving with Théodred. What will Éomer think of you?”

Trust Éowyn to cut to the heart of the matter. Yet I could not possibly explain my true reasons to her and expect her to keep silent about them to her brother. No, I could not tell her, or Gríma would surely carry through his threats.

“Éowyn, nothing happened between us last night,” I lied to her ruthlessly, hoping she could not see the truth in my eyes. “You are reading too much into a harmless little flirtation. I’m sorry to be leaving you so suddenly, but it’s for the best.”

“A flirtation!” She let go of my arm in disgust. “I can’t believe it. You’re nothing but a heartless Gondorian princess out for another conquest! I had thought better of you.”

That hurt, but I could not afford to let her see it, so I just shrugged. “No harm done.”

For a moment I thought that she would strike me, but instead she whirled round and ran back down the corridor. Wiping a tear from the corner of my eye, I watched her go. Why did it feel as if I had betrayed her when I was only doing the right thing? Straightening my back, I went out the door.

Icy wind whipped around me and snowflakes stung my cheeks, falling from a sky the colour of lead. Wrapping my cloak tightly around me, I made my way along the side of the Hall and down the stairs. In the courtyard stable lads were leading the horses up and down to keep them warm. I saw Lord Erkenbrand with his arm around Ceolwen, talking to Prince Théodred, but no sign of Éomer. He had stayed up late the night before, maybe he was still abed? Even though the thought was cowardly, I could not help hoping that we would be gone before he got up.

Spotting one of the grooms leading Nimphelos out of the stable, I went to relieve him of the reins and retired to a quiet corner while the riders sorted themselves out. Then the doors to Meduseld opened and Éomer came striding down the stairs. Wearing a green surcoat over his hauberk and carrying his helmet under his arm, he looked impossibly handsome. Quickly I sought shelter behind Erkenbrand’s daughters, turning Nimphelos so she stood between me and the courtyard. Leofe and Aeffe gave me hostile looks, but I could not be bothered with them. That moment I would have given anything in the world to be safely at home in Dol Amroth, leagues away from this place.

Had Éowyn told him yet? But when I risked a quick glance, I saw him clap his cousin’s shoulder, smiling and relaxed. His squire Cnebba handed him Firefoot’s reins and he thanked him with a cheerful grin. Wondering if I could somehow escape his notice in the crowd of riders, I edged towards the exit of the square, but I had not reckoned with Nimphelos. Just as I had started breathing again, she threw up her head and neighed loudly. Across the courtyard, Firefoot slewed round, nearly pulling the reins from his master’s hand. Éomer cursed good-naturedly at his stallion’s antics and glanced round. Our eyes met.

I ducked behind my mare’s back, but it was too late. Without even looking I knew he was heading my way, and sure enough a moment later the sound of hoof beats approached and Nimphelos snorted loudly in greeting. I busied myself inspecting a stirrup.

“Lothíriel? Are you going to accompany us part of the way? Oh, and last night I found something that belongs to you.”

My mind went blank. I knew I should tell him that I was leaving, but no words came. I couldn’t even force myself to look at him, instead I stared at Nimphelos’s saddle, committing every slight scratch on the leather to my mind, every stain, every uneven stitch.

“Lothíriel?” Éomer asked again and the concern in his voice nearly undid me. “Is something the matter?”

He reached out a hand to touch my shoulder and I shrank away from him. At the same time the impulse to fling myself into his arms nearly overpowered me. I realized then that I would have to be quick. Quick and ruthless as a surgeon cutting off an infected limb.

I forced myself to meet his eyes. “I am leaving for Helm’s Deep.”

“Leaving!” He let the reins go slack and at once Firefoot took the opportunity to nibble Nimphelos’s neck. The mare huffed softly.

“Ceolwen has invited me to stay with her,” I explained.

“But whatever for?”

“I would like to see the fortress of Helm’s Deep for myself.” Trotting out the excuse for the second time did not make it sound any more convincing.

Éomer shook his head as if he could not quite believe my words. “You never mentioned this to me yesterday. And neither did she.”

“I did not think it necessary.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me that all the while that you were dancing with me and talking to me last night, you knew you would be leaving the next day?”

“No!”

I could not bear to have him think me so dishonest. But at the same time I had to keep him from suspecting the real reason for my precipitous departure ­- or I would just play into Gríma’s hands.

“It was a sudden decision,” I temporised.

Éomer seemed to be thinking furiously. “When did you decide?” he demanded to know.

How I wanted to spill out the whole story to him and find comfort in his arms. But I told myself that if I truly loved him, I would do whatever necessary to keep him safe – no matter what he thought of me. So I did my best to let the cold of the winter day leach into my voice.

“I do not see how that concerns you, my lord.”

At my formal tone he flinched as if I had hit him. His face hardened. “I have to know. Did you take this decision after you retired?”

Why should he ask that? But there seemed to be no point in denying it. “Yes, I did. I visited Ceolwen for a chat before going to bed.” The lie left a vile taste in my mouth.

“Did you,” he whispered, and his hand went to a pocket of his trousers to clutch something. He shook his head again, very slowly, as if in denial. “I thought I knew you, Lothíriel. I thought you were…”

His voice petered out and I had to grip my arms to keep myself from flinging them around his neck. The Marshal’s weakness…the mocking words still echoed in my ears. So I kept still - but my chest hurt as if it were filled with shards of ice instead of a beating heart.

Then he looked straight at me. “My Lady Princess, I am not stupid and I can tell a liar when I meet one. Master Aethelstan gave Ceolwen a sleeping draught and she would have been fast asleep by that time. There is no way you could have spoken to her.”

My falsehood so mercilessly exposed, I opened and closed my mouth, not knowing what to say. How often had Amrothos told me I was hopeless at lying!

As heat flooded my cheeks, Éomer gave a curt laugh. “Oh yes! I think you went to see somebody else last night to get your invitation to visit the West Mark.”

He withdrew his hand from his pocket and gold glinted in the pale winter light. My hair band! I recoiled as if he’d offered me a snake.

“What? Where did you get that?”

“On my way to bed last night. I found it lying on the floor…” He rubbed a finger across the small bend Wormtongue had made. “…outside Théodred’s door. You were careless, my lady, and must have dropped it there. Did you have a nice cosy chat with my cousin?”

I opened my mouth for a hot denial, only to close it again. Trapped! How could I explain the whole affair satisfactorily without detailing my encounter with Wormtongue? And that would of course only lead to the confrontation between the two men that I had been trying so desperately to avoid.

Éomer watched me closely. When I did not answer, he nodded to himself. “Well, quite clearly Yule is over. I suppose I ought to thank you that you granted a lowly Marshal like me a day of your precious time, my Lady Princess.”

Cold rage rang in his voice and I knew he would have liked to grab me and shake me hard. Yet strangely enough his temper did not frighten me – nothing he could do to me was as bad as what I was doing to myself.

To keep quiet was the hardest thing I had ever done in my life. But though it felt as if my heart was slowly being torn to shreds, I inclined my head in my most regal manner. “The honour was mine.”

“Honour?” Éomer put on his helmet, his eyes burning with fury behind the narrow slits. “What would you know of it?”

I bowed my head, aware that I deserved his cutting words for my lies, and pulled the edges of my cloak tighter around me. The cloak he had given me, I realized, as he looked me up and down in disgust.

“Do you want your cloak back?” I asked.

“Keep it. It was a gift, given freely,” he snapped. “I will consider it the price for the lesson learnt today. And now I won’t interfere with your plans any longer.”

He took Firefoot’s reins, but the stallion had other ideas. Laying back his ears, he reared, no doubt wanting to stay with his ladylove. Éomer had none of it. With brutal efficiency he forced the stallion down and pulled him round to leave.

“Please be careful,” I whispered, but I don’t think he heard me. Or if he did, he gave no sign of it.

Something made me look up to the entrance of the Hall that moment. The doors stood open and it seemed to me I could spot a movement in the shadows there. Was Gríma watching us and enjoying himself? I had intended to scotch his plans, but instead he had managed to twist my actions to hurt Éomer. True, Wormtongue could no longer use my presence as a means to provoke him, but it felt like a hollow victory. Sick to the stomach with disgust at my own lies, I swung into the saddle. Soon after, Prince Théodred gave the sign to depart, and under Éomer’s stony eyes we filed out of the courtyard.

Down at the gates we picked up the rest of our escort, the prince’s own éored, before crossing the Snowbourne and taking the Great West Road. Only once I allowed myself a look back at the other party of riders making their way in the opposite direction at speed. Even now my heart urged me to turn Nimphelos round and gallop after him, insisting everything would be all right if I did so. As if he would ever believe me! It seemed to me that an invisible cord connected us, stretching thinner and thinner with every pace my mare took away from him, but never quite snapping. Grateful for the icy wind, I drew up my hood and huddled deeper into my cloak. It did not warm me.

***

I do not remember much of the rest of that day. Prince Théodred was anxious to get back to the West Mark and set a fast pace. He dropped back to my side once, but I answered his polite enquiries with monosyllables and after a while he gave up and spent the rest of the journey riding at the front. Leofe and Aeffe threw me puzzled looks at my odd behaviour, but I just ignored them.

We spent that night at a small hamlet, its houses huddled against the mountainside, and early the next morning we set off again. Far ahead and to the north of us, the Misty Mountains drew nearer, all but their snowy peaks shrouded in clouds, while ahead of us an arm of the Ered Nimrais reached out for them. It was crowned by three jagged peaks, their slopes so steep that they remained dark and bare of snow even in the depth of winter. Here we turned south to enter the Westfold Vale, Lord Erkenbrand’s domain. It was a fertile land and many homesteads dotted it, surrounded by small orchards and fields lined with low hedges. A narrow gorge led up into the hills and we followed the swift running stream that had carved it, the road rising slowly but steadily.

Miserable with cold and tired from too little sleep, I felt as if we would never reach our destination, but finally a large dike loomed up before us. The road led upward through a wide breach and as I raised my eyes I beheld the Hornburg. It lay in shadow, for the sun had already set behind the sheer mountain cliffs, a tall, forbidding tower surrounded by high walls, built close against the side of the Deeping Coomb. A mighty wall stretched across from it to the southward side of the valley, smooth and overhanging like a wave turned to stone at the moment of cresting.

In my books I had read that the Sea Kings of Gondor had built this fastness and indeed the stones were joined in the same seamless manner as those of the palace of Dol Amroth. But there the similarity ended. Where my home had wide, lofty windows open to the sea breeze, here they were mere slits in the thick walls. And instead of white walls carved with graceful vines and flowers, grey stone met us, unadorned and forbidding. A causeway led across the stream and up to the gates of the castle and we entered a small cobbled courtyard where we dismounted and had grooms lead our weary horses to the stables.

Ceolwen had started to droop in the saddle for the last few miles and Lord Erkenbrand unceremoniously swept her up and carried her inside. Saddle-sore and stiff with cold, I watched enviously, before following them into the hall of the burg. A large fire burnt in the central hearth, but did not warm the lofty room. Sitting down at the head table, I shivered as a draught from the door behind me ran down my back and I gratefully accepted a bowl of hot soup from one of the servants. They seemed flustered by the influx of so many travellers, though surely they must have known of our coming.

Lord Erkenbrand had taken his wife to their quarters and soon afterwards Prince Théodred excused himself to receive reports from his scouts, which left me in the company of the twins. Still feeling cold, I wanted nothing so much as to crawl into my bed, so I asked them whether they could show me my room.

Aeffe – I still could not tell them apart, but she told me her name – volunteered to do so and led me up a steep winding staircase to the upper levels of the tower. Here servants were readying a chamber for my use, sweeping it out and putting new sheets on the bed.

Aeffe pushed open the small window and gestured at the view hidden by the gathering darkness. “The room faces south, towards The Narrows.”

I remembered something I had read in a book and my curiosity was piqued despite my tiredness. “Is it true you have extensive caves here?”

She nodded. “Yes. Nowadays we just use them for storage, but they serve as a refuge in times of war. Helm Hammerhand held out against the Dunlendings here for the whole of the Long Winter.”

A chill ran down my spine, not entirely caused by the icy air entering through the open window. In my haste to get away from Edoras I had never once considered that I had moved much closer to the smouldering conflict on Rohan’s western border. In fact Isengard lay little more than a day’s ride away. But then I shook my head. This fortress had been built by my own people and with a single purpose: defence. It would take much more than a few marauding orc bands to threaten it.

The servants scattered fresh rushes on the floor before withdrawing, whereupon Aeffe took her leave as well. After a cursory wash I quickly slipped between the sheets of my bed, for the fire had not yet managed to warm the room. Watching shadows flicker across the high stone ceiling, I thought of my cosy room in Edoras with longing. I would miss it and also the people there. Éowyn dragging me down to the practice grounds each morning, Aethelstan discussing herb lore, my dependable shadow Beorngar and the children full of enthusiasm for their kites.

I turned over onto the side, trying to find a comfortable position. But the pillow was too hard, the mattress lumpy, the sheets rough. I sighed. Whom was I fooling? All that would not matter in the least if only I were with Éomer. I wondered what he was doing that moment. He should have got home to Aldburg the day before, so would probably be sitting in the hall with his men, unless he had been called away on patrol already. I hugged the pillow to my chest. Wherever he was, for certain he would not be thinking kindly of me. Would I ever get the opportunity to explain my reasons for leaving Edoras to him? And would he forgive me? My only consolation was to hold on tightly to the thought that although he might despise me, at least he was safe. And that was all that mattered, I told myself fiercely while brushing away a traitorous tear.

I put my fingers to the spot on my cheek where his hand had rested so briefly. Regret filled me that I had not kissed him when I’d had the chance. What would it feel like to have his lips touching mine? One of Amrothos’s more daring friends had once kissed me in one of the arbours of the Dol Amroth palace gardens, but I had the sneaking suspicion that Éomer’s kisses were of a different order to poor Belegund’s.

I closed my eyes and pictured Éomer slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me close. And then I would lift my face to him and he would bend over me and… Delightful warmth spread through me.

I bit my lip. Fool! It was not a sensation I would ever experience now. The sooner I forgot about the Marshal the better, I told myself as I drifted off to sleep.

Fool…

Chapter 13

I woke up the next morning with an aching throat, a running nose and a head that felt as if it had been stuffed with wool overnight. It was the last straw: I turned my face to the wall and decided I wanted nothing more to do with this cold, inhospitable country. If only I were a bird and could fly home over the mountains to Dol Amroth and my family!

One of the servants came to bring me a jug of warm water for a wash, and I persuaded her to fetch me some soup. The rest of the day I spent alternately dozing and tossing around in bed trying to find a comfortable position, for my whole body ached with ague. Having heard from the servants about my illness, Aeffe looked in at some stage with a pot of willow bark tea, which I accepted gratefully. Yet just exchanging a few words with her exhausted me and I was glad to be left alone again.

The night brought no rest, but only fitful sleep, plagued with nightmares. Again and again Gríma stalked my dreams, looming over me, his clammy hands roaming all over my body. Then in the darkest hour of the night I woke up drenched in sweat from a vision of Éomer lying dead on a battlefield, his face pale and cold. Dark mist swirled around us and next to him lay a banner, the white horse trampled and torn. The image was so vivid, I could see his armour hacked to pieces, could see the engraving on the sword he still clutched in his hand. In the dream I grabbed him and shook him, but he gave no answer and I knew with horrible finality that I had never kissed him. Somehow that seemed to be the most important thing in the world.

Sobbing with heartbreak, I decided to stay awake and piled up all my cushions behind me to sit up in bed. Not until the first pale fingers of dawn stole across the sky did I nod off, trusting to the daylight to keep my nightmares at bay. In the end I slept most of the morning away, but felt no better for it. The day passed slowly, the only change was a persistent cough added to my other ailments. At dusk one of the maids offered to fetch me a meal, but my appetite had deserted me and I wanted nothing but tea. I was exhausted, as if I had ridden hard all day instead of having spent it in bed, and I could feel my eyelids beginning to droop. But I struggled to stay awake, afraid of experiencing the same nightmares again. Then I had an idea and got up laboriously. One of the maids had unpacked my clothes and put them away in a chest, but the rest of my things remained in the saddlebags. I found Felaróf at the bottom and put him on the small table by my bed to watch over me. Only then was I finally able to slip into sleep.

I awoke the next morning after a night of unbroken rest, feeling almost human again. As I sat up in bed I noticed that I no longer ran a temperature and my cold had receded. Perhaps life was worth living after all. That moment a knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” I called, thinking it one of the maids.

But to my surprise, Ceolwen entered the room, followed by an elderly man.

“Lady Lothíriel, how are you?” she asked, breathing heavily from the climb. “I have brought Master Herewald to see you, he’s our healer.”

“Oh, you needn’t have bothered,” I exclaimed. “I am much better today.”

The man regarded me sourly. Tall and thin, he had his greying hair cut short, unusual for the Rohirrim, and wore a faded brown tunic. “I told you so,” he said to Ceolwen, “just a cold. Nothing to worry about.”

I was just about to say that it seemed remarkable that he would offer a diagnosis without even having seen me, when a coughing fit shook me.

Ceolwen drew herself up. “My husband was worried about the princess. Surely now that you’re here, you might as well examine her.”

Reluctantly Herewald crossed to the bed and took my wrist to feel my pulse. A quick look at my tongue, a brush across my forehead and he pronounced me on the way to recovery. When I had to cough again he extracted a bottle from his satchel and poured a measure of viscous dark syrup into an empty mug.

“Drink this up,” he ordered me impatiently when I regarded the evil looking concoction dubiously.

I took a cautious sip. Revolting! “What is this?” I asked, gagging.

He folded his arms across his chest. “One of my own preparations. Extract of fresh pine shoots.”

That explained everything. “I’m not having any of this,” I declared, pushing it away. “You could at least improve the taste with honey.”

His face suffused with red. “What would you know of it! I won’t waste precious honey just to make my potions more palatable.”

Ceolwen smiled placatingly. “We have plenty of honey in our storerooms. Should I see if I can find some for the princess?”

“Nonsense,” Herewald declared. “I do not believe in mollycoddling my patients.”

My head had started pounding again and suddenly my patience snapped. Why couldn’t he leave me to be miserable on my own!

I sat up straighter in bed and glared at him. “Do you believe in healing your patients, Master Herewald?”

Flustered, he took a step back. “Of course.”

“Well, you make a pretty poor job of it,” I told him in my haughtiest voice. “I for one will dispense with your services.”

When he just stared at me stupidly, I nodded towards the door. “You are dismissed.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Yes I can,” I said, borrowing the silky tone my uncle used with miscreants. Though I had never had it directed at myself, I had often enough witnessed Amrothos being reprimanded.

Somewhat to my surprise it worked. Herewald muttered something about ungratefulness, but he backed out the door quickly. Exhausted I leant back against my cushions. Even so I actually felt better than I had for quite a while – ever since I had left Edoras in fact.

The bed sagged as Ceolwen sat down on it. “You’ve dismissed Master Herewald!” She sounded incredulous.

“With great pleasure.” A thought struck me. “Now I just have to see that I do not get worse again.”

Ceolwen grimaced. “You would never hear the end of it. Herewald is a good healer really, but he expects you to pay strict attention to his instructions.” She stroked her swollen belly. “Although I suppose he was right that I should not have ridden to Edoras in my condition.”

I looked at her in alarm. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“No, no,” she waved my concern away. “Just tired.” She sighed. “I know that I’m pregnant, not ill, and that thousands of women have given birth before me without causing a fuss about it, but I’m just so tired all the time.”

Fuss! I thought of the birth I had attended in Edoras, of the hard work and the pain involved. Indignation rose within me. “Did Herewald tell you that?”

She nodded.

“Well, he should try it out himself!” I exclaimed. “Then maybe he would change his tune.”

The image of the tall, gangly healer big with child actually made me forget my troubles for a moment and I grinned.

Ceolwen grinned back, but then she suddenly turned serious again. “Lady Lothíriel,” she began hesitantly, “may I beg a favour from you?”

“What kind of favour?” I asked back, startled that she would want anything from me. From what I had seen so far, her husband adored her and would do anything for her.

Not quite meeting my eyes, she smoothed out the quilt covering my bed. “It’s the ledgers…”

“What ledgers?”

“Those of the household. And Théodred’s.” She swallowed. “I am supposed to keep them for him, but it’s just so complicated! And I thought that as a princess you would know what to do…”

My heart sank at the hopeful look she directed at me. My least favourite occupation! I had spent many a boring hour adding up columns of figures and learning about different ways to manage households, for my father had insisted that a Princess of Gondor should know how to run anything from a smallholding to an entire province. Fortunately Aerin, my sister-in-law, was such an able administrator that she required little help in dealing with Dol Amroth.

I shifted uncomfortably, thinking that surely I had enough troubles on my mind just now without taking on any additional burdens. “Haven’t you got somebody else you could ask?”

“Yes of course.” Ceolwen got up. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, my lady. I will manage somehow.”

But her drooping shoulders as she turned to leave told a different story. Suddenly I realized I was not the only person in the world having a difficult time and felt ashamed for my self-pity. “Wait!”

She looked round. “Yes?”

“I can try,” I told her, “but I don’t know if I’m going to be much of a help.”

Ceolwen’s face lit up. “Thank you! I’m sure together we will manage.” She sat down on the bed again and squeezed my hand. “I did all right at first when it was just the Hornburg I had to run, but now Théodred has made his headquarters here and he has so many men! And I want my husband to be proud of me.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “I shouldn’t have gone to Edoras! They ran out of flour and had no bread for two days because of me and now Erkenbrand will be so disappointed.”

I patted her hand, alarmed to see her so agitated. “He will understand, after all he loves you. And we’ll make sure it won’t happen again.”

Nodding, Ceolwen wiped a tear away. “Thank you, Lady Lothíriel.”

I smiled at her encouragingly. “Please call me Lothíriel.” But inwardly I sighed. It seemed to be my fate to help with the running of other women’s homes. Would it feel different if I were the lady of the household? To preside over say…Aldburg?

Resolutely I squashed that useless thought and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. “We will start tomorrow. But now I want to get dressed, I have spent enough time in bed.”

Ceolwen rose, too. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

Though my head felt dizzy, I waved her concern away. “I will manage.” I eyed Herewald’s cough syrup. Unfortunately it seemed to work pretty well, so I would probably have to drink the rest of it. “Honey,” I decided. “I want a lot of honey.”

She laughed. “I will send a maid to get you some. And also something to eat.”

The next day we settled down in Ceolwen’s study, a large sunny room just above the family quarters. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with books of tidily bound ledgers, and I started by taking out the most recent ones. The problem very soon became apparent to me: the accounts for the running of the Hornburg and those of Prince Théodred’s forces were hopelessly mixed up. In Dol Amroth, my sister-in-law kept three different sets of accounts, one each for the family’s private funds, the running of the province and Steward Denethor’s forces. How often had she drummed it in to me not to mix them up!

I started to leaf backwards through the volumes. A couple of years ago, when Ceolwen had first started keeping the records, Théodred’s forces had numbered no more than his personal éored. Now they totalled fifteen times that number. I stared down at the figures and for the first time I realized the magnitude of the threat Rohan faced on its western border. All my life the shadow in the East had loomed over Gondor, dominating our thoughts, so I had paid little attention to the mention of this new enemy. But would the Rohirrim be able and willing to ride to our aid with Saruman waiting to pounce on them? Suddenly my personal problems seemed of very little account compared to the potential disaster facing us. And there was nothing I could do about it!

To distract myself, I browsed further back. Whoever had kept the ledgers before Ceolwen had not really grasped the correct method either. However, the next volume, written in an elegant hand, had all the columns listed neatly side-by-side. I saw it dated from seven years ago.

“Do you know whose handwriting this is?” I asked.

Ceolwen hardly glanced at it. “Aethelwyn’s.”

“Couldn’t you ask her for help? She did a very good job with these.”

“She’s dead.” When I stared, surprised by her terse words, Ceolwen grudgingly explained further. “Aethelwyn was Erkenbrand’s first wife.”

“Oh!”

“She died five years ago.” Ceolwen picked up a quill and began dismembering it methodically. “They say the twins are the very image of her.”

And did Aethelwyn still throw her shadow on the household? I began to see why Ceolwen had asked a comparative stranger for help, rather than somebody from the Westfold. But I had grown up the daughter of the woman known simply as the Pearl of Belfalas. My mother had died giving birth to me and I knew all about trying to live up to an unreachable model.

“We’ll start at the beginning,” I said.

Several times during the next few days I wished for my sister-in-law’s presence, but finally by our combined efforts we managed to get the accounts into some semblance of order. The next step was to do an inventory of the goods stored in the caves behind the Hornburg, for nobody really knew what exactly they held. For that I enlisted the help of Aeffe and Leofe and several women of the household, for Ceolwen was too big with child to go climbing about the caverns. I had expected the twins to complain about the menial work, but they actually seemed to enjoy helping. It took us five days to do a full inventory, and on the way back to the Hornburg one evening Leofe confided to me that she liked being useful for a change.

Like all of us she was grimy with dust, and had a bruise from stumbling over a rock in the dim light, but she grinned at me. “This is so much better than sitting around and doing embroidery.”

“Or waiting for a suitor to show up,” Aeffe threw in caustically from behind.

I had not realized before how confining their lives might be, and began to see them in a new light. With Ceolwen running the keep, they had few duties to fulfil except to assist with offering cups of mead at feast days. So when some days later they asked me if I wanted to accompany them on a ride, I agreed readily. Prince Théodred and his men had left the day after we arrived to patrol the Fords of Isen, but the Hornburg still held a full garrison and Lord Erkenbrand detailed some riders to escort us.

Once we got out of the narrow ravine of Helm’s Deep and into the more open Westfold Valley we went for a gallop. To have the sky stretch above me felt wonderful, but when we had to return the mountains closed in on us again, cooping us in. It seemed almost like a physical weight bearing down on me and I thought how the Hornburg might be Rohan’s safest fortress, but I much preferred Edoras with its vista of the plains.

Days stretched into weeks and slowly I settled into a new routine, assisting Ceolwen with running the household and going for rides with the twins. They were excellent horsewomen and though I caught them glancing at me curiously every now and again I enjoyed their company. With my books left behind in Edoras, I had few other matters to occupy me, for after my abortive meeting with Master Herewald I did not think he would welcome an offer of assistance from me. Rumours of deepening trouble reached us, of Dunlendings mustering in Isengard, and Lord Erkenbrand looked grim and set his men to stockpiling weapons, but as of yet all remained calm. Then one morning I awoke to find that Prince Théodred and his éored had returned late at night and he wished to see me. At once.

After hastily getting dressed and brushing my hair, I presented myself in his study. A utilitarian room situated on the bottom floor of the keep, it only had two narrow windows high up on the wall that did little to light the room. Prince Théodred was writing at his desk when I entered and motioned for me to sit on one of the wooden chairs facing it while he finished his letter. Feeling like a child caught in some sort of mischief, I folded my hands in my lap and waited. What did he want from me? At first I had thought that perhaps a message from my father had arrived, but surely if that were the case he would just give it to me?

The prince’s quill scratched across parchment as he signed his letter with a flourish. Then he looked up and fixed me with a stern glare. “Princess Lothíriel. I presume you know why I’ve called you here.”

It dawned on me that he was displeased with me. “Not really,” I stuttered. Even though I had done nothing wrong, he still managed to make me feel guilty and I ducked my head.

“I’ve received a letter from my father…” the prince replied, picking up a parchment with an elaborate seal affixed to it and turning it round slowly in his fingers. What did he expect me to answer to that? He had enormous hands, calloused from wielding a sword, with an old scar running across the knuckles of one of them. I swallowed. This stern warrior was very different from the urbane prince who had paid me compliments at the Yule feast. When I did not answer, he leaned forward, forcing me to look up at him. “… a letter telling me that he wishes to discuss a marriage proposal between the two of us.”

Even though I had myself considered this possibility, having it voiced out loud felt like a blow to the stomach. I could only stare at him.

The prince continued to hold my eyes. “The letter also informed me that this proposal was made with your knowledge and consent.”

What? I tried to gather my scattered wits, but Prince Théodred gave me no chance to reply. “My lady,” he snapped, “it is my turn to inform you that I will manage my affairs myself. If you think to achieve an advantageous marriage alliance this way you are very much mistaken.”

“But I had nothing to do with it!” I exclaimed. “Please believe me,” I begged when he continued to glare at me in the most intimidating manner, “I swear to you I knew nothing of this plan!”

He frowned. “A likely story. My father says quite clearly in the letter that he consulted you first.”

“But he didn’t!” I leaned forward and gripped the edge of his desk. “I haven’t spoken to King Théoden for weeks. I truly don’t know where he got the idea from that I had.”

Drumming his fingers on the desk, the prince pondered my words. My confusion must have shown on my face, for slowly his expression softened. “You knew nothing?”

“This comes as much of a surprise to me as it does to you,” I assured him. “I give you my word.”

He unfolded the letter and scanned it slowly. “Lately my father has been growing old and is confused at times,” he admitted grudgingly, as if it pained him to say so.

Confused was to put it mildly. I wondered if I dared confide my knowledge of Wormtongue drugging his father to the prince. Would he believe me? After all I had no proof at all. And why had Gríma agreed to this plan? Surely having Théodred marry and possibly produce an heir was the last thing he wanted.

“What does the letter say exactly?” I asked.

“He’s calling a full council at Edoras to discuss the idea and draft a letter to your father and Steward Denethor.”

At his words I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. “What comprises a full council?”

“The king’s own advisors plus his Marshals and senior captains.”

His Marshals! I swallowed. “And they would all have got a copy of this letter?”

“Yes of course,” he answered. “That’s one reason why I was so displeased.”

What would Éomer think of me? Clearly this was another attempt by Wormtongue to drive a wedge between Prince Théodred and his cousin. What a fool I’d been to think that simply removing myself from Edoras would deprive Gríma of that particular weapon. He did not need my presence to hurt Éomer.

The prince had been watching me closely. “My lady,” he said, folding the letter away, “I think I owe you an apology for my hasty words earlier on. Please forgive me.”

I nodded mechanically, my mind still churning with images of Éomer storming into Meduseld, demanding to see his uncle.

Prince Théodred got up and started to pace the room. “I do not like to be treated like a pawn.”

“No, of course not,” I agreed. But I could not help thinking that I myself had been given even less choice in the matter. “When will this council take place?” I asked. “And what will you write back?”

“No date has been fixed yet. My father writes he will leave that to Gríma to organize.” Prince Théodred raked his fingers through his hair. Exactly the same gesture of frustration that I had seen his cousin make. My breath caught in my throat. Éomer would despise me!

With a sigh the prince sat down behind his desk again. “My lady, I am not sure what to write back.” He hesitated, as if searching for words. “Under normal circumstances, I would reject this proposal made without either our consent outright. But times aren’t normal…” His face darkened. “…they are dire. To see their prince married, the prospect of an heir – it would give hope to my people. And they need hope desperately.”

Under his steady gaze I could feel the bonds of duty tightening on me, constricting my chest, cutting off my breath. “This….this is very sudden,” I stammered.

“Yes, I know,” he answered, “and I beg your pardon for it. I have spent all my life fighting, so I’m afraid I’m not much good at wooing a woman.” With a self-deprecating smile, he shrugged. “Oh, there have been other marriage proposals, but for some reason or other none was ever good enough for my father. Yet nobody could deny your suitability – of high birth, strengthening our ties with Gondor, a capable administrator, beautiful…”

“Please!” I interrupted him, jumping up.

Prince Théodred got up, too. “My lady, I will not press you for an answer, yet may I ask that you at least consider it?”

My thoughts in turmoil, all I wanted to do was to leave the room and be alone. “I need time to think.”

“Of course.” He came round the desk and took my hand. “My Lady Princess, you are everything I seek for in a queen.” Lifting my fingers to his lips, he hesitated. “Only I do not want a wife whose heart is given to another man…”

I gasped. “What do you mean! Are you implying I would…” Blushing scarlet, I could not finish the sentence.

“I do not doubt your honour,” he assured me. “But I’m not blind. I think that like so many ladies before you, you have taken a liking to my cousin Éomer. Not that I blame you, I know how charming he can be and certainly on his part he seems quite taken with you.” He gave me a tolerant smile. “I look on Éomer as a brother, I would not like any bad blood between us. Yet you are both young and at an age where such fancies pass as quickly as they have arisen. That’s why I believe you and I could deal tolerably well together.”

He placed a brief kiss on my hand. “Think about it.”

Chapter 14

Once the door of Prince Théodred’s study had closed behind me, I fled up the stairs, seeking the shelter of my chamber. Alone! I wanted to be alone! But halfway there, I hesitated. Ceolwen or the twins might look for me in my room, curious to hear why the prince had wanted to speak to me. Gossip travelled quickly in such a small place.

Where else could I go? Visit Nimphelos? But the stables were too busy for me to sneak into her box unobserved. Suddenly I remembered that on the floor below the guest quarters a small door led out onto a covered walkway, where once lookouts had been posted. However, many years ago Lord Erkenbrand had turned the topmost floor of the keep into a guardroom, and I had discovered that nobody used the walkway anymore. It afforded a wide view over the valley and quite often I spent time there, leaning on the parapet and enjoying the solitude.

Wind tugged at my clothes and blew my hair in my face when I stepped through the door, but the morning sun shone strongly, warming me. Leaning back against the stone wall, I sank to the floor and hugged my knees. I had received a proposal of marriage. One that would mean becoming Queen of Rohan one day! I burst into tears.

Burying my face in my skirts, I tried to muffle my weeping, for I did not want anybody to hear and investigate. Marry Théodred. What would Éomer say? Had he received the letter yet? Fresh sobs shook me at the thought. The blue wool of my dress grew damp with tears while the accumulated heartache of the last weeks overwhelmed me. Ever since Yule nothing had gone right, on the contrary, things had gone from bad to worse. How could my plan to get away from Gríma have miscarried so disastrously? Éomer! How I needed him. I wanted to ride off at once in order to find him and explain that I wasn’t the coldly calculating tease he must think me. Wanted him to comfort me. Wanted to feel safe again.

But after a while I strove to get a grip on myself. Tears would not help me find a solution to my problems, and neither would wishing to be somewhere else. Swallowing down my sobs, I considered my options.

Marry Théodred. I trembled. He was a good man, I reminded myself, everybody agreed on that. A warrior first and foremost, but one who cared for his people deeply and would give all he had to protect them. And while he might not have his cousin’s personal magnetism, his men respected him and followed him willingly. Twice my age…yet many people, including my own aunt, would consider that the perfect age for a husband. How often had she told me I needed a steadying influence, somebody to curb the ‘rash impulses of youth’.

I wiped a tear from my face. Nobody had ever asked me if I wanted my impulses to be curbed. Would he be a strict husband? It was difficult to judge, for Théodred had praised my qualities as a queen without saying a word on how he felt about me as a person. So much in a noblewoman’s life depended on the man she married! I could not deny that I had come to like this country and its people. To be Queen of Rohan and answerable to nobody but my husband was no bad prospect. But…

Thoroughly disheartened, I traced a crack on one of the flagstones. I knew of course that Théodred could have been twenty years younger and handsome as an Elf lord, yet I would still have found fault with him. He was the wrong man! Why couldn’t his and Éomer’s role be exchanged. Éomer be the Crown Prince and Théodred the Third Marshal. I realized that all this time in a corner of my heart I had still hoped that fate might take a hand and solve my problems for me. But fate had shown not the least interest in my affairs.

“You are a fool!” I said aloud. I had told myself that a lot lately.

Perhaps it was selfish to put my own concerns first when I could help my country and Rohan by marrying the prince. And perhaps he had been right to call my feelings for his cousin a youthful fancy that would pass – a mere infatuation. I straightened my shoulders and smoothed out my crumpled skirt. Ceolwen had married a man many years her senior, yet she had grown to love him. As for Lord Erkenbrand, he obviously worshipped his pretty young wife and was bursting with pride at the prospect of the child about to be born to them.

And maybe that was the greatest service I could render my country, my only chance to land a blow in our fight against the Enemy: to bear an heir for Rohan. Give hope to his people, as Prince Théodred had put it. Involuntarily I imagined him touching me with those big, powerful hands of his. Lacing them in my hair, kissing me… bedding me. Cold sweat broke out all over my body. He was such a stern, commanding warrior, I could not picture him gentle and relaxed.

I wiped sweaty palms on my skirt. After all it was not as if I had expected to make a love match, on the contrary I had known all my life that I might one day have to share the bed of a man I hardly knew. As my aunt delighted in telling me, submitting to a husband was a noblewoman’s fate.

Sudden resentment welled up within me at Éomer for showing me the possibility of something else. Something bright and exciting and filled with joy. A joining of hearts, not countries. But that brief glimpse had robbed me of my peace of mind and made my duties so much harder to fulfil. And if I married Théodred I would spend the rest of my life being constantly reminded of what I could not have, for there would be no way to avoid meeting Éomer.

Stiffly I got to my feet and leant on the balustrade. I watched a group of riders cantering down the valley, while a couple of ox-drawn carts were coming the opposite way. At the end of February, winter was slowly releasing its grip on us and no longer held absolute sway. Below, white flowers dotted the sward above Helm’s Dike – snowdrops, the harbingers of spring.

I could not do it.

Far better to marry a fat, old and profligate lord from Gondor - the further away from this country the better. Or perhaps the Harad King was looking for a wife? I shook my head. As if I’d be given a choice – if Denethor ever heard of this offer, my fate would be sealed in the time it took to sign a letter.

I retreated to my room for the rest of the day, claiming a headache. In the evening Ceolwen looked in on me, but tactfully refrained from asking any questions. My reddened eyes probably told their own story anyway.

I did not sleep well, and just before dawn was torn from uneasy slumber by the sound of people rushing up and down the stairs outside my room and shouts echoing up from the courtyard. When I threw my cloak around myself and went to investigate I found the bailey full of riders tacking up their horses and wolfing down a hasty breakfast of cold porridge. A fine drizzle fell, making the torches stuck in brackets along the edge of the courtyard spit and sizzle. Servants ran around handing out saddlebags filled with supplies while the high-strung warhorses sidled nervously and rolled their eyes.

The darkness made it difficult to distinguish faces, but spotting Aeffe with her bright flaxen hair talking to one of the riders, I grabbed her arm. “What is happening?”

The rider turned round and I recognized Dúnhere, Lord of Harrowdale. “Scouts have brought warning that Saruman is mustering all his troops before the Gates of Isengard,” he explained. “We are riding to secure the Fords of Isen.”

I reeled, all my personal problems forgotten. This was no longer a few hostile raids across the border, this meant open war. “Has word been sent to the king?”

“Of course,” he replied curtly. “The prince has already dispatched errand riders, asking for reinforcements.”

Would he get them? Or would Gríma manage to delay them somehow? I wanted to ask more questions, but just then Prince Théodred came striding out of the keep, talking to Lord Erkenbrand. His second-in-command, Grimbold, followed close behind and started bellowing orders in a deep voice that rang around the courtyard. The riders mounted up and the apparent chaos sorted itself out into orderly ranks. Théodred clasped Erkenbrand’s arm in farewell, before taking up the reins of his stallion and swinging into the saddle. Dancing with excitement, the grey reared, but Prince Théodred controlled him effortlessly and brought him into line. He cast a quick look around the courtyard, checking on his men, and his glance slid across me without recognition. Armour gleaming, he lifted his arm to give the sign to depart.

“We ride, Eorlingas!”

The stallion sprang forward and the riders thundered out the gate, the call of their horns echoing back to us. I stood for a long time listening to the fading sound, as slowly the sky lightened with dawn and the servants doused the torches.

The calm was over, the storm about to break on us.

A grim mood settled on the Hornburg after Théodred’s departure, though for the next days no further news reached us, neither from the prince nor from Edoras. About a week later I was in the stables, grooming Nimphelos after exercising her in the small practice ring behind the burg. Lord Erkenbrand had forbidden us to ride further than the dike, and although I saw the good sense behind his order, I chafed at being confined to the castle.

Hooves clattered in the courtyard, but I paid no heed, thinking it one of the scouts returning. Suddenly a groom burst into the stables.

“A messenger from the prince,” he shouted. “Something’s happened!”

I dropped my brush, and with the other people rushed outside. Already a crowd had formed around the messenger, who stood leaning against his horse. The poor thing was completely lathered, its coat flecked with foam and blood. When one of the grooms took its reins to lead it away, the rider straightened up. His helm dinted, his hauberk tarnished and hacked, he looked to be in no better shape than his mount. My mouth went dry.

That moment Lord Erkenbrand forced his way through the crowd. “Anwynd! What news?”

The rider crumpled to his knees. “Grimbold sends me.” He stopped, as if unwilling to go on.

Grimbold. Not the prince? An eerie silence settled on the crowd. Somewhere in the cliffs above us a crow cawed harshly.

Anwynd took his helmet off and looked up at Lord Erkenbrand. “Théodred is slain.” Tears ran down his face.

Everybody started talking at once and next to me a woman burst into hysterical sobs. Dead! Prince Théodred dead! I could not believe it. In my mind I still saw the powerful figure that had ridden out of this very courtyard in haste, yet full of confidence. It did not seem possible he was gone.

“Quiet!” Erkenbrand bellowed. “What happened?” he asked the rider.

“Prince Théodred had intended to meet Saruman’s forces on the western bank of the Isen,” Anwynd explained. “We crossed the river yesterday morning, but got surprised by the strength of our enemy. There were so many!” he exclaimed. “Dunlendings, wolf riders and black Uruks! We managed to withdraw to the fords in good order, but Saruman had sent down another force on the eastern side.” Exhausted, he paused.

I looked round the courtyard to see white, frightened faces. Many of Prince Théodred’s riders had housed their women and children in the Hornburg.

Somebody brought Anwynd a cup of water, which he gulped down thirstily. “I was with the prince’s company on the eyot in the middle of the river when we got assailed from both sides. I swear their sole intention was to kill Théodred!” He shook his head. “A whole company of great orc-men with axes went for him. We would all have died if it weren’t for Elfhelm.”

“Elfhelm!” Lord Erkenbrand exclaimed. “We’ve had no news from him. He came?”

Anwynd nodded. “He came. But too late.” He wiped a dirty hand across his eyes and I could feel tears wetting my own cheeks.

“Too late,” the rider whispered. “Théodred lived to see Elfhelm arrive. Let me lie here – to keep the Fords till Éomer comes, were his last words.” He lifted his hands, palm upwards. “The orcs withdrew after Elfhelm’s assault and we saw no more of them, but our losses are heavy. Grimbold has withdrawn to the eastern side of the fords and awaits orders.”

“Has word been sent to the king?”

“Not yet.”

Erkenbrand straightened up and there were lines on his face that had not been there before. “I will see to it.” He looked round the silent crowd. “The situation is dire, but not hopeless. We have faced overwhelming odds before and prevailed.” His voice gained force. “Let us make Saruman rue the day he decided to take on the Eorlingas!”

A few ragged cheers went up, but mostly people just nodded grimly. Slowly the crowd dispersed. In a daze I went up the stairs and slipped through the small door leading to the covered walkway where I liked to stand and look out. It had become my refuge over the past few days. Théodred dead! I gripped the balustrade as the fact slowly sank in that all my agonizing had been in vain. A tiny spark of relief kindled within me, to be swiftly drowned by guilt. How could I think such a thing! He had been a good, honourable man. I had never wanted to see him dead. But though the notion was irrational, I could not help thinking that it was almost as if he had lost his life because of me.

Perhaps fate took an interest in my affairs after all.

I don’t think Lord Erkenbrand and his captains slept more than a few hours over the next days. He had decided to gather his people behind the safe walls of Helm’s Deep and sent out messengers at once to spread the word through the Westfold. He also sent errand riders to Edoras to bear the heavy tidings of the death of his son to King Théoden and to ask for reinforcements. I wondered if the news would pierce the thick fog hanging around the king and how Gríma would react. And Éomer? Would he come?

Confused accounts of wolf riders on the plains reached us, but as of yet Saruman’s forces had apparently retreated. On the third day Erkenbrand left for the fords with what force he had been able to gather in order to take command himself. Ceolwen’s eyes were rimmed with red, although she smiled bravely as she offered the stirrup cup to her husband. But when the riders had gone, she fled to her room and did not emerge again that day.

A steady stream of farmers with their possessions bundled on wagons or on horseback had begun to arrive at the Hornburg. The twins and I took on the task of assigning them places in the huge system of caverns that riddled the mountainside behind the keep. Then a couple of days later the real refugees arrived. Hollow eyed and gaunt faced, they brought tales of having their houses burnt down, their animals killed, of being able to escape with nothing but their lives. And these were the lucky ones.

Fortunately I was up before dawn and sank into bed exhausted long after midnight or nightmares would have plagued my sleep. As it was, a feeling of unreality dogged me. Surely this could not be happening to me? What was I doing in a place so far away from home, without guards or family? The idea that we might get besieged, that I might actually die here seemed faintly absurd. Me, the Princess of Dol Amroth, born to a life of privilege? And somewhere deep inside, the promise that Éomer had made to me on the road to Edoras still echoed. I will keep you safe.

Ceolwen, the twins and I had formed an informal council of war between us. Every day we met with Seaxulf, whom Lord Erkenbrand had left in charge of the fortress, and his second-in-command, Gamling, to discuss what needed to be done. One morning we conferred in Ceolwen’s study, when a servant announced that another messenger had arrived. Ceolwen went white, for lately all news had been bad, but she bade him enter.

I sat by the table, studying a map of the caverns, but glanced up when the rider came in. To my surprise I knew him. “Beorngar!”

“Lady Lothiriel,” my former guard acknowledged me, looking tired and travel worn.

I jumped up and grabbed his arm. “What are you doing here?” Sudden hope flared inside me. “Has Marshal Éomer sent you?”

Beorngar looked away. “I’m sorry.”

An awkward silence fell, then Ceolwen cleared her throat. “You have news for us?”

He hesitated. “My lady, Háma sends me with an urgent message for your husband. I meant to seek him at the Fords of Isen, but on the road last night I encountered scattered bands of his men. They spoke of being attacked by a great army that forced the fords and that they had to retreat southwards. I had hoped to find Lord Erkenbrand here.”

Ceolwen’s face drained of all colour, and she clutched the arms of her chair. “We’ve had no word from him.”

Seaxulf leant forward. “Did the riders you encountered say how big the enemy army is?” he asked.

Obviously ill-at-ease at being the bearer of such bad news, Beorngar shifted from one foot to the other. “Very large.”

Seaxulf exhaled his breath in a sigh. Like Gamling, he was grey haired and a veteran soldier, although some years younger. The force that Erkenbrand had left behind consisted mostly of the oldest and youngest of his riders. Would it be enough?

Leofe looked from Seaxulf to Gamling. “Will they come here? Mightn’t they make straight for Edoras instead?”

Though no warrior, growing up around my brothers I had heard enough of the theory of warfare not to cherish such a hope.

Gamling shook his head. “They dare not leave us behind their lines. Besides, this way they can gobble us up first and then regroup in a safe place before moving on to their next target. No, they will come.”

Aeffe threw back her hair. “I’m sure Father is on his way here. And nobody has ever taken the Hornburg while the people of the Mark defended it!”

Leofe nodded vigorously, and I saw how Beorngar stood straighter at these brave words. But I also noticed Seaxulf and Gamling exchanging glances. We all knew that we did not have enough warriors to man the Deeping Wall, which ran from the Hornburg to the opposite side of the coomb. Which meant that we would have to divide our forces, one holding the burg, the other defending the caves. Unless help came.

I paced to the window and looked out, then turned to Beorngar to voice all our thoughts. “You say Háma sent you. But what of the king? Will he act? Will Marshal Éomer?” Surely he had to know how desperate the situation was.

“I cannot speak for the king, but as for the Marshal…” Beorngar took a deep breath. “My lady, Háma sent me to ask Erkenbrand to come to Edoras, because he hoped the king would listen to him. Marshal Éomer has been arrested.”

“Arrested!” I had to grip the windowsill to keep from falling.

“I do not know the whole story, but apparently he went against the king’s orders by taking his éored away from Aldburg to chase an orc horde crossing the Emnet.”

“But surely the king cannot blame him for that!” I exclaimed.

Beorngar sighed. “That’s not all. On the way back he encountered three strangers. You know that by the king’s new laws, only he may grant them leave to cross our lands. But the Marshal let them go, and moreover lent them horses. His men had some confused tale of one of them being some mighty lord from a faraway country, the other two an Elf and a Dwarf.”

I dismissed that last report as a misunderstanding. No Elf had been seen in Gondor for over a thousand years, in fact most scholars held that they had left these shores altogether. “I’m sure the Marshal had his reasons,” I declared.

“Gríma thought otherwise.”

“Gríma! If you listen to what that slimy worm–”

Beorngar held up his hand. “Please, my lady, I agree with you. But you know how Wormtongue has the king’s ear. And then of course Marshal Éomer lost his temper…”

My heart sank. “What happened?”

Beorngar refused to meet my eyes. “Lately he’s not been altogether…cheerful. I wasn’t present when the Marshal spoke to King Théoden, but the tale is that he drew his sword and threatened to cut Wormtongue to ribbons. Before cooking his liver over a small fire.”

Yes, that sounded just like my Éomer. So Wormtongue had achieved his goal after all and managed to make his adversary break the peace of the hall. I pressed my lips together. He would pay! “I’m leaving for Edoras at once. Are you coming with me?”

“Lothíriel! You can’t!” Like the others, Ceolwen had listened to our conversation in stunned silence, but now she spoke up.

“I have to!”

“Please, my Lady Princess,” Seaxulf cut in as well. “It’s much too dangerous alone, and we cannot afford to send any men with you.”

“Nimphelos is fast,” I insisted, “if we encounter orcs, we will just outrun them.”

“There are wolf riders abroad,” Beorngar said regretfully. “I dare not risk it. If something happened to you…”

Ceolwen got up to take my hands. “Lothíriel,” she said, “please think. What would you do in Edoras anyway?”

To my horror, I felt tears rising to my eyes. “I don’t know. I just…”

She hugged me. “You have to trust to Éomer to find a way out. He’s resourceful, he will think of something.”

Trying to regain my composure, I nodded and turned to look out the window. Perhaps she was right and there was nothing I could do. But it was hard, not being able to act. Behind me, the others tactfully began to discuss the distribution of supplies to the Hornburg while I stared out over the Westfold valley. My sacrifice had been in vain, I might just as well have stayed in Edoras. What difference if Éomer got arrested now instead of at Yule!

I pushed the casement open to let fresh air in, but the day was unseasonably hot and sultry. Far away to the east, clouds were moving in, promising a storm to come. And in the distance over the valley, a thin spiral of smoke rose into the still air. Even as I watched, it thickened and billowed out.

They were coming for us.

A/N: Théodred’s last words and the information about the first battle of the Fords of Isen are taken from Tolkien’s Unfinished Tales.

Chapter 15

I peered over the edge of the Deeping Wall. The sun had sunk some hours ago and only a single torch marked where the men under Gamling’s command stood guarding the gap in the dike. They would have to withdraw soon, before the enemy reached them. But stragglers of Erkenbrand’s army had been coming in all day, mostly in small groups, and Gamling still hoped to see his master amongst them. For some reason my thoughts turned to Éowyn, and I wondered how she fared. I missed her. She would probably have been afire at the prospect of a fight, and her presence alone would have given me courage.

Next to me, Captain Seaxulf cleared his throat. He wanted me gone, of course. Did he fear I wanted to play the role of a Shieldmaiden? Well, he need not worry. Though I carried my bow around with me, it was only from a dim sense of reassurance and I knew I would be more hindrance than help in a battle. But I had spent the whole day in the caves helping to settle refugees and longed for some quiet.

I gave him my best smile. “Please, just let me catch a little fresh air.”

“You will take shelter in the caves afterwards, my lady?”

“I promise.”

“Very well then,” he relented.

Leaning against the battlement, I gazed out into the night again. Clouds obscured the heavens, but below us in the valley baleful lights flickered everywhere. Rows of torches wound up like slow snakes from the lowlands, with brighter blazes marking wherever another family’s homestead had been set alight. Every now and again one of the men standing guard on the wall would curse in a low voice, but I got the feeling that they were saving their anger for later. A hushed sense of waiting lay upon the whole fortress, as if the storm to come already vibrated on the heavy night air.

I sighed. Time to keep my promise and return to the caves. Then a sound reached my ears, and I leaned forward. Was I imagining the snorting of horses? But one of the sentries had heard it, too, and called to Seaxulf. Suddenly a shout went up from where Gamling’s men guarded the dike. Though I could not make out the exact words, it sounded joyous rather than alarmed.

Seaxulf took off at a run along the wall towards the Hornburg, and after a moment’s hesitation I followed him. I had borrowed a pair of loose trousers from Aeffe, of the sort the women of the Rohirrim favoured for riding, which greatly facilitated movement. Though my legs still felt faintly exposed, running was so much easier without having to drag heavy skirts along. I might get used to the feeling!

The outer courtyard was already packed when we reached it, but Seaxulf shouldered his way through the crowd and I slipped along in his wake until we reached the gate, where I hung back. A lad came running up the ramp.

“The king!” he shouted. “The king has come.”

King Théoden? Impossible! That moment a snow-white horse came into sight and leading it… I could only stare in disbelief. The hair was still white, the face still lined with age, but the king strode along tall and straight, a sword at his side and wearing a heavy hauberk with the ease of long habit. And the eyes! No longer dazed and vague, but burning with purpose.

Cheers erupted all around me. “Théoden King!”

Leading their horses behind them, more riders filed into the courtyard. Suddenly I froze, impossible hope leaping within my chest. I knew that big grey stallion. The white horsetail on the rider’s helmet whipped round as he turned his head abruptly. He stared straight at me, as if I had called his name. Éomer.

I wanted to run to him and fling myself into his arms, yet remembering the way we had parted, I hesitated. Éomer took a step towards me, but then his mouth thinned and I saw his hands clench on Firefoot’s reins. His eyes glittered behind the slits of his vizor, their expression impossible to make out, before very deliberately he turned his back on me and moved forward to greet Seaxulf. The uncompromising set of his shoulders told me all I needed to know.

I turned round and stumbled through the crowd, half blinded by tears. He hated me! If I explained to him what had happened in Edoras, would he believe me? What if he never forgave me? I bumped into somebody and muttered an apology.

“Lothíriel!” Aeffe grabbed my arm. “Did you see him?”

Sunken in my private misery, I just nodded.

“He’s so handsome!” That was Leofe.

Red-hot rage surged through me. How dare she! If I caught one of them so much as looking at–

“Do you think he has pointed ears?” Aeffe asked.

“What?” I exclaimed. Had they lost hold of their senses? “Of course not. His ears are perfectly normal.”

“Are you sure?” Leofe interjected. “I thought all Elves had pointed ears.”

“Elves? What are you talking about?”

Aeffe stared at me. “The Elf who rode in with King Théoden. Didn’t you see him?”

That got my attention. “The king had an Elf with him? A real Elf?”

Leofe rolled her eyes. “Really Lothíriel, I think you are tired and need a rest. How could you overlook him? I’ve never seen any being as handsome as him. Hair like finest silk, and the way he moves!”

“As if he were dancing,” Aeffe added dreamily. “Somebody said his best friend is a Dwarf, which seems strange.”

A Dwarf! “Anything else I’ve missed?” I asked weakly.

“Well, apparently the tall, dark haired man who came with them is the Heir of Elendil,” Leofe said. “Lord Aragorn is his name, and he bears the Sword that was Broken…”

An Elf, a Dwarf and the Heir of Elendil? Right! I felt as if I had stepped into an old tale from one of my books. Maybe I would wake up in the morning and find I had dreamt everything. If it meant I had also dreamt Éomer’s rejection of me, I would not mind.

I shook my head, trying to clear it. “You will have to tell me more later. If you’ll excuse me now, I’m tired.”

Nodding to them, I moved towards the entrance of the keep, craving the seclusion of my room. Warriors rushed by, shouting orders, but everything seemed removed from me, as if I walked in a dream. However, just as I reached the door, I found myself hailed again.

“Lady Lothíriel, wait!”

I turned round. Aethelstan! The healer looked tired and was leading two packhorses behind him.

“Master Aethelstan! What are you doing here?” I hugged him.

He broke into a smile, some of the lines of weariness vanishing from his face. “Following my king.” He squeezed my shoulders. “It’s good to see you, child. I was worried about you.” Looking me up and down searchingly, he frowned. “You left so suddenly and never came to say goodbye.”

I dropped my eyes. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Never mind.” He squeezed my shoulders. “Lothíriel, I’m afraid I haven’t got much time and I need your help.”

For a while I had forgotten the enemy coming for us, but now I suddenly remembered the battle almost upon us. “I am supposed to go to the caves, how can I help?”

“The Marshal has told me to set up a temporary infirmary in the space behind the Deeping Wall, but I will have to send those who are gravely wounded somewhere safer and need you to look after them.”

The gravely wounded. The dying? “But I have so little training,” I stammered. “Can’t the other healers do it?”

Aethelstan shook his head. “I will need their assistance here. Even Master Herewald’s.” He caught my gaze. “I’m sorry, but I see no other way. Will you help?”

How could I refuse to aid those who risked their lives for me? “Yes, of course,” I agreed. I would manage somehow.

“Good.” He took my arm and drew me along. “I’ve brought supplies from Edoras and you may have part of them. Can you set up a shelter in the caves?”

My mind already filling with plans, I had to dodge a company of riders taking their horses further down towards the Narrows. Hooves clattered across the cobbles and shouts rang in the air. A lad carrying a basket with arrows stumbled into Aethelstan and calling a breathless apology ran on towards the stairs leading down onto the Deeping Wall.

“This way,” I said, pulling the healer towards the rear gate of the courtyard. Taking his packhorses by the leading rope, he followed me down the ramp there. The area between the wall and the foot of the cliff thronged with riders hurrying to take their assigned places for the defence of the fortress, their faces grim and set. I looked up to the battlement and faltered. In the light of the torches there, two men stood marked out by their height as they conferred with various captains. One had to be the northern lord who claimed to be the Heir of Elendil, for he had the colouring of Gondor, but my eyes were drawn to the other. White horsetail on his helmet, blond hair falling down his back, that decisive way of nodding his head…

What if I never saw him again? He would be in the thick of the fighting, I knew, leading his men by example. Suddenly the image from my nightmare rushed into my mind, of Éomer lying lifeless on a battlefield. And I had never kissed him.

“Lothíriel?” Aethelstan tugged on my arm. “What is the matter? We haven’t got much time, you know. I want to unload this, and then I have to return.”

I swallowed. “I’m coming.” Éomer held all our defence in his hands, the last thing he needed was me rushing up to him, pestering him for comfort.

We threaded our way along the path leading up the Narrows towards the entrance of the caves. The cliffs reared up steeply on both sides, and the Deeping Stream frothed in its bed by our left. Where it emerged at the foot of the Thrihyrne, my ancestors had improved upon the work of nature by fortifying the already narrow opening of the caves and fitting two massive oak doors reinforced with iron. They were set deep inside the rock and a culvert similar to the one underneath the Deeping Wall channelled the stream away from the road.

From here a steep tunnel lead up into the first and largest of the caverns. Though the river had carved out all these caves over the millennia, it had since dropped its level and the floor was dry and sandy. Torches burnt everywhere, but still the ceiling was lost in shadow. As soon as we entered, I saw Aeffe and Leofe directing the stream of people coming and going. Out of all of us, they knew the layout of the caverns best, for they had played here as children. I had been amazed at how much room there was; the Rohirrim could have housed a whole army in them – as they were very nearly doing now.

Carefully I stepped over a trail of horse droppings and went to talk to the twins. Thinking that Erkenbrand’s men would have to retreat to the caves as well, we had settled most of the refugees and their animals further in, trying to keep the entrance free. However, it would be a good place to set up an infirmary for the wounded.

Aeffe sent some lads to fetch pallets and then helped us unload part of Aethelstan’s supplies. Apparently he’d had everything ready to ride west for several days, only waiting for orders from the king.

“Master Aethelstan, what happened to Théoden King?” Aeffe asked. “Is it true it was Gandalf who healed him?”

Mithrandir involved! Another bit of gossip I hadn’t heard yet.

Handing me a pot of comfrey ointment, wrapped round with straw for the journey, the healer nodded. “He arrived at Edoras yesterday morning, together with his three companions. I don’t know how he did it, but he brought the king back to his old self. Some say he broke a spell laid on Théoden by Wormtongue, for the councillor was chased away within the hour.”

The pot started to slide from my nerveless hands, but I managed to catch it at the last moment. “Wormtongue gone!” I exclaimed.

“Do be careful!” Aethelstan exhorted me. He heaved a basket filled with tightly rolled bandages off one of the horses and placed it on the floor. “Yes, Gríma showed his true colours and has joined Saruman’s army. Everything happened very quickly after that, the women were sent to Dunharrow under Éowyn’s command, and Gandalf convinced the king to take all his men and ride west. ”

“And what about Marshal Éomer?” Aeffe asked. “Beorngar told us the king had him arrested for breaking the peace of the hall.”

“Freeing him was Théoden’s first order,” the healer answered. He scratched his head. “Now where have I put the poppy syrup? Ah yes!” He passed me a leather flask. “This is full strength, use it sparingly.”

I accepted it reflexively, my mind still coming to terms with the fact that Wormtongue could no longer threaten me. I was free of him!

Aethelstan nodded at Aeffe. “What is more, the king proclaimed Lord Éomer his heir outside the doors of Meduseld.”

I dropped the flask.

“Lothíriel!” Aethelstan and Aeffe both exclaimed.

Fortunately the flask, being made from leather, had survived the fall. With an apology I bent to pick it up. Aethelstan told me to sit down and have a rest while he unloaded the rest of the supplies, an order I gratefully obeyed. The king’s heir! It did not need much acumen to figure out that Éomer had just become a much more suitable match, one even my uncle Denethor would approve of. I shivered and hugged myself. Fate seemed to take a very personal interest in my affairs all of a sudden.

Another, most unwelcome thought entered my mind. I had given Éomer every reason to believe that I intended to marry Prince Théodred solely in order to become Queen of Rohan. If I now tried to mend relations with him, would he think it was only because of his new rank? With Wormtongue gone, I had no way of proving the truth of my allegations. Éomer would have to simply choose to believe me. Or not.

“Lothíriel? Lothíriel!”

I started, and became aware of Aethelstan peering at me anxiously. “Yes?” I asked.

“I said that I will have to go now,” the healer said patiently. “Listen Lothíriel, I know that I am asking a lot of you and these are anxious times, but I need your help. Can I rely on you to get everything ready here in time?”

I pushed all consideration of my personal problems from my mind and got up. “Of course, Master Aethelstan. I promise.”

He patted my shoulder. “Thank you. I’m sorry that I have to leave you here all on your own, but I cannot spare anybody else.”

“We will cope.”

A last hug and he was gone. As I gazed at his retreating figure, I wondered if I would ever see him again. He wasn’t young anymore; if the orcs broke through he would not stand much chance in a fight. Besides, instead of defending himself, he would probably try to save his patients. I shook my head. I would not think of that. We would not be defeated!

With the twins’ help, I directed the lads bringing the pallets to lay them in neat rows along one side of the cave, then I did a quick inventory of the supplies Aethelstan had left me. Once that was done, I went looking for Ceolwen to recruit more assistance.

I found her in the next cave, organizing the distribution of the refugees and their livestock. This cavern had huge columns of limestone rising from the floor and everywhere small groups of women with their children sat huddled against them. Many of them had their belongings piled up beside them, baskets filled with kitchen implements, bundles of clothes and even rolled up tapestries. Large panniers held chickens, ducks and geese. We’d had to house the larger animals such as pigs and cows in separate caves and also had some of them slaughtered. Necessary to keep the peace, but hard on the people who lost part of their livelihood, although few complained. I had expected a sense of imminent panic, yet the atmosphere amongst the women was tense and determined as they talked in low voices amongst themselves. Several of them were whetting kitchen knives and one had a spear leaning against the wall beside her. They matched their men well; if you could win the battle by sheer courage, there would be no doubt as to the victor.

Ceolwen looked up with a wan smile when she spotted me, her face pale and anxious. Of course, she was worried about her husband, who might be lying dead on a battlefield! Feeling guilty for having forgotten about her concerns, I hugged her as tightly as her swollen belly permitted.

“I’m sorry, Ceolwen.”

With a little hiccup she hugged me back, burying her head in my shoulder for a moment. “Erkenbrand will come. I know he will.”

I held her close. “I’m sure he will.”

Pulling away, Ceolwen sniffed and wiped her nose. “Have you come to join me?”

I shook my head and quickly explained the task Aethelstan had set me and that I needed more women to help look after the wounded. She nodded and sent some of the boys that she had running errands for her to pass the word. Very soon I had a motley band of volunteers, ranging in age from farmer girls younger than myself to a grandmother with long experience as a midwife.

Back in the first cavern, they all gathered round me, waiting for me to tell them what to do. Seeing two dozen pairs of eyes looking at me expectantly, I swallowed hard and had to suppress the panicky thought that I was only nineteen and had very little idea of how to cope with an influx of wounded and possibly dying warriors. But I was a daughter of Dol Amroth, and I would manage somehow.

So I started with small things, sending two of them to borrow kettles and then setting them to lighting fires and boiling water. Fortunately the caves were well ventilated through tiny fissures in the rock and had a ready supply of clean water in the Deeping stream. The biggest kettle we used for preparing a nourishing meat broth, which necessitated wringing the necks of three chickens. To my relief one of the farmer’s wives took on this job.

However, very soon we had everything in readiness and it just remained to wait. The women settled down around one of the fires, warming their hands and talking in low voices. Aeffe and Leofe joined them, but I felt too restless to sit down. After pacing around the cavern a couple of times I wandered down the short tunnel to the entrance. Two men stood guard there, both of them grizzled warriors deemed too old for fighting, but if the orcs broke through, it would be their task to close and bar the great doors.

They gave me a brief nod of acknowledgment, but kept staring out into the darkness. The air was utterly still, the torches that illuminated the entrance burning steadily, except for a hiss every now and again when an unwary insect flew into the flame. Then suddenly lightning flashed across the sky. I jumped. A clap of thunder followed and with a sound like a sigh, rain started to pour down. But mixed into the rushing of rain was another noise, a deep rumble that seemed to carry through the rock. I found it comforting, for the rhythmic rise and fall of it reminded me of the sea – until I realized what it was: the far off shouting of orcs.

The battle for Helm’s Deep had begun.

Chapter 16

Very soon a slow trickle of wounded started coming back to the caves. Aethelstan had recruited some of the boys too young to fight to act as stretcher bearers, and I had spotted them earlier on, all excited at being given real helmets and thick leather jerkins to protect them. They had laughed and chatted amongst each other at the prospect of an adventure. Now they came back white-faced and silent from what they had seen, but they gritted their teeth and continued with their duty.

We had no need to ask how the battle fared, the bodies of our patients showed all. At first it was lacerations from horrible barbed black arrows, which proved very difficult to extract. Master Aethelstan had left me a special tool to minimize the damage to the already torn flesh, but it was a delicate procedure. First I had to pull the edges of the wound apart, then insert the long metal instrument shaped like two spoons facing each other, which I slipped around the barbs in order to be able to extract them. A painful operation, best performed on an unconscious man. Even so, many of those we treated insisted on going straight back, once we had dressed their wounds.

“I can still fight with my other arm,” said a grizzled old warrior after I had bandaged his shoulder.

Normally I would have told him not to be a fool and to lie back down that instant, but we needed every man tonight. So with a lump in my throat, I nodded and sent him back to face our foes. Soon afterwards the injuries changed to sword cuts and blows from battle-axes: the enemy had gained the wall.

It was like that night in Aldburg, only a hundred times worse. I lost track of time as I went from one man to the next, binding wounds, stitching up cuts and dispensing poppy syrup mixed with wine to those hurt the worst. Yet how little help I could offer! Very often all that remained to do was to hold the injured warrior’s hand to ease his passing. The nauseating smell of fresh blood filled my nose, along with urine and voided bowels, although we tried to give the men what dignity we could, changing their soiled linens and washing their faces. My mind went numb after a while – it was that or to break down crying and retching in a corner. I had to cope, so I pushed the horror away and locked it up tight, promising myself to deal with it later. If there was a later.

What made it worse was that many of the men carried in I knew, either from my time in Edoras or because they served Erkenbrand. Odda, one of the king’s doorwardens, had always had a cheerful greeting for me. Now he lay unconscious on a straw pallet with his arm maimed to a bloody stump. It would probably need to be amputated, but that was beyond my skill. Groans and cries echoed back from the lofty ceiling, until I wanted to run away screaming and curl into a tight ball somewhere and shut out the world. How much longer could this go on? And always in the back of my mind, there lurked the fear of seeing Éomer carried in, badly hurt or… I pushed that thought away. It must not happen! But the men told me about the course of the battle while I tended to them, and they all said the same thing: the Marshal was wherever the fighting raged fiercest.

Hands trembling, I bent over another man to check his injury and winced. The whole right side of his chest had been crushed by some mighty blow, probably from a mace. If the splintered ribs had punctured his lungs, as seemed likely, there was nothing I could do.

“My lady,” he whispered.

I looked up to his face. It was familiar, but it took my tired mind a moment to come up with a name. Wulfstan. I recoiled. The last time I had seen him was when he had escorted me to King Théoden’s room, where Gríma had awaited me.

“You!”

He lifted an arm, then let if fall to the ground in exhaustion. “Hurts so much.”

Not wanting anything to do with him, I started to get up. But then I hesitated. He had fought for us, the same as the other warriors, and he deserved my help. Slipping an arm underneath his head, I lifted it up and raised a cup of wine laced with poppy juice to his lips.

“Drink this.”

He only managed a couple of sips, then I had to lower him to his pallet again. Dull blue eyes met mine and he gripped my arm weakly. “Am I dying?”

It was not really a question. I inclined my head. “I am sorry.”

Wulfstan took a rattling breath. “Lady, will you forgive me? Gríma…” He coughed and bloody spittle frothed on his lips. “He betrayed us all. But I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

How could I deny a dying man? I squeezed his hand. “I forgive you.”

“Not honourable,” he whispered and I had to bend forward to catch his words. “Wanted my father to be proud of me. Captain of king’s guard.” Another horrible, rasping breath. “But not honourable.”

Something wet ran down my cheeks and it took me a moment to realize I was crying. “You are honourable, Wulfstan,” I told him. “You fought for your people. If I ever meet your father I will tell him of his brave son.”

And I cradled his hand as his own blood pooling in his lungs slowly drowned him. When he expelled his last breath with a great sigh and his fingers went slack, I just sat there staring down at him. Then Leofe tugged at my sleeve, asking for my help, and I had to get up. The living needed me.

Suddenly a deep rumble echoed up the tunnel from outside. I exchanged an uncertain look with Leofe. What had that been? Thunder from the storm passing overhead?

A man came running into the cavern. “They are in the Deep,” he yelled. “The orcs have blown a hole in the Deeping wall! They’re coming!”

A woman screamed. Leofe clutched my arm and all around us, those of the wounded men who were able to stand struggled to their feet and grabbed their weapons. My bow! I looked around for it frantically, only to remember that I had left it with my other things in Ceolwen’s care. Too late now. I drew the short knife I used for cutting bandages. It was very sharp, but I did not fool myself into thinking that I would be able to inflict much damage. Still, if I was lucky it would goad the orcs into killing me quickly. I had heard enough stories over the last few days to know what they did to the women they captured. Especially the young ones. Much better to be dead, I thought, and clasped the knife more tightly.

Aeffe rushed up to us with a sword in her hands, of all improbable things. “The doors! We have to close them.”

Of course! I took off running across the cavern floor, the twins close behind me. At the mouth of the tunnel I saw that others had had the same idea. Two men pulled each of the heavy wings and slowly they swung closed. But when they were no more than a man’s width apart, one of the guards looked out.

“Wait!” he cried.

A man squeezed through, his blond hair matted with blood.

“Don’t close the doors yet,” he shouted. “Our men are still out there. The Marshal has rallied them.”

Éomer! He was alive! Shrill howling arose outside, faint at first, but quickly growing louder. The orcs were coming! The clash of metal on metal. Shrieks. I clasped my hands over my ears at the mindless hate I heard in their voices. How the men at the doors stood it, I do not know. All I wanted to do was to run away and hide in a dark corner. With a sob Leofe clung to me. Suddenly men boiled through the gap between the two sides of the door, pushing them apart wider. They filled the tunnel and spilt into the cavern.

“Make room!” one of them yelled as he pushed past us.

Then I got my first sight of the enemy. A heaving mass of hideous forms throwing themselves at the thin line of Rohirrim holding them back. Forming a shield wall, our men retreated step by step, and the only thing that saved them from being overwhelmed on the spot was the narrowness of the passage. The orcs even fought amongst themselves in their eagerness to reach the entrance to the caverns, clawing their way over the bodies of their dead comrades.

“To me, Eorlingas!” Éomer’s great voice rose above the clamour.

He stood at the centre of the shield wall, the white horsetail on his helmet flicking around as he cast a quick look behind him. Another step back. And another one. The orcs seemed to comprehend that their prey was about to escape them, and their shrieks rose to a new frenzy.

Suddenly he gave a loud shout and at his signal the men pushed forward, swords hewing at their enemies. Surprised by this unforeseen attack, the orcs hesitated and shrank back in confusion. Another shouted order, and the riders fell back and came running in through the open door. One of them, a lad by the size of him, slipped on the stones made slippery by rain and fell to the ground. Coming last, Éomer bent and hauled him bodily in through the closing gap. Then the door boomed shut on their heels and two guards dropped the heavy bar across it. For a heartbeat silence reigned, before the door shuddered as orcs threw themselves against it, hammering and clawing at the wood.

Éomer had fallen to his knees next to the lad he had dragged in. “Are you all right, friend?”

Nodding slowly, the lad sat up. “I think we are even now, Marshal,” he said gruffly.

No lad, I realized as I caught sight of his long beard, but a dwarf! And what did he mean by those words? Éomer heaved himself to his feet as the noise of the orcs attacking the doors intensified. How long would it hold?

“We need to barricade the entrance,” he called.

Most of the men had simply collapsed to the floor, but at their Marshal’s words they struggled up. Were these all the survivors of our forces? Had the Hornburg fallen? They seemed to be mostly the riders from his command in Aldburg, Éothain and Beorngar amongst them, and the rest Westfold men. Quickly Éomer organized them into small companies and sent them off to fetch stones and whatever else they could find to strengthen the gates. About twenty riders he set to watching the doors and raise the alarm if the orcs broke through. Then he came striding up the tunnel, Gamling at his side.

“What supplies do you have here?” I heard him asking the older man. “Food? Weapons?”

Gamling spotted us standing to the side. “There are Lord Erkenbrand’s daughters and Lady Lothíriel,” he said. “They would know best.”

Éomer’s stride faltered, but he caught himself quickly and beckoned us over imperiously. “My lady,” he greeted Leofe. “I need to know what weapons you have stored in these caverns.”

He looked a fearsome figure with his hauberk covered in gore and blood dripping from his sword. A long cut ran along one leather gauntlet, but he seemed unhurt.

Leofe hesitated under his intense regard. “I’m not sure,” she stammered. “We might have some battle axes somewhere I think.”

“There are two crates of swords in one of the caves, but not of very good quality,” I put in.

For a moment his eyes flitted my way, then he turned back to Leofe, ignoring me studiously. “Have them fetched. Also the axes.”

“My lord,” Aeffe put in timidly. “What happened? Has the Hornburg fallen?”

With a grimace Éomer wiped his sword on his trousers and sheathed it. “The orcs used some devilry from Orthanc to blow a hole in the wall. We were driven back into the Narrows, but many men also fled to the burg.” He took off his helmet. “However, now we have to see to our own safety.”

A group of his men hurried by, carrying big rocks and rolling a wooden wheel from a wain before them, which they proceeded to pile against the door under the dwarf’s supervision.

Éomer watched them briefly. “My men will need something to eat and drink. How are you supplied?”

“We have plenty of food stores,” Aeffe answered. “I will see to it.”

“Good.”

A clear dismissal, yet he hesitated. Again his eyes fleeted my way, and I suddenly became aware of the sorry state of my garments. I probably looked like I had been in the battle myself with all the dried blood covering me! As for those riding trousers, they really revealed an awful lot.

Éomer cleared his throat. “Do not fear,” he said gruffly. “We won’t let those beasts near you.”

Then he checked himself, as if he had said too much, and giving a curt nod, he drew Gamling with him to oversee the work going on in the tunnel. A word of encouragement here, lending a hand there, and his men seemed to gain hope wherever he passed. But I watched him go and wanted nothing so much as to run after him and pour out my heart to him. In the middle of a siege! I really did pick my moments.

As the rocks piled up before the doors, the sound of the orcs attacking dimmed to a constant background noise, which I tried my best to ignore. Éomer would keep us safe, I told myself. He had promised. I held onto that thought like a life-rope in a raging torrent, while I showed a group of men where to find the crates of swords. That task done, I hurried back to the main cavern, anxious to get back to my patients. To my relief I found that one of Aethelstan’s assistants had been amongst Éomer’s men and was already busy treating the most badly wounded.

“Do you know what happened to Master Aethelstan? Did he retreat to the Hornburg?” I asked him.

But the man shook his head. “I’m sorry, my lady. There was a flash of light and a great boom and suddenly orcs were everywhere. I lost sight of him in the fighting. We just have to hope he made it.”

Swallowing down my dread, I nodded and picked up my satchel to continue with my work. Just then one of my assistants hailed me.

“My lady, could you help us a moment?”

When I turned round I found the dwarf standing next to her, a trickle of blood running down his face.

“Marshal Éomer asked to have his injury seen to,” the woman explained.

Clearly she was reluctant to touch such a strange creature. Did she think he would bite?

I addressed the dwarf in Westron. “May I tend your wound?”

“If you please, my lady.” His voice rumbled low in his chest, but was quite pleasant.

The woman fetched me a bowl of fresh water and I began to wash the caked blood away. For some reason I had expected his black hair to be hard and wiry, but it felt no different from a man’s.

“You were lucky there,” I said, inspecting the gash across his forehead. It would not need stitching, only a bandage to keep it closed.

“I know. An orc got me just in front of the gates to the caves. That’s why I stumbled.”

Suddenly I remembered what he had said to Éomer and was unable to contain my curiosity. “May I ask what you meant by being even with the Marshal?”

A fierce grin. “I went along on a sortie from the Hornburg earlier on. Some of those huge Uruks jumped him from behind and tripped him. But I made short work of them!”

I gasped. “Sweet Elbereth!” My hands trembled as I wrapped a linen bandage round his head. “What a lucky chance that you were there. Thank you!”

The dwarf shrugged. “Two less of those foul-hearted creatures to trouble the world.” He gave me a curious look. “It’s nice to find someone who speaks the common tongue. You do not appear to be from these parts.”

“No, I hail from Gondor,” I answered, tying up the ends of the bandage securely. “There you go, that should hold for a while.”

He touched it gingerly. “It feels much better.”

Getting up, he gave me a bow. “I am indebted to you, my lady. Gimli, Glóin’s son, at your service.”

The words had an archaic ring to them. Not sure how to answer them, I dropped into a curtsy. “Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth.”

He bowed again before going to rejoin the men barricading the doors. And as I watched him cross the cavern, purpose in every step, my heart lifted a little. What strange help fate had sent us! Our situation might look dire, but perhaps all hope was not lost yet.

But how tired I was. It seemed an eternity ago that I had stood on the battlements, taking a breath of fresh air, and ever since I had worked without a break. However, as long as I was needed, I would carry on. Sighing, I went to fetch more bandages from the corner where our supplies were kept. But I got a surprise. Master Herewald, the healer of the Hornburg, was there inspecting the jars of ointment and bottles of medicine.

“Where is the poppy syrup?” he demanded to know the moment he spotted me. “The women said you’ve got some.”

I extracted the leather flask from my satchel. “Here it is. Master Aethelstan gave it to me.”

Herewald snatched it out of my hands. “It’s half empty already!” He glared at me accusingly.

I felt my temper rising, but wrestled it down. After all I was glad to have help at last. “We had a lot of seriously wounded.”

“Well, I’m taking charge of this to make sure no more gets wasted.”

Wasted! When again and again I’d had to give less than I would have liked to. “Master Aethelstan told me to use it sparingly, which is what I have been doing,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Master Aethelstan? I really don’t know what he was thinking of when he put you in charge here,” the healer declared.

“I didn’t ask for it!”

“Well, you can leave the work to those better qualified from now on,” Herewald answered. “I will take over here. You may retire to one of the other caves.”

How dare he! “You can’t just send me away!” I fired up.

“Marshal’s orders,” the healer said with a gleam of triumph in his eyes.

Dumbstruck, I stared at Herewald. Éomer had said that? I turned round and searched for his tall figure, spotting him near the mouth of tunnel, discussing something with Gamling. My first impulse was to seek him out at once and demand an explanation. But then my outrage collapsed beneath a wave of misery. Éomer wanted me gone! Did he hate me so much that he wanted me out of his sight? However, I was the daughter of a long line of warriors, I knew you did not question your commander’s orders in the middle of battle.

Gathering my dignity around me like a tattered cloak, I nodded at Herewald. “Very well then. I will be with Lady Ceolwen if you need me.”

He shrugged dismissively and turned his back on me. “That’s unlikely.”

It took a real effort to control the impulse to kick him in the backside. But princesses did not do that kind of thing. So instead I held my head high and crossed the cavern floor to pass into the next cave. I very much wanted to pour my woes into Ceolwen’s ears, but when I found her, she was curled up in a corner, fast asleep, her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach. Her maid Burghild sat next to her with a lantern, watching over her.

“Lady Ceolwen was exhausted,” she told me. “But I had to promise to wake her if anything happened.”

If the orcs broke through? I shuddered. How much worse it had to be for Ceolwen with her husband and unborn child to worry about as well. I brushed back a strand of hair from my face and frowned when I noticed that the sleeve of my tunic was stiff with dried blood. And I reeked! Careful not to wake Ceolwen, I rummaged for the bag of things I had left with her. There was nothing I could do about my trousers, but I seemed to remember that I had packed a spare tunic.

“Is there a place where I could wash?” I asked the maid.

She pointed towards the exit to another cave and gave me the lantern to light my way. Slinging the knapsack over my shoulder and picking up my bow and quiver for good measure, I turned to go when Aeffe and Leofe came rushing up.

“Master Herewald has sent us away!” Aeffe exclaimed. “He said looking after the wounded was no fit task for young ladies.”

I hushed her. “I know. But there is nothing I can do about it.”

They followed me, venting their indignation at the healer’s treatment of them. I got the impression that they expected me to march in there and confront him. But I did not have the heart for it.

It was several hours past midnight by now, the darkest time of the night, and most of the refugees had not slept since leaving their homes and fleeing for Helm’s Deep. Many of them had given in to exhaustion, even the threat of enemies just outside the gates not enough to stave off sleep. Only a few feeble lamps burnt in this cave and we were grateful for the light of our lantern as we stepped across slumbering forms.

At the other end a spring issued from the rock, pooling in a small basin before running away in a manmade channel. I gasped at the cold water at first, but then scrubbed away at my hands vigorously.

“What wouldn’t I give for a hot bath!” Aeffe said as she splashed water over her face. 

We all sighed with longing at the picture thus conjured.

“With oil of lavender in it,” Leofe chimed in.

“And an Elf,” Aeffe added, grinning.

I spluttered at her words and then dissolved into helpless giggles. It was absurd. We had witnessed scenes likely to give us nightmares for the rest of our lives, our men were hopelessly outnumbered by hordes of orcs and Dunlendings, and we yearned for a hot bath. With an Elf. Once we started laughing, we almost could not stop, hanging onto each other and bending over to stifle the noise. At last I straightened up and wiped tears from my eyes. That had felt good!

Then I took out the fresh tunic from my bag and changed into it hastily, for the air was chilly. Goosebumps rose all along my arms, but at least I was clean again. Leofe offered to re-braid my hair for me and I closed my eyes as her fingers went to work on my long tresses. Once I sat down, exhaustion settled on me like a heavy cloak. A hot bath… Suddenly the memory of Éomer taking off his shirt to have his wound treated floated into my mind. What would it be like to share a bath with him? Delicious warmth flooded me as I remembered touching his bare back. His skin had been so smooth…

“My lady?”

I started, my eyes flying open. A boy stood before us.

“My lady, you are the healer from Gondor, aren’t you?” he asked. The boy looked to be about ten years old, his blond hair cropped short and a streak of dried blood on his forehead.

“Yes, I am,” I answered, sitting up straighter. “Why? Are you hurt?”

“It’s Wulf,” he blurted out. “He’s caught his leg underneath a rock and I can’t get him out. He’s bleeding and it looks really bad.” A single tear ran down his cheek.

I struggled to my feet and picked up my things. “Of course I’ll help. Where is this? Can you show me?”

He nodded eagerly and held out a hand. “It’s not far.”

As we followed single file behind him, I asked him what had happened and he explained further. “We were exploring the caves when a stone rolled down almost on top of him. I tried to shift it, but it was ever so heavy! So in the end I came to get help.”

“Have you told your mother?”

“We live with my aunt and uncle now,” he mumbled. “Mum and dad have… gone away.”

An all too common story. “In that case, have you told your aunt?” I asked gently.

He shook his head. “Auntie Eanswith is busy with the baby. She told me she hasn’t got the time just now.” An angry sob. “She always disliked Wulf!”

A wave of anger ran through me, and I gripped my bow. It seemed incredibly callous to leave a boy trapped in a dark cave somewhere. But then so many orphans had had to find new homes and not all of them received the care they deserved.

I squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll find your Wulf and help him. I promise. What is your name?”

“It’s Bryhtwuffa, but everybody calls me Wuffa.” He looked back and suddenly grinned. “Wulf and Wuffa.” Then he became serious again. “We have to hurry.”

He led us through another cavern and then stopped at the entrance to a crevice. “In here.”

I eyed the narrow opening doubtfully. An extinguished torch lay on the ground and when I lifted the lamp and peered in, I saw what appeared to be some kind of faint path through the rubble lying around. But perhaps it would be better to go back and get help from the men? It was very dark in there.

Wuffa seemed to read my thoughts. He took my hand and tugged on it. “Please! I promised Wulf I’d get help.”

His blue eyes looked up at me pleadingly. I rubbed my eyes, trying to come to a decision. “I’m not sure…” 

“It’s not far!”

It would take time to retrace our steps. And what if none of the men could be spared to come with us? If only I weren’t so tired! I stared into the crevice. Somewhere in that darkness there was a little boy, afraid and possibly bleeding to death, who needed me. That thought decided me.

“Lead the way,” I said, lifting the lantern.

The flame flickered wildly in a draft of air.

A/N: for those of you interested in medical history, the instrument Lothíriel used to extract arrows was invented by the Greeks and is called a “spoon of Diocles’

Chapter 17

Not far was a relative concept, I discovered, as Wuffa led us further and further into the belly of the mountain. No sound penetrated this deep into the rock. The scrape of our boots on stone, the soft hissing of the flame of my lamp, a murmured word of warning every now and again seemed unnaturally loud in the silence. At least we followed a definite path and there were even stone steps every now and again, so it would be easy to find the way back. Perhaps the passage led to caves that had fallen into disuse? Although Aeffe and Leofe, when questioned, could not recall ever hearing of such.

Just as I was about to call a halt and turn back, Wuffa, in the lead, gave an exclamation. “I recognize this. We’re almost there!”

We crowded round him, to find that the path ended against a sheer rock face, but in the ground at our feet gaped a square opening, clearly manmade. I slid my bag from my shoulder and knelt down next to it. When I lifted the lamp, I could make out the outline of steps leading down. Next to the opening lay a big stone slab, looking like a part of an enormous trapdoor.

“Come on,” Wuffa said, and started down the steps.

I held him back. “Wait! I do not like the look of this.”

Clearly the stone was meant to block the opening, although it would take several strong men to move it into place. Thinking hard, I slid my fingers along the smooth wood of my bow. Why close off this passage? To hide something away? Or keep something out? 

“Where does this lead?” I asked Wuffa.

“It goes down quite a bit and then opens out onto a large cave. That’s where the accident happened.” He gave me a puppy look. “It’s not far now.”

Not far! Whatever had possessed these boys to leave the safety of the caves and go exploring so deep into the darkness? My brothers had done a few stupid things when they were younger – Amrothos running away with the ambition to become a corsair sprang to mind – but they’d usually had their reasons. However convoluted.

I fixed Wuffa with a stern eye. “What were you doing down there anyway?”

The boy shifted from one leg to the other. “Just exploring…”

“Exploring what?”

He lowered his head. “We were looking for treasure,” he muttered. “Helm’s treasure.”

“That old tale!” Aeffe exclaimed behind me. When I looked at her questioningly, she explained. “Some people hold that Helm Hammerhand hid part of the king’s treasure in these caves during the Long Winter and that it’s still around somewhere. But we know that his sister-son, Fréaláf  King, moved it all back to Edoras.”

Wuffa jutted his chin out stubbornly. “Then why have a trapdoor like this in the middle of the mountain?” he asked, echoing my thoughts. “It has to be hiding something.”

Aeffe bent down and brushed the dust away from the slab. “Actually it looks a lot like the stones blocking the secret exits at the back of the caverns.”

Secret exits! That was news to me. None of the plans I had studied had shown any other way in apart from the main doors.

“What secret exits?” I asked. “You never mentioned them before.”

She shrugged. “Nobody but the family is supposed to know their location. Anyway, Father had both of them blocked up, because he was afraid the enemy might use them to gain entrance to the caves. But with orcs crawling all over the mountainside they would be useless now anyway.”

We exchanged an uneasy glance. My first impulse was to turn back and tell Éomer about our find as quickly as possible. Surely he would know what to do. Then I saw Wuffa’s stricken face. What if this meant that help for his brother came too late? I stared down at the steps, which disappeared into the darkness. As if somebody had told me as much, I knew that nothing good awaited us. But I could not possibly leave a child to face what horrors lurked down there on his own.

I rose to my feet and turned to the twins. “You two hurry back and alert Marshal Éomer.”

Fortunately I had picked up the torch the boys had used in their ill-fated exploration. I lit it from the lamp and handed Wuffa my bag of belongings.

“Carry this for me. We will go on.”

“I want to come too!” Aeffe protested.

I hesitated. It would be good to have another adult along. “Can you find the way back on your own?” I asked Leofe as I gave her the lamp.

She nodded bravely. “Yes.”

We watched her go, the light of her lamp dwindling swiftly, before we headed down the flight of steps. Wuffa walked in the lead, Aeffe behind him carrying the torch, while I brought up the rear, my bow ready in my hands. It might not be much use as a weapon in a cave, but holding it felt good nevertheless.

The stairs led down steeply into the bowels of the earth and when after a while I reached out a hand, the wall felt slick with moisture. As we descended, the ceiling got lower and lower, until I had to walk bent over. Being underground had never bothered me before, but all of a sudden the weight of the mountain above us seemed to bear down on me. I had to take a deep breath to stave off insipient panic.

Luckily we emerged into the cavern just then. The narrow passage opened up abruptly and when Aeffe lifted the torch we saw the ceiling arching high above us. Everywhere delicate columns of limestone rose from the floor, glittering mysteriously in the dim light, as if they were covered in diamonds. As we advanced, I saw that against the far wall of the cave lay a lake like a perfect mirror, stretching away into the darkness, and I exhaled my breath in wonder at the fantastic shapes reflected in it. A drop of water fell from the ceiling and the reflections wavered and broke, only to reform slowly.

“This way,” Wuffa called, running ahead. “Wulf! I’m back.”

A scrabbling noise and a faint whine were the only answer. Then we rounded a couple of big boulders and with a sob the boy threw himself on a shaggy grey bundle lying on the floor.

“Wulf!”

I stared down in disbelief at soulful, brown eyes regarding me steadily. Then a tongue flicked out to lick the boy’s face and a tail wagged tentatively. Behind me Aeffe swore softly. What fools we’d been!

Wuffa hugged the dog around the neck. “I’ve brought help,” he told him, “just as I promised.” He looked up at us, his tear-streaked face shining with confidence.

I sank down onto the ground and regarded the pair sourly. A dog! And what a sorry specimen as well. We had come all this way for a scruffy, mangy, flea-bitten mongrel?

The hope slowly drained out of Wuffa’s face. “You will help, won’t you?”

With a sigh I smothered my irritation. “Yes, of course.” I had only myself to blame after all. If I hadn’t been so tired I would probably have realized long ago that his friend walked on four legs, not two. But we had to hurry! The place might look like a treasure cave, but the sooner we were out of here, the better.

A small hole gaped in the wall, half filled with rubble, and the pair had obviously been in the process of clearing it, when one of the stones had rolled down on top of them. The poor beast had one of his hind legs trapped underneath the big rock, so the first task would be to free him. While Wuffa held the torch, Aeffe and I hastily cleared away the smaller stones lying around. Then we grabbed the rock by the edges, and with our combined strength we managed to lift it the few inches needed for Wuffa to pull his dog out. Poor Wulf yelped with pain and twisted round to lick his wound.

Wary of his big teeth, I knelt down to inspect the damage, but the dog seemed to understand that I wanted to help and even gave me a wag of his tail. The fur on the leg was matted with blood, yet a quick check showed the bone to be whole. I got out one of my bandages, and while Wuffa stroked the dog’s muzzle, talking to him in a low voice, I wrapped it around his leg.

“Do you think you can get him to walk now?” I asked Wuffa.

For one thing was certain: we had to get out of here as quickly as possible. I still did not like that stone trapdoor one single bit. Wuffa nodded and cajoled the dog to his feet. He was a big, shaggy beast, probably used as a sheep dog, but looked undernourished and ill-kempt as he limped along at the boy’s side. Our progress across the cavern floor was agonizingly slow and I did not even want to think about how we were going to get him up those stairs.

Suddenly he stopped and his head went up. A quiver ran along his body and his hackles rose as he pulled back his lips in a silent snarl.

A tremor of alarm shot through me. “What is it?”

Wuffa frowned. “I don’t know. He must have heard something.”

We strained our ears, listening into the darkness. The clear plink of a drop of water falling from the ceiling. Our soft breathing. Wulf started to growl, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. Then I heard it, too: a faint metallic noise from up ahead, like shod boots scraping against stone.

Could it be Éomer and his men? But I did not think enough time had passed for Leofe to fetch him. And surely Wulf would react differently. This was bad.

“We have to hide!” I hissed.

The other two looked at me uncertainly. I snatched the torch from Wuffa and swung it round, frantically searching for cover. Shadows leapt away. Another scraping noise, louder this time. They were coming! There! One of the limestone columns widened out at the bottom, almost as if it had a curtain draped artfully around it. I grabbed Wuffa by the arm.

“Behind there! Quickly!”

The boy scuttled over obediently, dragging his dog with him, Aeffe just behind him. But I hesitated. What should I do with the torch? Its light would surely betray us, yet how could we find our way back without it? The crack of metal on stone. And was that somebody cursing? So near! I looked around in desperation. The lake! As hard as I could, I threw the torch in that direction. It sailed in a slow arch across the black waters and disappeared with a hiss.

Darkness descended. A darkness so complete as I had never experienced before. No glimmer of light, nothing. I choked down a sob of terror as the mountain seemed to bear down on me again, crushing me. What if we never got out of here? Blindly I crawled across the cavern floor to where I thought the others had to be. Then a raspy tongue licked across my hand. Wulf! I hugged him so tightly that he gave a small yelp of surprise.

“Hush!” I whispered.

Loud trampling sounded and suddenly a light blossomed at the other end of the cave. Wulf surged to his feet, but we held him back. By the mercy of the Valar he seemed to understand that he had to keep quiet, even though he shook with rage.

“Well, it looks like you found the right way after all,” a deep voice said. “I won’t have to kill you lot of maggots yet.”

Harsh laughter. More lights appeared and the cave rang with loud stomping and trampling. How many of them were there? And what if they found us! We clung to each other.

“Is it much further from here?” the voice asked. To my surprise it spoke Westron in the manner of the people of Gondor.

“Not far,” another voice answered. A rustling noise. “There should be a staircase over in that corner leading to the upper levels.” More rustling. “Then it’s only a short passage to the first of the main caves.”

“Let me have a look at the map,” the first voice commanded.

A map! They had a map? I bit my lip. How could that be? With utmost care I crawled to the edge of the limestone curtain sheltering us. In one place it was so thin that it became translucent, marbled with delicate rose streaks like an alabaster lamp, and there were a few small holes in the stone. Cautiously I peeked through one of them.

Sweet Elbereth! I recoiled. Dozens of orcs milled about the other end of the cave. Huge creatures wearing black mail shirts and armed with axes and deadly looking spiked clubs. This was what our men had to face in battle? Trembling inwardly, I took another cautious peek. Some of them had taken off their helmets and joked with each other, displaying yellow fangs. Their red eyes glowed with an evil fire in their dark, leathery faces. And the largest one of them, his head crowned by a horned helmet, held a sheet of vellum in his claws.

“That is where all the women and children will be,” he chuckled, tapping a nail on the parchment. “And the rest of the loot. Plunder and women, what more would you want?” As the others joined his laughter, bile rose in my throat.

Somebody stepped from the shadows. A man, I realized, but not one of the Rohirrim. He wore nothing but leather trousers, buckled at the waist with a broad belt embossed with metal studs. At his back hung an animal pelt, the paws crossed at his throat. When he stepped up to the orc leader I saw that he had smeared his face with soot, giving him a fearsome appearance.

“We want our fair share,” he said in broken Westron. “This is our land. Kill thieves.”

“Are you afraid there isn’t enough booty to go round, Moragh?” the orc laughed. “Don’t worry. The horse lovers have stored all their goods in these caves. Didn’t Saruman promise your chieftain a reward? Fight for the White Hand and you will get exactly what you deserve.”

One of the Dunlendings then. I had heard of their continuing hate of the Rohirrim, who had been given the lands of Rohan for their help against the enemies of Gondor and displaced them. Did he really think Saruman would treat them any better?

The man spat on the floor. “Kill all Strawheads. And we want horses.”

“Do as you’re told and you will get your pick of the spoils,” the orc replied. “Do you remember your part of the plan?” He tapped the parchment again. “You and your men will enter the caves first and make your way towards the back. Kill as many Strawheads as you want.”

Moragh looked at him with narrowed eyes. “And why should you command?”

“Because I’ve been chosen and trained for this by Lord Saruman himself. I am Gubrak. I am Uruk-hai!”

The man sneered. “So what will you do?”

“Once the horse-boys hear of your coming, they will rush towards the back. Leaving the way free for us to capture the entrance to the caverns and let the others in.”

I had to stuff a knuckle in my mouth and bite down hard to keep from exclaiming in horror. To kill women and children in order to lure the men away from their posts! And it would work as well, for the riders were fiercely protective of their people. Éomer! Surely he had to arrive at any moment now. Would he get here in time? My hands shook as I watched the orcs and Dunlendings grab a quick bite to eat while they readied their weapons. Éomer and his men would come down those stairs one at a time. Easy targets.

Crawling back to Aeffe and Wuffa, I thought hard. Was there a way to distract them, to lure them away from the staircase somehow? But how – make a noise at the back of the cave? Only they would surely find us while looking for the cause of the commotion and then… My mind shied away from the knowledge of what they would do to us. Ironically enough, if we kept quiet we would be quite safe, while the women up in the caverns knew nothing of their peril.

The other two looked at me with scared faces. “What shall we do?” Aeffe whispered.

“I don’t know!” I whispered back. Why did they expect me to come up with a plan!

That moment uncouth laughter wafted over.

“I can smell the women already,” one of the orcs said, his voice carrying clearly.

“They stink of terror,” their leader said. “A heady scent.”

“Hey, Gubrak,” another called, “leave some for us. We want to play as well!” More laughter.

“Don’t worry,” the leader retorted. “There is enough young and tender womanflesh up in those caves to satisfy all our appetites. And we’ll have the time to do it properly, hone our skills until they beg for release. Fight well for me, and I’ll let you pick the choicest morsels for your games.”

A flare of anger sparked within me. What kind of creature took enjoyment from torturing others? I thought of the mothers up there with their few kitchen knives, guarding the sleep of their children. Pitiful weapons – they would stand no chance against fully armed Uruks. Filth! They had no right to invade our lands, burning and killing as they went. I bunched my hands into fists. If only I were a warrior like my brothers and could fight them!

I remembered my bow. I might manage to kill a couple of them, only what good would that accomplish? There had to be a way to entice these monsters away from the booty awaiting them up in the caverns. My eyes fell on Wuffa and I glared at him. If only he had not gone exploring for his stupid treasure! Treasure…of course…an idea started to form in my mind. I grabbed my bag and rummaged through it, trying not to make any noise. There was the small leather purse filled with gold coins that Dirhael had given me before leaving for Gondor. Not a treasure as such, but a possible distraction. It only had to hold their interest for a little while, might even make them hare off in a completely different direction.

But somebody had to provide the information. I closed my eyes, desperately searching for another plan – one that did not involve me having to face a pack of orcs. There wasn’t one.

Opening my eyes again, I looked straight at Aeffe. “You stay hidden here. No matter what happens.”

Not waiting for an answer, I grabbed the bag of coins in one hand, my bow and a single arrow in the other. Then I crept away towards the back of the cave, retracing our steps. Trying to ignore the part of my mind that gibbered with panic. I was a daughter of Dol Amroth and would not surrender to fear, I told myself, still warmed by anger. If I could not stop them by might of arms, I would use my wits instead.

The light of the torches made the limestone columns sparkle and glitter in a rainbow of colours. Shaped like fairy castles and underwater forests, the fantastic shapes almost made me believe that I walked in a dream. If only I could wake up safe and sound in my room in Edoras!

Too soon I reached the place where we had found Wulf. Not giving myself a chance to change my mind, I picked up a handful of stones and threw them high in the air. They landed on the cavern floor with a loud rattling noise.

The reaction came at once. “What was that?” one of the orcs called out.

Taking a step forward, I emptied out my bag of coins. The unmistakable clink of metal on stone filled the sudden silence.

“That way!” a harsh voice shouted. “It came from over there.”

Heavy steps, quickly getting nearer. I pressed my back against one of the columns and fitted the arrow to the string of my bow.

The filth were coming. Let them.

Chapter 18

I did not have to wait long. Torches approached, their bright light making me squint.

“A wench!” one of the orcs exclaimed.

I levelled my arrow at them. “Halt! The first of you to come near me dies.”

Caught off balance, the orcs hesitated. My only opportunity to act. “Let me go and you can have the treasure I’ve found,” I called.

“Treasure?” They milled about uncertainly, forming a loose semi-circle around me. Fighting down my panic at the sight of their leering faces, their claws clenching and unclenching, I forced myself to stand straight and keep my voice level.

“Gold!” I told them. “And a king’s ransom in precious stones. Rubies, diamonds, sapphires…”

Greed ignited in their eyes. “Gold!”

Then the leader shouldered his way through the crowd. “What’s going on?” When he spotted me, his lips parted in a grin, revealing a pair of yellow fangs. “Well, well, well. What have we here!”

Large and heavily muscled, he looked as strong as a bull, a picture reinforced by the horned helmet he wore, and his eyes glittered with evil intelligence. Was it true that Saruman had mingled the blood of orcs and men to create this new breed of Uruks? This one certainly looked as if he combined the worst of both races, the cunning of men with the hatred of all living things that orcs displayed.

“Gubrak, the wench claims there is gold hidden here somewhere,” one of the orcs said.

I trained my arrow on the leader’s throat, willing my voice to remain steady and not quiver with fear. “Stay where you are if you value your life! You can have the treasure, but that is all.” Would they take the bait?

“She’s making it up,” Gubrak snorted. “Who would hide their gold down here of all places?” He did not seem particularly impressed by the arrow pointed at him.

“Helm Hammerhand,” I told them, “King of the Golden Hall.” Remembering a tale from one of the books in Meduseld’s library, I lowered my voice, the way the storytellers at home did.

“He hid his treasure in these caves during the Long Winter, and when he died, nobody knew where to find it. All the gold and gems that his forebears won from Scatha the Worm, a dragon’s hoard of riches!”

That moment one of the orcs at the back stooped to snatch something up from the floor. He gave a shout in their vile language and at once an ugly scuffle erupted. They must have found my coins! I bit my lip to keep from crying out as they tore at each other’s arms, yelling curses and snarling like a pack of wolves. Some of the orcs were bigger than the others, and they simply hurled the smaller ones aside, claiming the booty for themselves.

Then the orc captain snapped an order and slowly quiet ensued again. At another snarled command, one of the orcs reluctantly handed over his find. Gubrak turned the gold coin over in his claws, his nails clicking against the metal in the sudden quiet.

“This is all? A few paltry coins?”

“There is more where that came from. Mountains of gold,” I answered. Where in the name of the Valar was Éomer? It seemed like I had spent an age in this cave already. My arm ached from holding the bow taut, but I did not dare show any sign of weakness. If only these animals could kill each other off! That gave me an idea.

“You will have to decide how to divide the treasure,” I told them, “after all it wouldn’t be fair if the weaker of you got the same share as the stronger ones.”

As I had hoped, that set off another argument.

“We are Isengard’s best, the fighting Uruk-hai,” one shouted. “We deserve much more than these mountain maggots.”

“Why should they get anything at all?” another growled.

The smaller orcs snarled curses and several of them drew their daggers, whereupon the Uruks responded by hefting their axes and yelling back.

“Quiet!” Gubrak commanded.

His hand went to the hilt of the broadsword hanging at his side, and at once the other orcs backed down and lowered their weapons. He waited until the last mutterings of protest had died away, before turning his attention on me. Predatory eyes fastened on my face and sweat broke out all over me. A cloud of malevolence seemed to surround him and I knew here stood a creature that revelled in causing pain and anguish.

Slowly the orc captain lifted the coin between his fingers. “Perhaps, my pretty,” he said, “you will explain how a Gondorian coin bearing the mark of Steward Denethor the Second came to be in a treasure that you claim is two hundred years old?”

I stared at him stupidly and tried to think of a plausible explanation while an angry mutter went through the crowd as they began to comprehend my deception. Outwitted by an orc!

Suddenly I was grabbed from behind. Rough hands seized me. No! I tried to shoot my bow, but my assailant yanked on my arm. The arrow skittered harmlessly across the floor. I screamed. Coarse laughter in my ear. My arms were pulled back harshly and I cried out in pain. More laughter as somebody pinioned them in a grip like a vice and twisted them cruelly behind my back. Panicking, I struggled wildly.

“Woman is mine,” said a gravelly voice. The Dunlending! Somehow he had managed to creep up behind my back while my attention was on Gubrak. Now he transferred his grip to one hand while with the other he seized my shoulder and forced me to look round at him.

“Mine,” he repeated. His breath reeked of onions.

“I think not,” said the orc captain.

The Dunlending stiffened. “I capture woman,” he hissed.

“Are you defying me, Moragh?” the orc’s voice went dangerously low. “I am the one who decides the distribution of loot.”

Éomer, I thought. Where are you? Help me! What kept him so long? Surely he had to come soon. I clung to that thought as the Dunlending reluctantly released my shoulder, still pinioning my arms behind my back, but leaving me to face their leader. A clawed hand gripped my chin and tilted it upwards, the nails not quite breaking the skin, but exerting enough pressure to be painful.

“Let’s have a proper look at what we have netted.”

Black, leathery hide, a line of jagged teeth, red eyes glowing behind the slits of his helmet. Stinking of old blood. He raked his gaze up and down my body in pleasurable anticipation and I knew I should be quaking in terror, but instead I felt a sense of unreality - as if events had not quite caught up with me. If this was a nightmare, the thought flitted through my mind, now would be a good moment to wake up.

The orc captain bared his fangs. “You thought we were stupid, didn’t you, to try and catch us with such a ruse? And maybe with these mountain maggots you might have succeeded, but I was chosen by Lord Saruman himself for this mission. We are the elite of Isengard!” He bent closer. “Your new masters.”

As he leered at me I wondered just how man-like he was under that black armour. The thought sent a bolt of sheer panic through me. Éomer!

“Let us have a bit of play, Gubrak!” the other orcs clamoured, sounding nothing as much as children with a new toy.

Their leader shook his head. “Later. First I want to know what she is doing down here. It stinks of a trap.”

He took hold of my braid and wrapped it round his hand, forcing me to tip back my head. A sharp nail stroked across my exposed throat. “You do not look like one of the Strawheads.”

Time, I needed to buy time. “I hail from Gondor,” I admitted.

“A Stonelander woman, as I thought. And what brings you here?”

“My father sent me to Rohan to find a husband.”

That elicited a coarse suggestion from the Dunlending behind my back that made the orcs roar with laughter. Blood rushed to my cheeks and a tiny flare of anger sparked within me.

Gubrak tightened his hold on my hair until I was hard pressed to keep from crying out in pain. “That does not answer my question,” he whispered. “You won’t find a husband in these caves. So what are you doing down here?”

“I told you! I was looking for treasure.”

“Woman, you are trying my patience.” He bent over me until his face was only inches away. “Do not think you can play games with me.”

I pressed my lips together in denial.

His fetid breath brushed across my cheeks. “We have ways of making captives talk. Especially females.” With a sharp nail he traced a curling pattern across my temple and down towards the neckline of my blouse.

More laughter. Gubrak’s mouth parted in a knowing smile, his eyes watching me closely, and I realized he was enjoying every moment. How many women had he terrorized in this manner? Relished their fright, delighted in their pain, had them pleading for mercy? Anger ignited inside me. He would not play such games with me. And I was getting tired of providing amusement to this filth.

“That’s all you can do, isn’t it,” I told him, “threatening defenceless women. Why don’t you find an opponent your own size!” Like a forest fire, rage spread through me. I welcomed it.

Gubrak looked taken aback. “We are the fighting Uruk-hai!” he roared.

“You are scum! You and your evil kin have no place on this earth,” I threw in his face. “We will defeat your master and then we will hunt you down like the vermin you are. No matter in what stinking little hole you cower, we will find you and kill you!”

His face darkened and he yanked on my hair. “You will pay for that!”

But I no longer cared what consequences my words might provoke. “You were born as scum,” I spat, “you will die as scum.”

With a metallic ring he drew his sword. “Enough!”

Suddenly loud barking sounded, startling me. Wulf! In my fury I had forgotten about Aeffe and Wuffa.

Gubrak looked round. “What–”

An orc cried out in pain. “A wolf! It bit me!”

“It came from over there!” another shouted.

No! They mustn’t find the others! I tried to pull my arms free, but the Dunlending still held them in an iron grip.

“Baruk Khazâd!” The call rang across the cave, echoing back from all sides. “Khazâd ai-mênu!”

Who was that? The orcs milled round in confusion while Gubrak shouted orders. All of a sudden out of the darkness a figure burst forth, white horsetail on his helmet, shining blade in his hands. The first orc fell with a slash across the throat before he could do as much as lift his axe. Éomer! Our eyes met for a single moment.

Then I cried out in alarm when another orc lashed out with his club at him. But Éomer sidestepped the onslaught neatly, cutting across the orc’s exposed side and pivoting to meet the attack of an Uruk I had never even noticed behind him. Their swords clashed, before Éomer freed his blade with a violent twist and aimed a swipe at his opponent’s head. The Uruk stumbled back, but Éomer could not follow up his advantage, for already more orcs assailed him from all sides. Where were his men? Surely he had not come completely alone?

“Baruk Khazâd!” the shout rang out again and one of the orcs attacking Éomer went down with a cry. The dwarf! And then at last his riders arrived, cutting into the black, heaving mass of orcs like a warship cleaving the waves. Gubrak swore as the balance of the fight shifted in favour of the Rohirrim.

“How did those cursed horse-lovers find us!” He lifted his sword. “Moragh, you take care of the woman. Make sure she does not escape.”

With a blood-curdling yell he jumped to the attack. His helmet crowned by a pair of horns, he resembled a charging bull. Sweet Elbereth! I caught my breath as one of the riders went down under his furious assault. Warned by some warrior’s instinct, Éomer spun towards this new threat and met the blade that would have ended his rider’s life with his own. But the move unbalanced him, a fact Gubrak ruthlessly exploited by aiming a kick at his leg. Éomer had to scramble back hastily.

The two exchanged a measuring look and a strange kind of stillness seemed to spread out from them. Though the fight raged on around them, they faced each other as if nobody else existed, circling slowly, each step placed with utter concentration. I bit my lip to keep from crying out when Gubrak suddenly lashed out with his sword in a two-handed stroke that Éomer only managed to counter at the last moment. The Uruk was as fast as a striking snake! I had often watched my brothers’ bouts in the practice ring and perforce picked up some knowledge of swordplay, so I could tell what a formidable foe Éomer faced here.

Many of the torches carried by the orcs had gone out and the cavern was filled with shadows. Would that favour Gubrak with his better night sight? That moment Éomer launched an attack, first feinting left, then cutting in low to the right. Steel rang against steel as the Uruk met his blade. Éomer gave him no chance to retake the initiative and spun round to aim a blow at his head. Gubrak managed to block that as well, but Éomer’s sword scored a shallow cut along his forearm. The Uruk bellowed with anger and lashed out violently, forcing Éomer to give ground.

They exchanged a savage series of blows next, delivered with shattering force. Gubrak punctuated each slash with a furious grunt, but Éomer fought silently, radiating icy rage. My brother Amrothos was the best swordsman of Dol Amroth, certainly the most elegant one, yet I did not think he would have lasted five minutes against this tightly-leashed ferociousness. No, not elegant, but a consummate warrior. And he was getting the upper hand, I perceived, as the Uruk first had to take one step back and then another. The Dunlending holding me seemed to come to the same conclusion, for he swore loudly. I had forgotten all about him! Abruptly I realized another thing: the orcs were losing the fight and the Dunlending surely had to know that none of them would leave this place alive. Which meant that he might well decide to kill me…

That moment Gubrak missed his footing and slipped on the gore covering the cavern floor. A tiny misstep, but it was enough. Éomer showed no mercy. His sword fell in a silvery arch and bit deep into the unprotected spot on the neck above the mail shirt. With a horrible gurgling sound the Uruk pitched forward. 

The hands holding my arms behind my back went slack as the Dunlending exclaimed in dismay and leant forward. I took my chance. Twisting away from him, I pulled out of his grip. Away! I had to get away somehow! He grabbed after me, but I kicked him in the shin, making him yowl with pain. I turned to flee.

Suddenly something yanked on my braid. Unbalanced, I stumbled and fell to the floor. Blackness edged my vision. Another pull on my hair. What? I rolled onto my stomach and tried to get up, but found myself trapped. Somebody held onto my braid! When I looked up I met the Dunlending’s eyes, rimmed white in his face streaked with soot. He lay on the ground, an arm outstretched my way, the end of my braid wrapped round his wrist. An instant later he lunged at me with a dagger held in his other hand.

I cried out. Glittering steel. A sword passed so close to my face that I felt the wind of its passage. Blade met blade in a discordant clash. And all of a sudden I could move again.

“Get back!” somebody shouted.

Éomer! Throwing himself to his knees, he had blocked the Dunlending’s dagger with his sword. I scrambled backwards, getting out of his way as he surged to his feet again. He spun round to meet his new opponent, but then checked himself. I followed his glance. The Dunlending lay on his back with an axe embedded in his chest. A short figure bent over him.

“Forty,” the dwarf said as he reclaimed his axe.

I stared at him stupidly. Then I started to shake when it dawned on me how narrowly I had missed death. The damp floor under my hands, a stone digging into my knee, chill air flowing across my face. I was alive.

A hand gripped my shoulder. “Lothíriel! Are you hurt?” Éomer demanded to know.

“I don’t think so,” I stammered, looking up at him. My hair had come loose and fell into my face.

“Stay down,” he commanded and let go of me.

But I could not have moved that moment anyway. I was alive! And the Dunlending was dead. Hastily I averted my eyes from the pool of blood spreading around his limp form. Only a few minutes ago I had wanted them all dead, but now that my wish had come true, I found the grim reality of it difficult to face. The smell of freshly spilt blood hung in the air, making my stomach cramp.

Around us, the sounds of fighting slowly died down. His sword drawn, Éomer stood balanced on the balls of his feet, surveying the carnage. Then he bent over the Dunlending’s body and quite casually wiped his sword on the man’s trousers before he sheathed it in his scabbard. The blade hissed with satisfaction. It had drunk deep of blood tonight.

“Check that they are all dead,” he called. “We do not want any nasty surprises.”

I struggled to my feet and leant against one of the limestone columns as he turned to me. His hauberk bore the marks of fighting and fresh gore was splattered across one side of his helmet. A wonderful sight: he was all right.

I took a step towards him. “Éomer…”

With a single movement he closed on me and gripped me by the shoulders. “Lothíriel, did those animals touch you?”

“No, you arrived just in time.”

Éomer released his breath in a long sigh and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, they were blazing with fury.

“Then perhaps you can explain to me what foolish, brainless and idiotic idea possessed you to come down here on your own?”

It dawned on me that he was still very angry. With me.

Chapter 19

“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I know it wasn’t very wise to…”

“Not wise?” Éomer interrupted me. “Plain stupid is what I’d call it! What did you think you were doing? Or did you not think at all!”

His eyes bored into me, flashing fire behind the slits of his helmet. I looked up at him speechlessly, trying to gather my wits, and that infuriated him even more.

“Of all the brainless things to do!” he exclaimed, and his fingers dug into my shoulders. “Wandering off to explore caves by yourself! We are in the middle of a battle, my lady, not on a pleasure outing on your father’s lands.”

“I know…”

“You seem to know very little!” he broke in, giving me no chance to finish my sentence. “A two-year old child would have more sense than to quite deliberately endanger herself and those in her care.”

What could I say? It had been a foolish thing to do, and I had not been thinking straight. Tears threatened to overwhelm me. “I’m sorry,” I choked.

He bent over me, his face only inches away from mine. Orc blood covered him, and the foetid smell of it washed over me. “What you did is absolutely inexcusable! You should have told me the moment you discovered the unmapped passage.”

“I know, but…”

“No buts,” he snapped. “You had patients to look after, but on a whim you went off on a chase through these caves instead.”

That wasn’t fair! After all he himself had ordered us away. “It was no whim,” I protested, “we went looking for Wuffa’s brother. I could not leave a child down here hurt and alone.”

His face softened very slightly. “Did you find the boy?”

“Well, actually…” Something wet licked my hand and I started. When I looked down I met Wulf’s brown eyes. He wagged his tail.

Éomer followed my glance and frowned. “What is a dog doing down here?”

“Well…” I squirmed and looked around for help. There stood Aeffe with an arm wrapped protectively around a white-faced Wuffa. A wave of relief swept through me to see them unhurt.

“Well?” Éomer asked impatiently.

I swallowed. He would think me a fool. “It was all a bit of a misunderstanding,” I explained. “I thought Wuffa was talking about his brother when actually he meant his dog…”

Éomer stared at me as the import of my words slowly sank in. “Are you telling me we came down here to rescue a dog?” He glared at Wulf. “A flea-bitten mongrel! Because of your stupidity my men and I had to risk our lives for a dog?”

It was all getting too much for me. The smell, the sight of death, the memory of Gubrak’s hands on me. Why did Éomer have to keep shouting at me? When all I wanted to do was to get out of here and curl up somewhere safe to have a good cry.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Sorry won’t bring my men back! Sorry won’t ease their pain!”

I opened my mouth in dismay. I had not thought of that. If any of his men had died because of my actions I would never forgive myself!

“My lord,” one of Éomer’s riders interrupted, “we did not lose anybody. Several men will need to see a healer, but they should all recover.”

I recognized Éothain, Éomer’s second-in-command. He looked ill at ease, as did the other men who had gathered around us.

Éomer ignored our growing audience. “Pure luck! Luck that Leofe found me quickly, luck that we managed to take the orcs by surprise!” he exclaimed, looming over me. “What if things had gone wrong? You acted with a complete lack of common sense.”

Tears rose in my eyes, but I forced myself to keep my voice steady. “I only did what I thought best.”

“Best!” he exploded. “Do you know what these orcs do to the women they capture? Do I have to tell you?”

“Lord Éomer!” Éothain protested and took hold of his arm.

Éomer shrugged him off like an irritating fly and tightened his grip on my shoulders. “Do you have any idea how many times we have come too late?” he asked, shaking me so hard that my hair flew in my face. “They are brutes! Lower than animals, delighting in every type of cruelty! Do you want me to tell you what they would have done to you?”

Something snapped inside me. “I know exactly!” I shouted at him. “Do you think I do not know that this very moment I might be lying underneath one of them, screaming and begging for a quick death?”

He looked as if I had slapped him.

I twisted out of his slackened grip. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to be sick!”

It wasn’t easy to be dignified while emptying one’s stomach, but I did my best over in a corner by the lake. Not that I had much to get rid off anyway, for I had not eaten anything since breakfast. The bitter taste of bile filled my mouth and my hair kept getting in the way. What was wrong with it anyway?

A hand descended lightly on my shoulder. “Lothíriel…”

“Go away!” I snarled in the middle of another bout of retching.

He went, but a little later somebody offered me a flask of water, which I accepted gratefully.

Aeffe slipped an arm around my waist. “Poor you.”

Wiping my mouth on my sleeve, I sat back on my heels and took a swig of water. “Thank you.”

Then I got my first good look at her. “Your face!” I exclaimed.

Gingerly she touched the slash across her left cheek. The blood had already clotted, forming a thin red line just underneath her eye.

Aeffe shrugged. “I got off lightly from my first encounter with an orc. He underestimated me.” Only now did I notice the sword lying on the floor by her side, covered to the hilt in black blood. A true daughter of her father’s! Nobody would ever confuse her with her gentler twin again.

She brushed back a curl from my face. “And what have you done to your hair?”

My hair? I reached up to find only short strands, no more than shoulder length. In surprise I felt the back of my neck. My braid was gone! Suddenly I remembered Éomer’s sword passing close enough to touch.

“Éomer must have cut it off when he fought that Dunlending,” I said, still dazed. It looked like I had not come off unscathed either.

“My ladies?”

Beorngar stood behind us with half a dozen guards. He held out a hand to me. “We are leaving. The Marshal has detailed us to escort you.”

Obediently I struggled to my feet, grateful for his support. He took my arm and lowered his voice for a moment. “My lady, please do not judge the Marshal too harshly.” When I looked up at him in surprise, he added. “He’s had the temper of a hungry dragon ever since…well… for a while now.”

I swallowed and nodded. Something else to lay at my door. Éomer’s angry words rang in my mind while we walked past the other riders, many of whom sported fresh cuts and lacerations. All because I had behaved like a fool. A strange numbness filled me, as if I were walking in a dream. At the opening to the stairs leading to the upper caves, Wuffa waited for us, his dog at his heels. Already Éomer’s men were filing past him to secure the way back.

The boy took my hand beseechingly. “I can’t get Wulf up these stairs. He’s hurt!”

The wretched hound! I looked at the cause of all our trouble with very little charity. Putting his head to one side, Wulf wagged his tail at me.

I sighed. “I don’t know what to do. Perhaps…”

“I’ll carry him,” Éomer’s deep voice interrupted me.

I jumped and quickly ducked my head, not wanting to see the contempt in his eyes. If he yelled at me again, I would surely break down. But Éomer said nothing more and without further ado, bent over the dog and picked him up. Taken by surprise, Wulf yelped and growled at him.

“Shut up,” Éomer told him curtly.

Recognizing the voice of authority, the dog gave a whine and licked his hand submissively.

Éomer ignored him. “Hurry up. We have to get back to the entrance.”

I had completely forgotten about the siege! What if the enemy had broken through while Éomer was distracted down here? The thought lent urgency to my steps as we ascended the long stairs. They seemed to stretch on endlessly, with only the back of the guard in front of me visible.

My legs were shaking with effort by the time the passage opened up above us and a rider helped me up the last few steps. I paused for a moment to catch my breath while the men hurried past us, anxious to reclaim their abandoned posts. Éomer came up last and at once set about organizing the closing of the passage. As I watched two of his men push the large stone slab across the opening, the thought suddenly struck me that he could simply have cut off the orcs that way without risking a fight. I had never even considered that possibility, knowing with utter certainty that he would come for me. And I had been right.

But I was too tired to pursue that thought and what it meant to me, as I stumbled along the uneven path back to the main caverns. Our ill-fated adventure had probably taken less than an hour, yet it seemed a lifetime ago that I’d sat with Leofe and Aeffe by the pool and washed my face. I wondered what time it was. Surely dawn could not be much further off – not that we would see any of it from down here.

Finally, we emerged from the narrow passage, and I blinked at the sudden brightness of so many torches. Everybody was awake now, and the women and children watched us curiously as we threaded our way between them. With guards walking either side of me, I could not help feeling like a recaptured prisoner being led to her cell.

At least a messenger from Gamling awaited Éomer, reporting that the orcs had made no further move, relieving me of that worry. Perhaps they still expected their comrades sent by the secret passage to open the doors for them from the inside. 

Ceolwen was waiting in the next cavern. When she spotted us, she heaved herself to her feet and came rushing up.

“Aeffe, Lothíriel! You are all right,” she exclaimed and peered at me. “Why, you look awful! And what has happened to your hair?”

The concern in her voice undid me. “He cut it off! Oh, Ceolwen, it was so awful.” I threw myself into her arms and started sobbing. “There were orcs and Dunlendings down there and they planned to kill everybody! I just wanted to distract them somehow, but it all went wrong. They caught me! And their leader…” At the memory of Gubrak’s touch I began to shake all over. “He laughed at me and said he was going to…to…”

I had to stop and gulp for air. Behind me Éomer was spitting curses.

Ceolwen hugged me tightly. “Oh Lothíriel! Poor you! But you’re safe now, Éomer has rescued you.”

That only made me cry harder. “I know it’s all my fault,” I wailed, “and I’m sorry!”

Ceolwen slipped an arm around my waist and led me over to her pile of blankets. “You’re overwrought. Come and sit down.” Then she raised her voice. “Éomer, will you stop swearing! You’re not helping at all. And anyway, the orcs are dead, so you can’t kill them again.”

I buried my head in her shoulder and shut out the world as I released the pent-up terror of the last hour. Safe at last! Dimly I heard her talking to Éomer and giving orders, but paid no attention to them. Ceolwen stroked my back patiently, soothing me, and after a while my sobs slowly quieted and I regained control of myself.

“Here, have some water,” she said, lifting a cup to my lips.

I gulped it down thirstily. “I’m sorry.” I looked up to find everybody gone, except for Aeffe sitting next to me and Beorngar standing guard a discreet distance away. “Where’s Éomer?”

She actually chuckled. “Gone to deal with Master Herewald. I think the healer will get an earful.”

I wiped my eyes on my sleeve. “Why?”

“Leofe told him that Herewald sent you away. Apparently Éomer only meant him to take charge of the wounded and he greatly exceeded his orders.”

“Oh.” I felt too empty to experience any feeling of satisfaction at that news.

Just then Ceolwen’s maid arrived with two bowls of soup and a loaf of bread, which she handed to Aeffe and me.

“Eat,” Ceolwen told us, “and you’ll feel better.”

Obediently I spooned down the soup and found she was right: I did feel less shaky after a while. “I’m sorry for breaking down like that and crying all over you,” I apologized to Ceolwen with a weak smile.

She squeezed my hand. “That’s what friends are for. I’m surprised you bore up as long as you did. You were very brave.”

I shook my head. “I was a fool. If only I had realized that Wuffa was talking about his dog, all could have been avoided.” I looked around. “Where are they anyway?”

“Éomer has taken them with him to keep an eye on them.”

Fresh tears rose to my eyes, but I wiped them away determinedly. “He thinks me foolish…” I sniffed. “…and irresponsible and brainless and…”

“Wuffa said that?” Ceolwen exclaimed in astonishment.

“No. Éomer.”

“He shouted at her,” Aeffe put in, “and dressed her down in front of all his men.”

My misery threatened to swamp me again. “He despises me.”

“Oh, Lothíriel,” Ceolwen sighed, “sometimes I forget how young you are. Can’t you see he was frightened out of his wits?”

I stared at her. “Frightened? Éomer?”

“For you! I’ve never seen him looking so white as when he raced through this cave. He outpaced all his men.”

It took me a moment to digest this. “But why was he so angry with me?”

She shrugged. “Men such as Éomer do not like to be frightened, for it shows them that they cannot control everything. Erkenbrand is just the same.”

I wasn’t really listening to her. Afraid for me! And he had risked his life just now. Could it be that he still harboured some feelings for me?

“I have to get back to my patients,” I decided and jumped up.

“What, now?” Aeffe asked, her mouth dropping open. Then suddenly she grinned and got up, too. “If you say so.”

Ceolwen frowned. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“Yes, yes,” I assured her, already picking up my satchel and checking it over. Aeffe, bless her, had remembered to bring it with her. Once I had clean water, I could also patch up the cut on her cheek.

That moment a low calling sound rose all around us. It seemed to emanate from the very rocks, faint at first, but growing louder. Over by his post, Beorngar slewed round.

Aeffe and Ceolwen exchanged a look. “Helm’s Horn!”

“What does it mean?” I asked.

Ceolwen extended a hand to me. “Something must be happening. Help me up!”

As quickly as possible we made our way towards the entrance of the cavern, but the passages were crowded with refugees talking excitedly, so our going was slow, even though they made way for us once they recognized Ceolwen. When we finally reached the big cavern we found it empty of all but the healers and their patients. By the tunnel leading down to the gate, rocks and pieces of timber lay strewn haphazardly as if dumped there in haste. They had cleared the entrance!

Cautiously we ventured across the huge expanse of the cavern floor, many of the women and children following behind us. At the mouth of the tunnel Beorngar held up his hand.

“Let me check first.” He disappeared amongst the debris.

Exchanging anxious glances, we waited impatiently. Beorngar was gone so long that I almost decided to go and investigate myself. But just when I thought I could stand the suspense no longer, he returned with another rider in tow.

“Victory!” the man shouted.

All around us cheers erupted. Ceolwen grabbed the man’s arm. “Eadsig, what has happened?”

“Your husband, my lady, and Gandalf. They arrived leading a thousand men on foot, just when Théoden King and his knights charged from the Hornburg. This very moment he is conferring with Marshal Éomer and that ranger from the north.”

Aeffe whooped loudly, but Ceolwen sagged against me. “Erkenbrand,” she whispered and started crying.

It was my turn to hold her while sobs of relief shook her. I heard the man say something about a forest of strange trees in the valley outside, but paid little attention to this unlikely tale. The sudden change of fortune seemed to have confused him.

Ceolwen straightened up and wiped her eyes. “I have to see him.”

She pushed through the crowd and I started to follow her, but that moment somebody tugged on my arm. I glanced down to find Wuffa holding my sleeve.

“My lady, please wait,” he said, “Lady Leofe sends me. They need help with the wounded.”

Watching Ceolwen’s disappearing back, I hesitated. Éomer! I wanted to see that he was all right, wanted to talk to him. And how I longed to get out of these caves and stand under the open sky again. But how could I abandon those that needed me? Who had fought for us and paid a high price for our safety.

So with a sigh I turned round and followed Wuffa to the other side of the cave. The battle had been won, but at a terrible cost. Too many forms lay still on their pallets, a sheet draped across their face. And of those that lived, many would take weeks to recover from their injuries, if indeed recover they did.

I had not looked forward to meeting Master Herewald again, but the healer greeted me much chastened, obsequiously offering me back my flask of poppy syrup. I declined his offer, yet as I joined the other women caring for the wounded, I could not help wondering what Éomer had said to him to cause such meekness. We were kept busy, for the battle swept in one last wave of injured riders, those hurt in the king’s final charge. Although mostly their wounds were surprisingly light, still they needed tending. The world narrowed down to bleeding cuts, broken limbs, splints and bandages once again.

I don’t know how much time passed until finally a lull descended. Reaching the end of one row of pallets, I sat down on an old horse blanket. Fatigue dragged at me like a physical weight and I closed my eyes. I would carry on in a moment; all I needed was a brief rest. Just a rest…

Chapter 20

Éomer lay on the trampled grass – sightless eyes staring at nothing, a sword protruding from his chest. Streamers of fog flowed around us and a wolf howled in the distance. Sobbing, I fell to my knees next to him and ran my fingers over his cold face. I had not kissed him!

Somebody laughed. “You’re mine now.”

Gubrak stood on Éomer’s other side. Baring his fangs, he reached for me. “To the victor the spoils of war.”

I screamed and sat bolt upright in bed. “No!”

My heart hammered in my chest as if I had just run a race. Gasping, I buried my face in my hands. It wasn’t true! Gubrak was dead, Éomer alive. But the dream had been so vivid! Just a nightmare brought on by the traumatic events of the previous night, I told myself. Faramir was the one with dreams sent to him, not I. It would not come true. It must not!

With shaking fingers I pushed back the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Then I paused. The last thing I remembered, I had been tending to the wounded in the caves, yet here I was in my room. How had I got up here? Looking down, I found myself still fully clothed, except for my boots lying on the floor. From his table by the side of the bed, Felaróf was watching me enigmatically, as if he knew more than I did.

“How did I get here?” I asked him.

Unsurprisingly, the wooden horse gave no answer. To judge by the light falling in from my window it was evening. Had I slept away the whole day? I listened for a moment, hearing nothing but the reassuring everyday noises of a busy castle: muted steps on the stairs outside my room, servants chatting, a horse neighing somewhere.

We had survived. Had miraculously won the battle. I thought of all the still forms on their pallets in the cavern, of Wulfstan dying while holding my hand. Every day forward from now on would be a gift. A gift that I might get the opportunity to talk to Éomer and explain my actions, perhaps once things had settled down… But I dared not think of that yet. Dared not hope.

Sighing, I got up and poured some water into the shallow bowl on top of the washstand. Splashing the cold water over my face made me feel slightly more awake and tore away the last lingering cobwebs of my nightmare. I grimaced as swirls of dirt and dried blood coloured the clear liquid a rusty red, and reached for the cake of soap lying ready. First of all, if the rather ripe smell clinging to me was any indication, I needed a good wash!

It took no time at all to use up the water left for me and still I felt no cleaner. What would I have given for a long soak in a hot bath, but I couldn’t very well expect such luxuries in the aftermath of a battle. However, just rinsing off the accumulated dirt would be nice. Perhaps I could find a servant to fetch me more water?

With dripping hands I opened the door to the corridor and nearly fell over Wuffa, who sat just outside.

“My lady,” he exclaimed, “you’re awake at last. Lady Ceolwen told me to wait here. Let me get her for you.”

But when he scrambled up to go running off, I stayed him.

“Wait! Can you get a servant to bring a bucket of water for me?”

“Yes, of course.” He nodded eagerly. “Will you look after Wulf while I’m gone?”

My eyes fell on the grey wolfhound that dozed curled up against the wall. Somebody had renewed the bandage on his injured leg and I knelt down beside him, inspecting the extremely neat work.

“Who did this?”

“Oh, that northern lord with the strange title who came with the king,” Wuffa answered.

I stared up at the boy. “The Heir of Elendil?”

He nodded. “That’s the one. He was really nice about it and told Wulf not to worry the bandage. And I’m sure that Wulf understood every word, for he listened to him!”

I shook my head in amazement. The man claimed the throne of Gondor and went around patching up animals! What would my uncle say? Somehow I rather doubted that Denethor would step down gracefully in favour of this stranger from the north.

Once Wuffa had gone in search of Ceolwen, I went to inspect my wardrobe. In my rather rushed departure from Minas Tirith I had neglected to bring any light clothing, a fact I now regretted. All my gowns were made of heavy wool, and with my gold lost to the orcs I wouldn’t even be able to order new ones. Then I shrugged. How silly to worry about such things when we were lucky just to be alive!

A knock on the door heralded Ceolwen’s arrival, and she entered the room followed by a couple of servants carrying buckets of water. To my amazement it was steaming hot.

“You’ve earned it,” Ceolwen declared, directing the men to put down the buckets by the empty fireplace and to set up a screen. A third one rolled in a shallow wooden tub.

Ceolwen’s maid, Burghild, entered next with a pile of towels in her arms, and shooed the men out the door. Clucking over the state of my clothes, she helped me out of my blood encrusted tunic and trousers. At first I wanted to wave her assistance away, but then I found I was stiff and sore from the exertions of the previous night.

“Your poor shoulders!” she exclaimed. “You can see the imprint of those foul creatures’ claws!”

Looking down I could indeed see faint blue bruises on my skin, yet I did not recall the orcs touching me there. Then the memory of Éomer shaking me by the shoulders flashed through my mind. I did not enlighten Burghild though, but instead turned to Ceolwen who had sat down on my bed. The lines of strain gone from her face, she looked happy and relaxed.

“Erkenbrand is all right?” I asked, although the answer was self-evident.

“He is! His forces were mostly scattered, not killed, but it took him and Gandalf a while to rally them. They marched all night to arrive in time.” Ceolwen beamed. “And he said how proud he is of us for dealing with the situation here.”

Hopefully that would lay a few ghosts to rest. I smiled back at her as I stepped into the tub. It wasn’t meant for sitting in, but large enough so I could stand in it and pour the water over my head. Burghild began to sponge down my back and quite casually I indicated my bed.

“All I remember is falling asleep in the caves. How did I get back to my room?”

“Oh, that was Éomer,” Ceolwen drawled.

When I looked at her sharply, she grinned. “He found you buried in a pile of smelly blankets and insisted on carrying you back here. I think he felt guilty for shouting at you.”

Éomer! Involuntarily I glanced at my bedside table. What would he have made of Félarof? And me looking such a mess!

I lifted a hand to brush back a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t remember any of it.”

“You just went on sleeping in his arms, right through all the noise and bustle of the King getting ready to depart.”

“Where did Théoden King go?”

“To Isengard.”

Isengard! I had seen drawings of the place in Meduseld’s library. Had he gone to besiege it? But how could he hope to take it without siege engines?

At my expression of alarm, Ceolwen went on quickly. “Gandalf said that they were going to a parley, not a fight. The King only took his personal guard.” An apologetic shrug. “Including Éomer of course. They left two hours ago.”

I stared at her, unsuccessfully trying to hide my dismay. “He’s gone!”

“Éomer will be back shortly,” Ceolwen reassured me. Her face fell. “But not for long. Théoden King has sent out messengers to call all riders of the Mark for a weapontake at Edoras, five days from now. To ride for Gondor.”

My breath caught in my throat. “Have the beacons been lit?”

Ceolwen shook her head. “No. But Gandalf says they will be soon.”

Thoughts tumbled wildly through my mind while Burghild finished washing my hair and rinsing down my body. If the Rohirrim were called to Minas Tirith, so would Gondor’s lords with their men. My father and brothers! I had been so caught up in my own troubles that I had spent little thought on them lately. But we all knew that the Enemy hated the White City above all else. He would strike there first and hardest. Which meant that my father would consider it his duty to be there personally, although he would probably leave some of his forces to defend the coast against the Corsairs. I wondered which of my brothers would stay behind in Dol Amroth. Probably Elphir, who would not want to entrust the protection of his wife and son to others. What if I never saw them again - oh why had Father sent me to Rohan!

When I looked over to the bed I saw my worries mirrored in Ceolwen’s eyes. Of course, Erkenbrand would ride too.

She spread her hands. “Do not lose hope. After all we never thought to see another dawn and here we are.”

Brave words. My throat tight with worry, I nodded and stepped out of the tub. Burghild handed me some towels and then emptied the dirty water down the hole in one corner of the room that led to the rain gutters. We heard it gurgling and splashing away while I dried myself. The maid had also brought some of Aeffe’s spare clothes and gratefully I slipped into a clean gown. It was rather lower cut than my aunt would have approved of, but the twins favoured that style.

I pushed back my hair; it kept falling in my eyes. What a nuisance! Picking up my hand mirror from the bedside table I peered at my reflection. “I look like a pageboy.”

Burghild snorted with amusement and Ceolwen actually started giggling. “I don’t think anybody will ever mistake you for a boy,” she laughed, looking me up and down.

I gave her a weak grin, but then turned back to studying the mirror. Grey eyes stared back at me warily. Somehow they looked larger and the short hair made me appear more grown up, with a hint of recklessness. Ceolwen could not know, but in Gondor only one type of woman cut her hair short - to advertise her profession. My aunt would throw a fit!

With a shrug I put the mirror down. What was done was done. Burghild had brought a pair of scissors along and trimmed the ends evenly. Once my hair was arranged to my satisfaction, Ceolwen got up from the bed, smothering a yawn.

“Are you ready? It is time for the evening meal soon and afterwards Aethelstan would like your assistance with the wounded.”

“He survived the breach of the wall?”

“With a broken ankle. But he insists on being in charge of the healers.”

What good news and how very much like the old man! With a word of thanks to Burghild we left and started down the stairs. In passing I cast a look out one of the windows and stopped dead. What? Surely those were trees? I stared out and then took the steps two at a time to where the door led out to my walkway. Mouth open, I leaned on the balustrade, unable to believe my eyes. Trees everywhere! They filled the valley below the dike, a dense wood with gnarled roots and branches, exuding a brooding sense of menace. The setting sun cast long shadows across it.

Out of breath Ceolwen joined me. “Oh, the trees! Didn’t you hear about them? Gandalf brought them from Fangorn Forest. None of the orcs that went in there emerged again.”

I wasn’t surprised. Nothing in the world would have enticed me to go into those shaded depths.

I made a strangled sound. “But how did they get here?”

“I suppose they walked,” she answered. “At times you can see the Ents moving amongst them.”

The Treeherders out of children’s stories! Wonder filled me. It was as if ancient tales had come to life over the last days, invading our everyday world. Elves and Dwarves, Elendil’s Heir returning, and now this. What would be next? Birds that talked, the dead rising?

I shook my head and turned my attention to the rest of the valley. Everywhere I looked there were signs of the great battle fought. Men laboured to recover the fallen and lay them in two great graves either side of the road.

“The riders of the West Mark and the East Mark,” Ceolwen explained in a subdued voice.

“And who lies there?” I asked, indicating a solitary mound next to the causeway.

“The chief of the King’s doorwardens.”

Háma! He had always been kind towards me. Grief filled me at the thought of the untimely death of another good man. And his poor wife and daughter. I wondered if Aescwyn had given birth yet, if he’d had the chance to see his child before riding away. Saruman had a lot to answer for. As for Gríma, surely it had been him who had given the orcs that map of the caverns. I hoped the king’s men would catch up with the Worm and put an end to him!

Ceolwen took my arm. “Let’s have something to eat.”

I nodded in silence and followed her. Downstairs we found the hall filled to bursting with warriors, Erkenbrand’s own men and those the King had brought. In front of the hearth, a young Rider held hands with a girl I recognised from the caves.

“What are they doing?” I asked Ceolwen.

“Getting married.”

I gaped at her. “Now?”

“What better time?” she asked back.

And as I watched them share the bridal cup I had to agree. Who knew what the future would bring, best to snatch what happiness you could. Their friends toasted them, and then accompanied the couple upstairs to their bedroom for the bedding down of the bride and groom. They carried a long staff before them with lots of bright ribbons fastened to it. There was much singing and laughing and although I did not understand all the jests, those I did made my cheeks burn!

Unobtrusively I finished my meal and left to go up to the caves. Aethelstan, sitting down with his bandaged ankle resting on a low stool, welcomed me with relief and immediately put me to work. The battle for Helm’s Deep had been won, but here many small battles for men’s lives were still being fought.

It was as much a case of listening to the men as of tending to them. Many had lost a limb and felt useless, as if their worth as men were bound up with their ability to ride and fight. So I washed feverish brows, held hands and lent a willing ear to their fears, even though the depth of their despair at times threatened to overwhelm me. Some of them were Lord Erkenbrand’s riders, others I remembered from my time in Edoras, but there were also a surprising number of Éomer’s men who knew my name.

Finally dawn brought Aeffe and Leofe to relieve me, and I retired to my room to sleep away the day. On the way back I saw that the valley was empty again, the trees having vanished during the night. All that remained of their presence was the trampled grass and a black mound of earth.

All that day the keep slowly emptied, with large companies of men riding to Edoras and Dunharrow for the muster of the Rohirrim. In the evening I returned to the caves to take up my duties for another night, this time under Master Herewald’s supervision. I still did not think much of his bedside manner, but he did work tirelessly to ease the men’s pain.

Towards morning I was handing out mugs of freshly brewed willow bark tea when a commotion at the entrance to the tunnel drew my attention. To my surprise it was Wuffa running up, Wulf limping behind him as usual.

“Théoden King is back from Isengard,” he announced. “He came back last night, accompanied by some friends of that nice northern lord. Including another two Elves!”

More Elves seemed almost commonplace, compared to walking trees. I wanted to ask him if Éomer had returned as well, but Wuffa wasn’t finished with his news yet.

“And a Halfling!” he added.

That caused the desired sensation. Another figure emerging from children’s tales to walk our green fields! Wuffa had to describe this strange creature, the size of a child yet fully grown, at length. The men knew him well by now, for he had made himself useful bringing water and running small errands for them, and they plied him with many questions, which he answered volubly even though he’d only had a brief glimpse of the Halfling.

That was not the last surprise of the morning however. A little later I was in the middle of changing the bandage on one of my patients when a murmur rose around us.

“Théoden King!”

I looked up to see the King enter the cavern, accompanied by some of his guards. At once my eyes got snagged by the tall figure at his side, blond hair falling past his shoulders. In clean clothes, and with his hauberk burnished, Éomer looked very different from when I had last seen him, covered in gore.

Quickly I turned back to my task, unwinding the stained linen from around Ceorl’s torso. Herewald hurried over to greet the King and out of the corner of my eye I saw them passing along the rows of the wounded. King Théoden stopped at each one, exchanging a word of encouragement or just squeezing a hand or patting a shoulder. The men straightened up as he went by and I could see fresh hope in their faces.

Meanwhile with the bandage disposed of, I busied myself washing off the dried blood around my patient’s wound and inspecting it for infection. Fortunately the gash across his ribcage looked to be healing nicely with no sign of redness. The healers of Gondor held it to be best to leave such wounds to the body’s natural ability to heal itself, so I only wrapped a fresh bandage around it.

Just as I tied up the ends to hold it securely, the King reached us. I started to get up to curtsy, but he waved me back.

“Please, Lady Lothíriel, do not let me interrupt you.” A kind smile. “It looks like you’re in good hands, Ceorl.”

“The very best,” Ceorl replied promptly.

Embarrassed by this praise, I shrugged while I helped him put his shirt back on. “I’m only doing my duty.”

And all the while Éomer’s gaze rested on me like a heavy weight. Did he remember the time I had rendered the very same service to him? I could almost feel the warm, firm sensation of his skin under my fingers. What was I thinking of! Hastily I busied myself tidying up my satchel.

Théoden frowned at me pensively. “I remember welcoming you to Rohan last autumn, my lady, but I had not realized you were staying at the Hornburg.”

I opened my mouth to make a reply, but Éomer cut in first. “Théodred invited Princess Lothíriel to visit him when he was in Edoras for Yule,” he said, his tone challenging me to disagree.

I looked up to meet icy blue eyes. What could I reply to that? It was hardly the right place and moment to explain the whole terrible mess! And it seemed to me that fresh anger burned in him. Was he still furious with me for my foolish actions during the battle?

King Théoden passed a hand across his eyes. “I remember so little of that time,” he murmured, “it was as though I was wandering in a thick fog.”

Pity seized me for a father who’d had the last memory of his son stolen from him. “I’m so sorry!”

Very briefly he brushed a hand across my hair. “You are as kind as you are beautiful, child. Thank you for looking after my men.” He hesitated. “Sadly I have to give you some bad news.”

What could he mean?

“Your cousin Boromir,” the King went on, “he travelled with Lord Aragorn’s company. I’m afraid he was slain by orcs. The same orcs that Éomer and his éored killed outside Fangorn Forest.”

I stared up at King Théoden, trying to absorb the news. It did not seem possible that Gondor’s greatest warrior should be dead.

“I’m sorry,” the King said, touching my shoulder in sympathy. “These are grim days that will leave many women weeping.”

A lump in my throat, I nodded and he passed on to the next man. Boromir dead! I had not seen him for some years, for he was always busy at the borders, but he had always been kind to me in an absentminded sort of way. And what a blow this would be to Uncle Denethor!

Éomer had lingered behind, as if he wished to speak to me. “I’m sorry about your cousin,” he said gruffly. “He was a good man.”

I looked up at him numbly. “Yes…yes, he was.”

After a further hesitation, he briefly inclined his head and went on.

Once he had spoken to all the wounded, the King and his guard left to have their morning meal in the great hall. Aeffe and Leofe came in soon after, full of tales of the newly arrived Elves and much struck by the fact that they were twins, the same as them. I shook my head at them in exasperation as they went on at length about raven hair, eyes like sapphires and finely pointed ears. Some things never changed!

Relieved of my duty, I could have left then, but instead I stayed to tidy up our supplies of medicines and make a list of what remedies needed to be replenished. And when that was done, I assisted the twins with brewing up more extract of comfrey. It was Aethelstan who finally shooed me away.

“It’s nearly noon,” he told me, “you go and get some rest.”

Only when I trudged along the path to the Hornburg, with Wuffa chatting away by my side, did I realize why I was so reluctant to return there. I was afraid of meeting Éomer, of seeing the cold contempt in his eyes. Why had the King named him his heir! Whatever I said now, he would surely think me to be after becoming Queen of Rohan.

When we reached the Hornburg, the outer court was filled with riders leading out their horses from the stables and saddling them up. More men leaving for the muster at Edoras? Then I spotted Éomer’s squire with Firefoot. I slipped through the crowd and grabbed Cnebba’s arm.

“Where are you going?”

“To the weapontake, my lady,” he replied.

So soon. But they had only just arrived!

“Gandalf urged the King to make as much haste as possible,” the squire explained.

I was not really listening. Leaving – and surely riding to another battle. What if I never saw him again!

“Where is Marshal Éomer?” I asked.

“Gone to get Lord Aragorn from upstairs in the tower.”

I was already turning away, pushing my way towards the inner court, not heeding anything in my way and barely escaping sharp hooves. I had to speak to him! A quick glance in the great hall revealed King Théoden about to get up. I did not pause there, but instead hurried up the stairs leading to the upper levels. One floor, two floors, three. What if I had missed him! Just below the guest quarters I hesitated. Where would they have put the northern lord?

That moment I heard deep voices approaching from further up the stairs. Out of breath from more than just the exertion of running up from the courtyard, I waited for them. They checked as they rounded the corner, hands going to hilts before they recognized me for no threat.

Lord Aragorn had been speaking to one of the Elven twins, but now he drew aside with a bow to let me pass. Yet I hardly noticed him, my eyes being drawn to Éomer standing behind him with Éothain at his side. I would have to act swiftly, before my courage deserted me!

“My Lord Marshal,” I said, “may I have a quick word with you?”

Éomer stared down at me unmoving. I took a deep breath as I tried to meet his gaze without flinching. He would refuse. And that would be the end of it, for I would not run begging after him.

“Very well,” he snapped.

Taken by surprise, I hesitated. Where to begin?

“Perhaps you would like to have your conversation in private?” Lord Aragorn suddenly suggested.

I shot him a look of gratitude. “Yes, please.”

He seemed tired, but there was a definite twinkle in his eyes when he indicated the door to my walkway. “I believe that leads to some sort of balcony. We will wait here.”

“Thank you.”

Éomer held the door open for me and I passed through. At once the wind whipped around me, tugging at my skirts. I turned round to face him, unsuccessfully trying to tame my hair by brushing it behind my ears.

He regarded me with a stony face. “My lady, I have to leave in another minute, for the King is waiting for us. What did you want to say?”

I swallowed. He was not making it easy! “I wanted to explain what happened back in Edoras…”

“You do not need to explain,” he cut me off. “I understand you perfectly.”

“No, you don’t. Please listen to me…“

“My lady,” he interrupted, “you lied to me. What more is there to say? I do not have the least doubt that you’ve come up with a very plausible explanation for all your actions, but I for one do not want to hear it.”

That hurt. While I was still trying to gather my scattered wits, he took a step closer.

“We passed the Fords of Isen on the ride to confront Saruman,” he hissed. “My cousin lies there in a cold and lonely grave, hacked to pieces by Uruk-hai. Defending the Mark from invasion. Defending you! Have you forgotten him already?”

That explained the barely concealed rage in him this morning. The familiar guilt over Prince Théodred’s death swept through me.

“I’m sorry your cousin got killed,” I said stiffly.

A humourless bark of laughter. “Yes, I bet you are. It must have upset all your carefully laid plans.”

No matter what I said, he was determined to take it the wrong way!

“You do not understand!” I protested.

He held up a hand. “I do not want to hear any more lies, my Lady Princess,” he said. “I have heard far too many from you already.”

Anger sparked within me. It was all very well for him to treat me with easy contempt; he hadn’t had to face Gríma with nothing but his wits to aid him! And now he would ride off to Gondor and might never come back. With sudden clarity my recurrent nightmare sprang to my mind. Well, I would not let him leave without a kiss!

“Go then!” I said. And the same moment I closed the distance between us and kissed him full on the mouth.

Éomer went rigid. A heartbeat later I stepped back again, looking up at him defiantly. Let him think of me whatever he chose!

He took a deep breath, then another, as if fighting for control. “So, I was right,” he snarled. “Théodred is not yet cold in his grave and already you have set your sights on the next heir.”

I slapped him.

Or at least I tried to, for he was much too quick for me with his trained warrior’s reflexes. Effortlessly he caught my upraised hand, seizing it in a vice-like grip.

“What do you know!” I shouted at him. “You have no idea at all what happened that night in Edoras. I just wanted a single kiss before you ride off and get yourself killed in some stupid, idiotic way!”

“Did you?” he breathed.

Suddenly he twisted my arm down to my side. I stumbled back and he followed me in one smooth motion, trapping me against the wall behind me. What was he doing! Instinctively I took a breath to cry out, but he gave me no chance. His mouth descended on mine with bruising force, swallowing my cry before it could emerge.

Hungry lips, rough and demanding, devouring me. My hands were caught between us, squashed against his chest, but I found no purchase on the freshly oiled mail. He sent my senses reeling. The smell of sweat, horse and leather enveloping me, his harsh breathing in my ear, cold chainmail pressing against me. One arm went round my back, crushing me against him even tighter. No man had ever dared to touch me in such a way! Deftly he slipped his other hand around the nape of my neck, giving a breathless laugh when he felt a shudder run through me. Then his lips seized mine again, neither gentle nor considerate.

I did not want him to be gentle and considerate. A dam broke deep inside me and I closed my eyes and poured all my need and desperation into our kiss. What if he never came back! Tears running down my cheeks, I slid my arms round his neck and clung to him. Éomer. How much I needed him! Groping blindly, I stood on tiptoe and laced my fingers in his thick hair, pulling him down towards me. I wanted him to never let go of me again.

Éomer drew his breath in sharply and responded by roaming his hands over my body with no constraint, leaving fiery trails behind him, until all that kept me from melting into him was his armour. With firm pressure, he traced the curve of my spine down to the small of my back, before settling his hands round my waist possessively. Hot and cold waves washed over me, threatening to sweep me away, and the beating of my heart drummed a furious tattoo in my ears, drowning out all other sound.

He tasted of salt. Of scorching sun and wild wind. I wanted him.

Gradually his touch gentled and some of the mad frenzy drained away. Easing his stranglehold, he withdrew his lips a fraction, his breath coming out in hard gasps as if he’d just engaged in a fight. Raising both hands to cup my cheeks, he brushed back a strand of wayward hair. When I opened my eyes, I found him staring down at me with a mixture of guilt and confusion.

With a finger he traced a wet cheek. “Lothíriel, what have you done to me?” he whispered.

Struggling for breath, I could not answer. My knees buckled. Without him to hold on to, I would surely have crumbled to the ground. It was difficult enough to remain upright, let alone think of a coherent reply.

The wind had dropped, and from down below suddenly the call of a horn rose in the still air. Éomer started. “I have to go.”

Somebody knocked on the door to the walkway. “My Lord Marshal,” Éothain called, “it’s the King’s signal!”

“Lothíriel, I have to go,” Éomer said again and it sounded like a curse.

No! He mustn’t leave me! I clutched at him, willing him to stay. But even as I watched, the mask of the dedicated warrior descended over his face, replacing the confusion with purpose. My arms dropped to my side.

He brushed a thumb across my lips. “I have no choice.”

Then he released me and stepped back. I closed my eyes. Boots scraping against stone. The creak of a door opening, then a bang as it closed again. Clasping my hands over my ears, I sank to the floor and curled up into a tight ball. I did not want to hear him ride off, leaving me. Silent sobs began to shake me as I licked my lips.

I could still taste him.

Chapter 21

The only thing that kept me sane during the next few days was working myself into a stupor. I would rise in the late afternoon, and after a hasty meal head down to the caverns to tend the wounded. Aethelstan had conferred the supervision of the night shift to me, and as I only had a couple of women helping me, that kept me busy until the morning. Then I would take Nimphelos to the practice ring behind the keep for a ride, finishing by giving her a good grooming. The physical exertion of that helped me to fall asleep quickly, into the deep, dreamless sleep of exhaustion.

One morning, about four days after the King had left, I emerged from the caves into a dark world. An all-enveloping blanket of cloud covered the heavens, hanging low above our heads. Only in the far west did a little clear sky still show. People stared up anxiously, but instead of getting brighter the morning seemed to darken with every moment.

I climbed the stairs leading up to the Deeping Wall for a better look and found Ceolwen conferring with Gamling there. The old warrior had been left in charge of the Hornburg in Erkenbrand’s absence.

“My guards report that it moved in from the east during the night,” I heard him say.

Ceolwen cradled her belly protectively. “It’s the day the King set for the weapontake, do you think there is some kind of connection?”

He shrugged uneasily. “Who can say? I have never seen its like before.”

No breath of wind stirred as I stared up at the gloom covering us. I had often witnessed Mount Doom belch forth clouds of smoke, but never so thick.

“Some devilry out of Mordor,” I told them.

I did not have to add that the darkness would embolden the creatures fighting for the Enemy and weaken the resolve of our own forces. Would we ever see the sun again, or was this the shape of things to come: a world shrouded in shadow? How could you fight a foe that swallowed up the very heavens!

But we had to put on a brave face to reassure the people looking to us. Gamling passed amongst his warriors, telling them they had weathered Saruman’s attack, they would weather this as well. And so everybody went on with their tasks, trying to ignore the stifling blanket of cloud above us. The Rohirrim were a valiant people. Or perhaps just very stubborn.

The darkness made it difficult to keep track of the days, yet as no news reached us, each one seemed to stretch on longer than the one before. Fears hovered at the edge of my mind like crows over a battlefield. Only by filling every single waking moment could I hope to keep them at bay. But of course it did not work. Inevitably there were quiet moments at night, when all the men were asleep for a short while, or when I was brewing up a fresh kettle of tea, that I had idle time. And inevitably my thoughts would wing their way east. Where were they? Had there been more fighting? And always: was he thinking of me?

Or rather, what did he think of me! I could still not quite believe that I had kissed him the way I had. Surely no properly brought up lady should have responded to his advances with such abandon. Worse, I had instigated it by kissing him first. But propriety had seemed pretty irrelevant at that moment and in my heart I knew that I would act the same again if given the slightest chance. That thought made me blush - as did the memory of Éomer running his hands over my body. As for his lips…

And would I even get another chance? What if he came to the conclusion that it had all been an attempt to try and trap him into a compromising situation in my bid to become Queen of Rohan! His words had left no doubt as to his low opinion of me, yet there had been something in his eyes as he touched my lips that last time that made me cling on to hope. And I’d had my kiss from him. A proper one.

So my thoughts chased round in circles whenever I could not find enough tasks to occupy myself. And always at the back of my mind there was, of course, the knowledge that he had ridden off into certain battle. If indeed the doom of our time was at hand, all my worries became meaningless beside that.

The people in the caves, mostly farmers’ wives, worried about being away from their homes and the many animals that had been left to fend for themselves in the middle of the lambing and foaling season. Spring brought many chores to attend to and was a bad time to sit around idly, far from the fields that needed to be tilled and planted. Moreover, with the winter wheat trampled by orcs, sowing spring grains was even more important. The men might return victorious from their fight in far off Gondor, but unless those staying behind did their part, we would all go hungry the next winter.

And then one morning I was woken from a doze by a shout from one of the sentries on the wall.

“It’s lifting! The darkness is lifting!”

We all crowded into the courtyard of the keep and lifted up our faces to the sky. Wind! A warm southerly wind, which teased apart the clouds that covered us like a shroud, and turned them into harmless puffs of smoke, soon blown away. The sun broke through, blinding eyes that had not seen it for what seemed like an eternity. Everybody started cheering. I hugged the woman standing next me, not caring that she smelled strongly of cabbage. Surely it had to be a good sign to have the darkness break up.

But later that day I stood on my walkway, looking east, and wondered whether the sun shone on Éomer, wherever he was. Had they reached Minas Tirith yet? Suddenly the totally irrational impulse to saddle up Nimphelos that very instant and ride after him shot through me. I had to grip the balustrade to keep from running down the stairs, the need was so strong. But what possible good would that do? For all I knew they might be in the midst of battle that very moment. I had nearly managed to get myself killed during the siege of the Hornburg, I would not do anything so foolish again.

But I stood on that balcony a long, long time, straining east.

Once the darkness lifted, Gamling allowed the farmers’ wives living in the Westfold Vale to return to their homes. However, he cautioned them to keep their horses ready, in case they had to flee to the Hornburg again. He also sent out scouts and they reported nothing untoward as far as a day’s ride away. Further they dared not go, not because of orcs, but because they sighted more of the uncanny trees from Fangorn moving across the Wold to the north. They made for uneasy allies.

At least the wounded in our care slowly improved. By and by we moved them all up to the Hornburg, to the empty barracks where usually the unmarried riders were lodged. They reacted to their fate in different ways. Some of them we had to stop from overtaxing their recovering bodies by doing too much too early, others despaired of ever being useful again and just turned their faces to the wall. Those were the ones that would slip away in the early hours of the morning, when the body’s hold on life was most tenuous.

Fortunately many of the Westfold riders had family to look after them and cheer them up, but there was little we could do for the others. It seemed to me that letting them voice their fears and worries out loud made them easier to bear, and so I listened patiently. I had many a heart poured out to me late at night, from youngsters barely growing a beard, to veteran soldiers old enough to be my father.

The waiting weighed heavily on all of us and inevitably tempers flared. We tried to keep up a semblance of normal life, and about nine days after the darkness had lifted I was up in Ceolwen’s study, assisting her with her accounts once more. Working out such details helped us pretend that we actually had a future to look forward to. I had got up early especially to help her, but that afternoon, Ceolwen kept adding up the figures incorrectly.

“You’re not concentrating!” I snapped at her after she had got it wrong for the third time.

Ceolwen burst into tears. “Oh Lothíriel, I keep thinking of Erkenbrand and I’m so afraid!”

Compassion swallowed up my irritation. “I’m sorry,” I said, sitting down beside her and hugging her.

Tears running down her face, she clung to me, her belly big and awkward between us. “I’ve had the most horrible dreams of orcs cutting him down,” she sobbed.

I stroked her back, remembering the time when she had comforted me the same way. “Erkenbrand is a great warrior,” I reminded her.

“But he’s not young anymore! And I am sure that he will insist on fighting at the front.”

What could I say to that? When I had my own nightmares to contend with every time I closed my eyes. Being an accomplished warrior had saved neither Théodred nor Boromir from their fate.

Ceolwen lifted a wet face to me. “What if he never sees our child?” she wailed.

“He will,” I told her firmly. “If it’s a boy he will strut around, bursting with pride. And if it’s a girl he will spoil her rotten.”

That actually elicited a tiny chuckle from her. “He will, won’t he,” she said with a watery grin. “The first thing he did when we found out that I was pregnant was to start looking for a suitable pony. Only the best would do.”

I squeezed her hand. “There you go. And one day you will watch him teach your little one to ride.”

“You think so?”

I tried to put complete confidence into my voice. “I’m sure.”

Ceolwen wiped her eyes. “Thank you, Lothíriel,” she said suddenly and hugged me. “I know you must be worried, too.”

“Well, probably nearly all my family is in Minas Tirith,” I replied, “and Cousin Faramir, and my father’s Swan Knights that I’ve known all my life…”

“And Éomer?” Ceolwen put in gently.

I looked away, unable to answer. She slipped an arm around my waist. “We’ll just have to hope for the best. At least you’ve settled your quarrel. Éomer gets angry quickly, but he’s just as quick to forgive.”

Picking up a quill, I started to tidy away our writing implements. “I think we’ll continue with the accounts another time.”

Ceolwen refused to be distracted. “You know, I told Éomer he would be a fool to let you slip through his fingers.”

“Really?” I asked in surprise.

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve never seen two people who are more obviously made for each other, yet you are so stubborn in refusing to acknowledge it.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Well it should be now,” she said, getting up and stretching her stiff back. “You’ve made up, haven’t you?”

I screwed the lid of the inkpot on tightly. “What makes you think so?”

Ceolwen grinned at me. “After all, he’s kissed you.”

“What!” I nearly dropped the inkpot.

She started to giggle. “Really, Lothíriel, you cannot kiss the future King of the Mark in full view and expect people not to notice!”

“In full view? I did nothing of the sort.”

That made her laugh. “Well, in full view of the guards on the battlement.”

I stared at her in horror. Did everybody know? 

The expression on my face made her laugh even harder. “Oh Lothíriel, it’s only natural to want to give the man you love something to remember you by when he rides off to war.” She took my hand and squeezed it. “People here like you. They would not mind seeing you as their queen one day.” 

If it ever came to that. I sighed, but decided not to explain to Ceolwen that Éomer was very well able to kiss me and be angry with me at the same time. If only I’d had a chance to explain things to him properly, but events had overtaken me like the rising tide catching an unwary fisherman out on the flats.

When we assembled in the great hall for the evening meal later that day, I could not help wondering if people were talking about Éomer and me. Growing up as the Princess of Dol Amroth had inured me at an early age to always having eyes on me and having to behave accordingly. However, I did not relish the thought of my private affairs being discussed at large. But when I looked around surreptitiously, people seemed to be far more interested in their food than in me.

Because of her advanced pregnancy, Ceolwen found the narrow chairs uncomfortable to sit in, but she always made a point of attending the evening meal, if only for a short while. She had just got up to retire when the doors to the hall were flung open and a messenger strode in.

It had been raining outside and the man left a trail of wet footprints behind him. Where before the low hum of conversation had filled the hall, now silence spread to the furthest corner until you could hear the water dripping off his cloak to the floor when he halted before the dais.

“My lady,” he bowed to Ceolwen. “My name is Redwald. I have come from Gondor.”

He looked tired and travel worn, but unhurt apart from a dirty bandage on one hand. Surely that had to be a good sign?

Ceolwen clutched the back of her chair. “What news do you bring?” She motioned to one of the servitors to offer the man a cup of ale. Now that I got a closer look at him, it seemed to me that I had seen him serving under Marshal Elfhelm at Edoras.

“Of a great battle fought before the gates of Mundburg,” Redwald answered and launched into his tale in a deep sonorous voice like a bard’s.

“We left Edoras the day that the darkness began seeping out of Mordor. League upon weary league we rode into the East, reaching the White City at cockcrow nine days ago. Burning it was, and beleaguered by many foes: orcs out of Mordor and men from the South who rode fell beasts the size of houses with long sharp tusks.”

A whisper of fear went round the hall as he paused to take a deep draught of ale. I closed my eyes. Minas Tirith burning! And those beasts had to be the legendary mûmakil of the Haradrim.

It was obviously not the first time that the man had told his story, for he went on smoothly. “Then Théoden King let blow the horns. They cast dismay into the hearts of our foes and the darkness lifted. We charged, singing while we rode the Southrons to ruin, and Théoden, outpacing us all, slew their king. Mighty he was that day and strong of arm! But at the very moment of his triumph a dark shadow descended from above.” Redwald’s voice fell. “It was the Lord of the Nazgûl, most dreadful of all the Enemy’s servants. Terror took the horses and we were scattered. And the King’s steed, brave Snowmane, slain by a dart from above, buried Théoden King beneath him.”

The news caused exclamations of dismay throughout the hall. The King dead! Théoden, who had only just emerged from his own personal darkness.

Ceolwen sank down onto her chair. “What happened?”

“One knight only of Théoden’s household was left standing,” Redwald took up the tale again. “He fought the evil dwimmer-laik and with the Halfling’s aid slew him, even though both took grievous wounds. Only it was no man, it was a maid! Éowyn, sister-daughter to the king, had ridden with us in disguise.”

The hall erupted into chaos as everybody began talking at once. Éowyn! How had she got there! I shook my head, unable to believe it. The way the man told his story, it sounded like something out of an old ballad, not something actually happening to people I knew.

Redwald held up his hand and at once people hushed. “Théoden King lived long enough to pass the White Horse on Green to his sister-son, Marshal Éomer, and hail him as his heir before he died. Long may Théoden feast in the hall of his fathers, sharing their glory!” He downed the last of his ale and throughout the hall the Rohirrim followed his example.

“But Éomer,” Redwald continued, “finding his sister’s broken body upon the battlefield and believing her dead, was taken by wrath such as few have ever witnessed. He rode to the fore of the host, and blowing his horn led the Eorlingas back into battle. Fell he was, dealing death to all standing in his path, and few dared to look on his face. Yet in the end his fury betrayed him, for fresh foes crossed the Anduin behind us, cutting us off from Mundburg.” Redwald lowered his voice. “And then a mighty fleet of black-sailed ships came up the river and all hope died in our hearts.”

I gripped the edge of the table, fear constricting my chest until I could hardly breathe. What if Éomer had been slain!

With a ringing noise, Redwald drew his sword and held it high in the air. “But it was Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and he flew the standard of the Kings of Gondor. Under the Dimholt he had passed, summoning the dead who owed him fealty, and freed the fiefs of the South. Then up flew Éomer’s sword and he laughed with mirth. But the enemy was utterly confounded, and though they fought long and desperately, as the day died, victory was ours. And so ended the great Battle of the fields of Gondor.”

I released a great, shuddering breath and so did many others in the hall. Why couldn’t the man have said straight away that they had won!

Ceolwen leaned forward. “What of my husband?”

“He lives, my lady,” Redwald answered, “but his nephew Dúnhere, Lord of Harrowdale, was slain.”

I remembered talking to Aeffe and her cousin on the day that Théodred left for the Fords. When I looked at her, I saw tears well up in her eyes. Wordlessly, I reached over to squeeze her hand.

All through the hall the hum of conversation started up again, as people discussed the momentous news they had just received.

I beckoned the man closer to the dais. “Have you got news of my father, Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth?”

He inclined his head respectfully and sheathed his sword. “I did not see him myself, my lady, but heard that he attended the debate of the commanders after the battle.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “And my brothers? Cousin Faramir?”

“Unfortunately I do not know about your brothers,” Redwald answered. “Lord Faramir lies in the Houses of Healing, but is recovering, as is the Lady Éowyn.” He hesitated. “But I am sorry to have to tell you that Steward Denethor passed away.”

My uncle dead! Denethor who had always seemed as strong as a steel blade. While I stared at Redwald in stupefaction, trying to assimilate his news, Gamling stepped forward and addressed him.

“You say this was nine days ago?”

Redwald nodded. “On the day the darkness broke.”

“So what happens now?” Gamling asked. “Are they coming home again?”

I hadn’t even thought that far. We all fastened our eyes on Redwald.

He shook his head. “The commanders decided to take the war to the Enemy. Even as we speak they are marching to the Black Gate.”

“What!” we all exclaimed at the same time.

“They left Mundburg three days after the battle,” Redwald went on. “I was with Marshal Elfhelm, fighting a host of orcs still lingering in Anórien. Once the way was clear, the Marshal decided to send messengers home, to give news of the battle.”

“But why are they doing that?” I asked. “Surely the sensible thing would be to stay in Minas Tirith.”

Redwald spread his hands. “My lady, I do not know. But there has to be a reason why Éomer King would take this course.”

Éomer King. Hearing his title for the first time brought home the fact that fate had just taken a hand again. He was his own master now, free to do whatever he wanted.

I started to ask more questions, but then I noticed the women crowding near the dais, too polite to interrupt, but with anxious expressions on their faces. Of course, just like me they would want news of their loved ones. So I dismissed Redwald with a word of thanks and leant back in my chair, thinking furiously.

Why would they leave the safe haven of Minas Tirith? Why not fortify it and wait for the Enemy to make the next move? It seemed so utterly foolhardy to risk an open battle with what few forces they had.

My thoughts got interrupted by Ceolwen grabbing my arm. She had a strange expression on her face, half worry, and half anticipation.

“Lothíriel,” she gasped, “I think my waters have broken.”

Chapter 22

It was a long night. Although Ceolwen had come to her time early, the babe was big and did not make it easy for its mother. The onset of her labour was deceptively slow at first, and she managed to lie down and rest in between contractions, but very soon they intensified. All through the night the twins and I took turns holding her hand and encouraging her, while labour pains coursed through her body. 

Dawn painted the sky outside a delicate pink, then the sun rose in the sky, and still the child would not come. Poor Ceolwen lay on the bed, utterly spent, her blond hair matted with sweat and tears. Earlier on, she had cursed Erkenbrand in colourful terms, but now she was too exhausted even for that. Worried for her patient, Edlyn, the keep’s midwife, had asked for Master Aethelstan’s assistance, and now the two were conferring in low voices by the foot of the bed.

“The child is nearly here,” Aethelstan told Ceolwen, “but you have to make another effort.”

With a little sob, she nodded. We helped her sit up, to be better able to push, and already I could feel poor Ceolwen stiffening under the onslaught of another contraction. They lasted longer and longer, with hardly a pause in between. It was a battle fought just as hard and with as much raw courage as anything the men might have faced.

“I can’t stand it any longer!” Ceolwen groaned.

“I can see its head!” Edlyn cried at the same time. “It’s crowning.”

And somewhere Ceolwen found the will to bear down one more time with all the strength she could muster.

“Yes!” the midwife exclaimed. “It’s coming! Push!”

Suddenly it all happened very quickly. She bent over Ceolwen, pulling at something, and then a small grey bundle shot out onto the linen towel laid ready. Quickly Edlyn picked it up and wiped its face clear of the mucus covering it. A thin wail rose into the air, gaining strength rapidly.

Ceolwen had collapsed back onto the bed, but at the sound she struggled upright again. “My baby?”

Deftly the midwife cut the umbilical cord, and then carried the infant round the side of the bed. She beamed over her whole face as she laid it on Ceolwen’s breast.

“You have a lusty son, my lady!”

“A son!” Ceolwen breathed.

With the midwife’s help, she guided the baby to her nipple and the wails of protests cut off abruptly. Ceolwen stroked the fine down of his hair, and touched the tiny hands in wonder.

“He’s so beautiful.”

Already she seemed to have forgotten all the pain her son had caused her. I exchanged a glance with Aeffe and Leofe. Beautiful? Not the word I would have chosen for this wizened little thing with bluish-grey skin.

Ceolwen looked up at us with shining eyes.

“Absolutely beautiful,” we all agreed.

After the baby had suckled for a while, Edlyn took him back to wash him and wrap him in a clean towel. She turned to me.

“Please, my lady, would you take him for a moment?”

I accepted the bundle gingerly. Never had I held such a tiny baby in my arms before.

She nodded to a chair next to the window. “Why don’t you sit down while I help Lady Ceolwen clean up.”

Taking great care with every step, I crossed the room and sat down where she had indicated. It was a hot, heavy day and the window stood open, letting in a light breeze, so I wrapped the cloth more tightly around the baby to make sure he would not catch a cold.

“He’s so small,” I marvelled.

Ceolwen gave a snort as Edlyn helped her get up from the bed. “Not when you had to give birth to him!”

“What are you going to call him?” I asked.

“Ermenred, after Erkenbrand’s father.” Her voice caught. “We discussed it before he left.”

I looked down at the serious grey eyes watching me. He was beautiful. For a while I had forgotten all about the news the messenger had brought us the night before. What kind of world had Ermenred been born into? Would he ever see his father?

Yet as I looked out the window at the view over the Westfold Vale, something lifted inside me and I felt more hopeful than I had for many days. The sun seemed to shine more brightly than it had a moment ago, and the world sparkled fresh and new.

“What is the date today?” Ceolwen interrupted my thoughts. “Erkenbrand would want to know.”

I made a quick mental calculation. “The twenty-fifth of March.”

***

Perhaps it was just the fact of an heir born to their lord, but the people of the Hornburg took heart from that moment onward. And then two days later another messenger reached us, this time from Edoras.

He rode into the courtyard at sunset, an elderly, grey haired warrior, but sitting easy in the saddle.

“I bring news,” he called. “The armies of the West have been victorious!”

Cheers went up and we crowded round him. Yet it seemed strange to get this news so soon after the previous report. Surely a messenger could not have ridden all the way from Gondor in such a short time.

“What has happened?” somebody asked.

“I do not know the details,” the man answered, “but early yesterday morning an enormous eagle flew over Edoras. At first we were alarmed when it stooped down upon the Golden Hall, but then it cried out, and to our amazement it spoke the language of Gondor, bringing tidings that the Enemy had been thrown down and the Black Gate broken.”

A talking bird! A month ago I would have dismissed such stories as children’s tales, but I had become more cautious since. And suddenly in my heart I knew that it was true, however unlikely. As the people around me shouted with joy, dancing and hugging each other, I walked slowly back to the keep to take the news to Ceolwen, who was upstairs nursing her son. While I was relieved and amazed at the news of our victory, I could not quite join in the celebrations.

It seemed that against all the odds we had triumphed. But at what cost? Surely there had been another battle with Sauron’s forces. Had my father and brothers survived? And Éomer? If only I knew! I paused to lean my forehead against the cool stone of the wall for a moment. My whole life seemed to have narrowed down to waiting for news. Sometimes all I wanted to do was saddle Nimphelos and ride to Gondor. I might not be able to help, but at least I would know! If something had happened to Éomer…if he had died… I swallowed hard. The light would go out of my world. He was a mighty warrior, I told myself, skilled with horse and sword. Holding on to that thought, I hurried up the stairs of the keep.

It took over a week for a more conventional messenger to arrive and bring news of a great battle fought before the Black Gates. But amazingly it hadn’t been our warriors who had won victory, but a Halfling, cousin to the one whom I had so briefly seen, who had overthrown the Dark Lord. The assault on the Black Gates had been nothing but a distraction, to draw Sauron’s attention away from his own land. And while our men had offered up their lives as bait, the Halfling had crept into Mordor, all the way to Mount Doom, and destroyed the foundation of the Enemy’s power: the One Ring!

The courier brought other news as well: Gondor had a new king, the Lord Aragorn, who would be crowned in Minas Tirith in another month’s time. My father and brothers had survived with minor injuries, as had Erkenbrand. And Rohan’s new king would return home after the coronation. The vice that had held my heart in a terrible constriction during the long weeks of waiting eased up at this, and after the rider had delivered his news, I had to seek refuge in my room as my feelings overwhelmed me. Tears coursed down my cheeks. Éomer was alive! Alive and well! Although I would not sleep easy until I could see him with my own eyes.

***

As the days progressed, slowly more news trickled in. Small groups of Westfold riders arrived home, sent ahead to help with the spring planting. The caves behind the Hornburg emptied, and Gamling decided to let the captive Dunlendings go as well. They had finished rebuilding the Deeping Wall and were needed at home. The Rohirrim did not make war on women and children who needed help with the farming work. So Gamling assembled them all on the sward above the dike and their chieftain made a solemn oath in their own language not to cross the Isen and Adorn bearing arms ever again. Without soot blackening their faces they looked a sorry lot, and Gamling made sure they would not stray on the way home by sending a party of riders along to ‘protect them from the trees’. This reminder of our uncanny allies made them blanch, and I did not think they would trouble us again any time soon.

With spring dotting the meadows of the Westfold Vale with a riot of flowers, the Hornburg seemed a much friendlier place to dwell. Often now we would sit in Ceolwen’s study, discussing the handling of the refugees or the return of the injured to their homes while little Ermenred slept in his cradle nearby.

It was here that another courier found us one afternoon, bringing long awaited letters from Gondor at last. I had not expected any missive from Éomer after our turbulent parting, but nevertheless I could not help feeling hurt when I saw that he had written to Ceolwen, albeit only a short message. By unspoken consent we all retired to our chairs, Ceolwen and the twins to read their letters from Erkenbrand, I with the one from my father.

It was strange to see the Dol Amroth Swan and Ship seal after so many months without any communication from my family. How I had longed to hear from them during the winter. Why had they not written to me before? I broke the seal and started to read.

My dear daughter,

By the time this letter reaches you, you will have heard of our victory over the Darkness. It still seems like a dream at times, yet the Enemy is gone and Gondor is victorious and has a new king! Your brothers are all well, you will be pleased to hear. Erchirion suffered a cut to his leg in the final battle, but is making a good recovery, and Amrothos had a slight head wound. Nothing serious, though.

Even though I had known that my brothers had survived, I still heaved a sigh of relief to have it confirmed at last. And a king for Gondor! It would be strange to see the throne that had stood empty so long occupied again.

I was worried when Dirhael returned home last winter without you and you did not reply to the letter I sent to Edoras.

What letter? Could it have been lost? Suddenly another suspicion entered my mind. Had Wormtongue misappropriated it? I read on.

But our new friend, King Éomer, has put my mind at rest by assuring me that you are well taken care of and safe in Rohan’s most secure fortress.

I frowned a little at that. It sounded as though I were a piece of jewellery put away in a strongbox!

He has also had the kindness to agree to let Amrothos ride with him when he returns to Rohan so he can escort you home. Until then he extends his hospitality to you.

I put the letter down for a moment and took a deep breath. Why did I feel like a parcel that had been mislaid and now waited to be collected?

We are resting in Cormallen in Ithilien at the moment, honouring the Ringbearer and celebrating our victory. It is a shame you are not present, for all the ladies of the court have decided to join us. However, that cannot be helped now.

The ladies of the court! That could only mean one thing: dances, outings and other amusements. And an unmarried king… Two really, but Lord Aragorn had given the impression of being well able to take care of himself. I turned back to my letter.

I am looking forward to seeing you at home again soon. Make sure to stay safely in Helm’s Deep until Amrothos can collect you with a suitable escort.

Your loving father

I jumped up and paced to the window. More waiting! Father expected me to cool my heels here until one of my brothers could find the time to come and get me!

“Lothíriel?” Ceolwen asked uncertainly.

I whirled round. “What did Éomer write?”

She started. “Not very much. Just that Erkenbrand is coming home with him and that you are to stay here until then.”

“Well I won’t! They treat me like a package forgotten in some corner until they deign to pick it up. I’m sick and tired of waiting!”

“So what will you do?” Aeffe asked. 

The answer was obvious. “Return to Gondor on my own. At once.”

Leofe looked at me with big eyes. “But Lord Éomer told you to wait here. He is the king now!”

“Not mine,” I pointed out with perfect logic.

***

Of course they all helped me in the end. We formed a small council of war between us, just the women, and planned how to go about it. A party of patients from Edoras would be returning home in another couple of days, so I could join them for the trip, but then I would need a proper escort. Sauron’s armies might have been defeated, but small bands of orcs still roamed the lands along the Great West Road. We debated asking Gamling to lend me some riders to accompany me to Gondor, but I decided against it. I could tell that Ceolwen was uneasy at going against her king’s wishes, and I did not want to get her into trouble. Surely Éomer could not blame her if she let me go to Edoras, and from there I would just have to see. 

Suddenly my days were very busy again as I packed my things and said my good-byes to all the people I had come to call my friends. And sooner than I would have thought possible, the day of our departure dawned. Wuffa was coming with me, for his aunt had made it clear that she had no use for him. I wasn’t quite sure myself what to do with him - perhaps have him trained as a page at my father’s court - but he and his dog had attached themselves so firmly to me over the past weeks that I did not have the heart to leave them behind. So I had borrowed a sturdy little pony for him and he waited for me in the courtyard, bubbling over with excitement.

I had tears in my eyes as I made my farewells to Ceolwen and the twins. Aeffe would have liked to come along as well, and I had to promise to invite her to visit me.

“Wherever it is that you live,” she added with a wink. The scar on her cheek gave her a rakish look.

“I will!” I answered, hugging her tightly.

Ceolwen stood with little Ermenred in her arms, who at a month old had grown into a pretty pink baby with chubby arms and legs, and it gave me a pang to depart from them. But at last all my farewells had been said, all my friends embraced, and I took Nimphelos’s reins and lead her out the gate. It seemed as if all the inhabitants of the Hornburg had assembled to wave us good-bye. One of the women who had helped with the wounded pressed a loaf of fresh bread on me, the wife of one of my patients, a couple of honey cakes. My vision blurred with tears by the time we passed the dike and reached the road leading down the Westfold Vale.

The wains carrying the wounded were slow, so it took three days to reach Edoras. Though I had been sad to leave the Hornburg, now that I was on my way, the slow pace chafed me. But finally the golden roof of Meduseld came into view, gleaming in the spring sunshine, a sight both fresh and very familiar. The inhabitants of Edoras had returned from their refuge in Dunharrow long ago, and as I rode into town I found myself greeted by a surprising number of them who still remembered me.

The Golden Hall was strangely empty when I entered it, the fire in the hearth banked, the chair on the dais standing abandoned, waiting for its new master. I almost expected to hear the slow tap of Théoden’s cane on the flagstones or to see Gríma stepping out of the shadows, leering at me. Going to my room, I found it unchanged from when I had left it nearly four months before, except that the servants had tidied up my clothes and made up the bed with fresh sheets. Feeling like an intruder, I turned over the pages of the book, which still lay open on my desk at the place where I had left off reading. So much had happened since!

But I did not have the time to linger. I had to secure an escort before I lost my courage at the thought of incurring both my father’s and Éomer’s displeasure. So I dumped my saddlebags on the bed, and only paused long enough to extract the letter Éomer had written to Ceolwen, and which I had borrowed from her before leaving. I had plans for it.

Feeling unusually reckless, I sought out the captain who had been left in command of Edoras. To my secret delight it was one of Elfhelm’s men, a young man I had often exchanged words with at the practice grounds.

He jumped up as I entered his small office in the barracks. “Princess Lothíriel!”

I gave him my best smile. “Captain Freotheric, what a pleasure to see you. You are just the man I was looking for.”

He flushed a bright red. “My lady, what may I do for you?”

“I was wondering if my escort to Gondor is ready yet, and when we can depart?” I opened my eyes wide, trying to look the very picture of innocence.

“Your escort?” he stammered. “I know nothing of that.”

“Didn’t Éomer King write to you?” I took Ceolwen’s letter out, making sure that he saw the seal of the Kings of Rohan affixed to it prominently.

Poor Freotheric opened and closed his mouth, obviously not knowing what to say.

I unfolded the letter and pretended to read from it. “At your father, my dear friend Imrahil’s, request I have sent word to Edoras to ready a company of ten men to escort you safely to Minas Tirith whenever it is convenient to you.” I looked up expectantly.

Freotheric swallowed. “I’m afraid that the message must have been lost.”

“Oh dear.” I bestowed another smile on him. “Still, no harm done. I’m sure I can leave it in your capable hands to get me safely to Gondor.”

He straightened up. “Of course, my Lady Princess. I will organize an escort at once.”

Hiding my relief, I inclined my head. “I knew I could rely on you.”

But once I had left his office, I leaned against the door and closed my eyes. How easy that had been! I could hardly believe that I had pulled off my rebellion so effortlessly. All my life I had been an obedient daughter, but now I found it intoxicating to get my own way for once. However, I would have to make sure that Freotheric would not get blamed for falling for my ruse.

***

In the end it took three days to get ready and I awaited the moment of our departure with growing impatience. But Freotheric took his charge seriously and made sure that I had a guard of seasoned warriors to accompany me. Wanting to ride light, I dispensed with a packhorse and left most of my things behind in Edoras. After all, I could always send for my books later, and the clothes I had brought with me from Gondor were too warm anyway. Besides, I still had the hope of returning one day.

At last we winded our way between the mounds lining the road out of Edoras and crossed the Snowbourne to join the Great West Road. I cast a last look back at the Golden Hall. Would I ever see it again?

We made good progress that day and reached Aldburg at sunset, setting out again the next morning. As we journeyed on, the weather remained fair and it grew hotter every day. To our right the White Mountains reared up, their snowfields shrinking rapidly in the heat and swelling the many brooks crossing our path with icy water. The largest of these was the Mering Stream, marking the border to Gondor. It was an odd feeling to return to my homeland, as if I’d been away for a lifetime instead of little over half a year.

That night we pitched our tents at the foot of Halifirien, the first of Gondor’s beacon hills, and in the following days we passed the rest of them one by one: Calenhad, Min-Rimmon, Erelas, Nardol, Eilenach. How strange to think that King Théoden and his men had taken this very same road on their journey to Minas Tirith! Already the ride of the Rohirrim had passed into legend.

And finally Amon Dîn came into sight, the last of the beacons. It was a hot day, and late in the afternoon we crossed another stream, this one a meandering river flowing out of Drúadan Forest to join the Anduin on its course to the sea. Solitary trees dotted its banks, overhanging and with their roots exposed by the water washing away the soil. As we reached the opposite side, I dismounted to take off my boots. The river had been deeper than we anticipated and they had got filled with water. I sighed as I upended them. It would take days to dry them, and I had no spares along!

Nimphelos, who stood beside me, managed to look sleek and elegant even with her flanks flecked with mud, but I doubted whether I matched her. My wardrobe had shrunk to two pairs of trousers, a couple of linen blouses and a sleeveless tunic to go over them. All borrowed from the twins and none of it in pristine condition by now. I had one Gondorian riding dress along as well, but the heavy wool was hot and uncomfortable to wear in this weather, so I had decided not to put it on until shortly before we would reach Minas Tirith.

I bent down to splash cool water over my face and as usual my hair kept getting in the way. Every morning I tied it in a short, tidy ponytail and within the hour it would escape its bounds, getting in my eyes and looking a mess. What my aunt would say about it, I dared not even imagine.

Godric, the captain of my escort, stopped beside me and passed me a flask of water, which I accepted gratefully.

“How much further to go?” I asked.

“Less than a day, my lady,” he answered. “We should be in Mundburg by this time tomorrow.”

Visions of a bath danced before my eyes. Fresh clothes and proper food! Not having to face another day in the saddle, tired and sore. Seeing my family again at last. And Éomer… Had I done the right thing in coming to Gondor? Would he be very angry with me for going against his orders? I had thought long about what I would say to him and how to present my reasoning in a rational and dignified manner. All I needed was the opportunity to speak to him in private. If only he would give it to me!

That moment a shout from one of the men above rudely interrupted my musings, and Godric spurred his horse up the sandy bank to have a look. I hesitated, not sure if I should follow. We had encountered nobody but a solitary courier during the whole journey, yet that did not mean that orcs might not still lay in wait somewhere. And the eaves of the forest were very near, so they might have hidden there.

Yet when I listened, I could hear no sound of fighting, so in the end I mounted Nimphelos again, barefoot for the moment, and urged her up the bank. Godric was talking to one of his riders.

“… to wait here,” the man was just saying.

“What is the matter?” I asked.

“Hareld here has encountered scouts, outriders for a large party of Rohirrim, he says. It might be better to await them here and see who they are.”

Why did I get a sinking feeling in my stomach? The road ran straight and flat after the river crossing and when I looked east I saw a low cloud of dust. Such as might be raised by a large host…

The low rumble of many hooves reached us first, then we saw the sun glinting on spears and armour as rank after rank of riders came into view. We waited, and slowly individual figures became discernible. One of the men gave a shout of joy when he spotted the banner of the White Horse on Green.

“The King! The Lord of the Mark is riding home!”

Éomer. All during the journey I had mentally rehearsed what I would say to him upon meeting him at last, how to explain both my actions in Edoras and the disregarding of his orders to stay in Rohan. But I had not expected it to be so soon! Panic rising within me, I groped for my chain of arguments and found that my mind had gone completely blank.

Swallowing hard, I passed my dripping boots to Wuffa, smoothed down my crumpled tunic and sat up straight in the saddle. Why did the man always have to catch me looking my worst?

A solitary horseman spurred his steed forward from the foremost group of riders, unmistakable on his big grey stallion and with his blond hair flowing out behind him. He held up his hand and a ripple went through the orderly companies following him as they came to a halt.

I had just brought Rohan’s army to a standstill.

A/N: the twenty-fifth of March is the day of Sauron’s downfall.

Chapter 23

A couple of paces from me, Éomer brought Firefoot to an abrupt halt. The stallion tried to rear, snorting and pulling on the bit, but Éomer checked him firmly.

“Lothíriel! What are you doing here?”

For a moment all I could do was to drink in the sight of him. Alive and well! And I had forgotten how handsome he was. The setting sun turned his blond hair to burnished gold and made his armour shine.

“I’m going home,” I answered. 

He gave a ferocious frown. “I wrote to Ceolwen that you were to stay at the Hornburg.”

“I know. Please don’t blame Ceolwen.”

“My lady,” he snapped, “I know exactly whom to blame.”

“Oh, that’s good then.”

I smiled at him. My heart was singing inside, it was so wonderful to see him again. And for the briefest instant the corners of his mouth turned up and an answering spark flashed in his eyes, but then he suppressed it.

Instead he turned his scowl on my escort. “These are my own men! Godric, I take a very dim view of your going along with this scheme of the princess’s without my permission.”

Poor Godric looked alarmed. “But my Lord King,” he stammered. “Captain Freotheric himself gave me my orders. The Princess had a letter from you that commanded him to provide her with an escort home.”

“What?”

I squirmed in the saddle. This meeting was not going as I had planned. “I had to use a small subterfuge to secure their services. Please don’t be angry. I’m only borrowing them.”

“Borrowing them!” His tone made his displeasure plain.

“Just for a little while…”

Éomer’s brows lowered in a frown. Somehow things were going from bad to worse! What had seemed such a reasonable course to take in Rohan now looked rash and childish in the face of his relentless disapproval. And I did not even have the subtle backing that a pretty gown gave.

“My lady,” he said, “I thought I had made my orders clear: you were to stay at the Hornburg and wait for me!” Then he checked himself. “That is, wait for your brother.”

Perhaps matters weren’t completely hopeless! But he gave me no chance to exploit this slip of the tongue.

“I only had your safety in mind. As King of the Mark I expect my orders to be obeyed,” he snapped.

I looked down. It would probably not go down well if I pointed out that I was a Gondorian princess on Gondorian soil and thus outside his dominion. Besides, he had his whole army to back him up - not that he needed it.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured.

Firefoot chose that moment to try and sidle up to Nimphelos, and Éomer had to rein him in hard. Nimphelos, that tease, lowered her head to nibble at a blade of grass while the stallion chewed on his bit, foam flecking his neck.

“Stupid animal,” Éomer growled, but not without affection. He fixed me with a stern glare. “Now what am I supposed to do with you?”

Remembering our leave taking, I had an idea, but thought it better not to voice the suggestion out loud. As his glance lingered on me, the expression on his face did make me wonder though if his thoughts might not run in the same direction.

“Lothíriel!” the shout made me look up.

Unnoticed by either of us, Éomer’s companions had ridden up. One of them nudged his horse forward. Amrothos!

He looked me up and down in disbelief. “It is you!” His eyes fastened on my face. “What have you done to your hair!”

Irritation surged up within me. Was that all he could say? “Yes, brother, I’m pleased to see you, too!” I shot back.

My heart sank as I recognized more of the men and women staring at me with shock and surprise on their faces. Why, half the court of Gondor seemed to be present! What were they all doing here? Lord Húrin of the Keys with his wife and beautiful daughter, Lord Brandir of Lamedon and half a dozen other nobles that I had a nodding acquaintance with. My eyes fastened on the one friendly face amongst the lot. Faramir! But next to him, Éowyn gave me a stony look.

One of the ladies leant over to whisper something in the ear of the woman next to her. Abruptly I became aware of wet trousers clinging to my legs, the sorry state of my tunic, my bare feet. And my hair… I must look like a vagabond! Holding my spine ramrod straight, I gave her my haughtiest glare.

Éomer took in the situation with a single glance. “We make camp here,” he decided. “Set up the tents away from the river and post a ring of sentries.”

As his men ran to do his bidding, the ladies of the court dismounted, assisted by their attendants. Lord Húrin’s daughter, Emeldir, shook out her rich riding skirts and smoothed back a strand of auburn hair.

“What a lovely idea,” she said with a gentle smile.

I held out my hand to my brother imperiously so he would help me down. As if I hadn’t groomed and tacked up Nimphelos myself for the past week!

“Amrothos,” I whispered, nodding at the ladies, “what in the name of the Valar are they doing here?” An unwelcome thought struck me. “They’re not travelling all the way to Rohan, are they?”

“No, no,” he answered. “Lord Húrin wanted to farewell the Rohirrim by accompanying them for a day, and in the end half the court decided to join him. I think Éomer was none too pleased about it either. But they’ve brought their own tents and supplies.”

He motioned to one of his men to take Nimphelos’s reins and drew me aside. “Lothíriel, what happened to you? Are you all right?”

I cast a look back over my shoulder. Éomer had dismounted to consult with Éothain and his other captains while his squire, Cnebba, led a rebellious Firefoot away. The ladies’ palfreys rolled their eyes nervously at the stallion’s loud neighs of protest. I had missed my chance to talk to Éomer.

The purpose drained out of me and with something closely resembling a sob I buried my head in Amrothos’s chest and clung to him. “It was just so horrible! The war, the wounded, the endless waiting for news! And I was so worried about you all.”

His arms went round me. “Poor you! We heard that you got landed right in the middle of a terrible battle. Father really blamed himself for sending you into danger. But you’re safe now.” He slipped his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “I’ll take care of you, little sister. This time tomorrow, you’ll be resting in our house in Minas Tirith, and once you’ve recovered, we’ll ship you off home to Dol Amroth, where you can forget all your troubles.”

The prospect held no enticement for me. I nodded dispiritedly and we walked away from the river, towards where the Swan and Ship banner marked the Dol Amroth encampment. All around us, men were busy setting up camp, fetching water, lighting fires and grooming their horses. To my surprise I found myself hailed repeatedly by riders I knew from my days in Edoras, or whom I had patched up during the battle of Helm’s Deep. My spirits rose a little at the friendly greetings.

“Where did you learn to speak their language so well?” Amrothos asked almost accusingly after I stopped yet again to inquire after one of my former patients’ health. “You sound like a native!”

I shrugged. “It’s not so different from Westron. Besides, I had no choice but to learn it if I wanted to be able to communicate.”

When we reached the Dol Amroth camp we found our tents set up already. And I spotted another very familiar face.

“Dirhael!” I exclaimed.

The old soldier greeted me with a huge grin. “So it was you!”

“Yes.” Disregarding protocol, I embraced him. “How wonderful to see you again. I was worried about all of you.”

He looked surprised, but pleased. “I was worried, too, when I had to leave you behind in Rohan.” He got a closer look at me. “Your hair! What happened to it?”

“Never mind,” I answered. “An accident during the battle.” I got the sinking feeling I would have that question posed to me many more times.

Wuffa had trailed along behind us and now he looked around while Wulf sat a little apart, scratching his ear with earnest concentration. Spotting the big shaggy beast, one of the Swan Knights picked up a stick to chase him away.

“Hold!” I called. “He’s with me.”

“That mongrel?” Amrothos asked, taken aback.

“Yes,” I answered curtly, not willing to go into the whole story. “Could somebody please see to it that he and the boy get something to eat?”

“I’ll do it,” Dirhael volunteered.

Seeing Wuffa well taken care of, I turned back to Amrothos.

“The boy is with you as well?” he asked with a frown as he held the tent flap open for me to pass through.

“I intend to train him as a page,” I explained.

“What do you need another page for?” But then he shook his head. “Never mind. We’ll find something for him to do, don’t you worry about it.”

With a grateful sigh I sat down on the low camp bed that constituted the only furniture in the tent. “I can manage.”

He surveyed me from head to foot. “You don’t look as though you can,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Aunt Ivriniel will throw a fit when she sees you.”

“It’s not as if I chose to be involved in a battle,” I pointed out in exasperation. Did they even realize that I could have lost much more than just a few inches of hair?

“No, of course not,” he soothed me. “It’s not your fault. Father should really have sent an escort to fetch you straightaway when Dirhael returned without you. But with the attacks on Minas Tirith imminent, we thought you would be safer in Rohan.”

Safer! Little did they know. Why did all the men in my life think they were best qualified to decide what was good for me?

“My lord,” somebody called from outside the tent, “the washing water for the princess is ready.”

Amrothos opened the tent flap. “Come in.” He turned back to me. “I will leave you to it now, Sister. Why don’t you have your dinner in here and then call it an early night? We can speak further tomorrow.”

“Why, where are you going?” I asked.

“To Lord Húrin’s,” he explained while a couple of servants filed past him bearing buckets of water and my saddlebags. “He has organized an informal gathering, much as in Cormallen, to farewell King Éomer.”

“I’m coming with you.”

He stared at me. “Really, Lothíriel, that’s not necessary. I’m sure nobody will expect you to attend, not in the state you’re in.”

I gritted my teeth. “I’m coming.”

“But look at you-”

“I will wash and put on fresh clothes,” I said through clenched teeth. “And you will wait for me.”

He cast a look at the servants, who were assiduously concentrating on rolling in a washing tub. “Have your wash and then we’ll talk about it.”

“Amrothos,” I called after him as he ducked out the tent. “If you don’t wait for me, I’ll find the way myself.”

He did not answer. But I could well imagine the expression on his face.

It took several buckets of water until I felt really clean and once again I thought longingly of a proper bath. However, that could not be helped. My father had sent one of the maids of our town house along and she towelled my hair dry and combed it out, bewailing the state of it all the while. Then I put on my woollen riding dress, crumpled and too hot for the early summer weather, but at least clean. For shoes I borrowed a pair of clogs from the maid, as my boots were still damp inside.

When I ventured outside again, I found Amrothos waiting for me, looking very dashing in a scarlet surcoat and shiny black boots with golden tassels. He rolled his eyes at my unconventional footwear, but did not again try to dissuade me from coming. The reason very soon became clear: Faramir and Éowyn had come to fetch us. I embraced my cousin enthusiastically, but hesitated over what to say to Éowyn. Ever since leaving Edoras, I had felt guilty for lying to her and abandoning her to Wormtongue’s wiles. At the time my plan had seemed the only way out, but in reality it had caused us all nothing but trouble and heartache. What she thought of me now, I dared not even imagine.

She looked equally ill-at-ease, nodding a stiff greeting to me. Fortunately Faramir filled the awkward silence with questions about my time in Rohan. And as we walked through the camp to Lord Húrin’s tents it suddenly dawned on me why she had come along: to be with Faramir. The way she smiled a fond challenge at him when he helped her step across one of the guy ropes. How he managed to hold her arm close without seeming to. Surely not! My peace loving, scholarly cousin and this Shieldmaiden from Rohan? The thought made me stumble and Amrothos had to steady me.

“Those shoes!” he muttered.

Lord Húrin had chosen to set up his camp under the eaves of the forest, in a small clearing by the side of the river. Lanterns hung from tree branches, fashioned in the shape of kingfishers, their plumage inset with coloured glass. The effect should have been festive, but instead the pine trees seemed to exude a strange sense of brooding. I looked longingly towards the river, where the sky was still light and swallows glided and dived through the air. Near the trees darkness had already settled, with the light of the lamps swallowed up by row upon row of grey trunks. Involuntarily I remembered the eerie forest at Helm’s Deep, for I got the same sense of unseen eyes watching me. Not unfriendly exactly, but not welcoming either.

From somewhere the soft strains of a harp reached us, and the guests already assembled made a valiant effort at appearing carefree and happy. Yet their laughter rang too loud.

I stared at the canvas chairs dotted about in small groups, the tables scattered about, set with snow-white linen and silver plates full of delicacies, and the liveried servants carrying trays with goblets of wine.

“They must have brought several wagons full of supplies with them,” I whispered to Amrothos. “Surely this is a bit excessive for an informal gathering?”

He chuckled. “All in a good cause.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see.”

We moved forward to be greeted by our host and his wife. Lady Rían welcomed me genially and asked after my journey. Once she might have possessed the same beauty as her daughter, but her partiality for sweets had left its marks on her figure. I had to suppress the impish thought that if she ever accidentally sat on her small, spindly husband, she would flatten him. But as usual she was impeccably dressed and I had no doubt that she noted every least imperfection of my attire - not a difficult task.

Then her daughter floated forward, in a gown of kingfisher blue that clung to every curve, her auburn curls spilling down her back. Emeldir greeted us politely enough, but her attention was clearly elsewhere. And sure enough, when a stir amongst the other guests indicated a new arrival, she excused herself and flitted away, like a bird spotting a tasty morsel.

I turned round to see that Éomer and his men had arrived. He exchanged a few words with his host, then let his glance roam casually around the clearing. Our eyes locked. But before I could react, Emeldir caught his attention.

“King Éomer,” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “How lovely that you could come.”

“It’s an honour,” he replied politely.

She took his arm. “Would you like to have a look around? We’ve put up lanterns, just as at Cormallen.” She giggled. “And Cook has prepared all your favourites.”

I watched them walk amongst the guests, her sweet little face lifted to him in adoration, hanging on every word he said. So that was what Amrothos had meant! My heart shrivelling up inside my chest, I grabbed my brother’s arm.

“Are they engaged?”

“Not yet,” Amrothos replied. “The bets are still on whether he will escape the jaws of this particular trap closing on him or not. Although his men seem to think the whole thing hilarious.” He shrugged. “But Emeldir has set her heart on him, and you know her, her parents deny her nothing.”

That explained the extravagant entertainment. And Lady Rían at least would surely enjoy the prestige accruing from such a match if her daughter married the King of Rohan. A flash of pure rage surged through me.

Amrothos was still watching the two. “Of course, politically speaking, an alliance would make sense for Gondor. We could do with strengthening our ties with the Rohirrim.” He lowered his voice. “Although King Elessar has done nothing to push the match. But he’s still inexperienced in such matters.”

A hint of spicy perfume wafted past us. Amrothos turned round and brightened up at once. “That’s Lady Aredhel. Lothíriel, will you be all right on your own for a bit?”

“Of course,” I replied.

But as he approached the richly clad beauty and she held out a white hand to have it kissed, I wondered who was the hunter and who the hunted. Some things never changed! I shrugged and turned my attention back to the rest of the gathering.

More of the unmarried noblewomen had congregated around Éomer’s tall form, looking up at him in worship like a litter of soft, silky puppies. With somebody else it might have been amusing to watch, but now it gave me a sick feeling in my stomach. So much for my plan to talk to him in private. Did he think I would fawn over him, too? Well, he would find out differently!

Mustering all my determination, I turned my back on him and moved further into the shadow of the trees. Most of the guests crowded near the riverbank, as if made uncomfortable by the forest, and I took a kind of perverse pleasure to sit down in an empty chair all on my own.

However, I did not remain alone for very long, for upon spotting me Lord Erkenbrand brought me a goblet of wine and a plate of pastries. He at least was delighted to see me, greeting me in his great, booming voice. We attracted a few startled glances from the Gondorians, who were used to softer tones, but Erkenbrand ignored them, inquiring how I had left matters at the Hornburg. Of course, he mainly wanted to hear about his family and swelled with pride when I described little Ermenred to him.

We fell easily into talking Rohirric and to my surprise very soon Marshal Elfhelm and Éothain joined us as well. They were keen to hear about those of their riders they’d had to leave behind, injured after the battle of Helm’s Deep, and how the spring planting progressed. I answered their many questions as best I could, yet again and again my eyes were drawn across the clearing.

Éomer and his bevy of admirers had slowly moved closer as he exchanged a word here and there with the other guests, and now they stood not far away from us. I could not help thinking that Éomer was listening to our conversation with half an ear, for he seemed rather distracted. That moment he glanced over.

I looked down hastily and concentrated on my pastry. Lord Húrin had really outdone himself. Surely whipping up all these delicacies in such a short time had taken an army of cooks! One of the servants offered baked artichokes to Lord Erkenbrand and with a word of thanks he took the whole tray, leaving the poor man looking rather startled.

“Here, have some,” Erkenbrand said to me with a twinkle in his eye. “Éomer!” he called, “why don’t you join us. Have one of these choke-things, they are quite nice.”

The men made room for Éomer as he helped himself to one of the dainties and offered them to his companions as well. With their delicate silk dresses the ladies looked rather out of place, as if they belonged indoors, not out here on the edge of an impenetrable forest. Even Lady Rían, who had accompanied her daughter, cast a nervous look at the enormous trees overshadowing the clearing. At an imperious wave of her hand, servants brought more chairs and the ladies settled down in them, spreading their bright skirts around them.

Lord Erkenbrand wolfed down his food with alarming speed. I had never seen him in such a genial mood before, with the heavy weight of responsibility removed from his shoulders. And of course he was finally going home. How Ceolwen and the twins would be pleased! Thinking of them made me realize how much I missed them, not least for the moral support their presence would have given me.

“So how did you get here?” Erkenbrand asked me in Rohirric, waving his goblet at a servant for a refill. “I thought you were meant to stay at the Hornburg. Did Éomer King change his mind?”

“Eh, not quite.” I did not dare look up. “I thought it would be easier if I made my own way home. Save my brother the journey.”

“I suppose it makes sense. But I’m surprised Freotheric let you go, he’s such a stickler for keeping to his orders.”

“He thought those were his orders. I made him believe I had a letter from your king.”

“Did you? That sounds just like something my girls would do!” Erkenbrand started laughing. “Elfhelm! Did you hear? You have to train your men better. First they did not notice Éowyn riding with you, and now this.”

Marshal Elfhelm shrugged sheepishly. “I told you before that it was dark!”

I looked up to find Éomer watching me. “You won’t reprimand Captain Freotheric, will you?” I asked impulsively. “He really had no idea.”

All of a sudden he grinned. “I told you that I know whom to blame. Besides, I don’t take my men to task for yielding to overwhelming odds.”

That made me laugh. For a moment we shared the same easy rapport that we used to have, then his grin faded. Next to Éomer, Emeldir looked annoyed at being excluded from the conversation. Her mouth settled into a pout and she cast an imploring look at her mother.

Lady Rían leaned forward. “Such a melodious language you speak,” she put in smoothly. “How I would like to learn more of it one day.” It was as good as a rebuke and taking the hint, Éomer apologized for speaking in Rohirric.

She eyed me critically. “My dear, you have changed a great deal.” Not to the better, went the implication.

A year ago, I would have smiled uncertainly and retreated to my books as soon as I could. Now I lifted my chin in challenge. “Thank you. I’ve learnt a lot during my time in Rohan, so it’s not surprising I seem changed.”

Her eyes narrowed. Lady Rían had been a close friend of my uncle Denethor’s and had unofficially ruled the court in Minas Tirith for many years. No doubt she was not used to anybody defying her.

She gave a little laugh. “Indeed? I have to admit I hardly recognized you this afternoon. Such a charmingly rustic dress! In fact I’m afraid I took you for a peasant for a moment.”

Titters from the other ladies. Next to me, Erkenbrand stirred angrily. “Probably because of my bare feet,” I replied in a level tone. “Or because I did a lot of actual work during the war.”

Her smile congealed as she detected the hidden criticism. “Ah yes, we heard that you assisted the healers. I suppose any willing hand came in useful.”

Éomer frowned. “We owe Princess Lothíriel a great deal,” he said with a hint of warning in his voice.

“My dear King Éomer, of course,” Lady Rían replied at once. Her double chin quivered as she smiled at me. “You must be glad to be back after the terrible hardships you suffered.”

I shrugged noncommittally, avoiding Éomer’s eye.

Emeldir gave a little shiver. “All those horrendous battles you fought for us!” Another adoring look at Éomer from under long lashes. “How brave you are! I’m sure I would have died of fright.”

I suppressed the uncharitable impulse to say that no doubt she would have. Did the fool think it romantic to be caught up in a battle? She had probably expected Éomer to assure her that he would of course protect her, but instead he stared down at his wine, a bleak expression on his face. I knew without having to be told that he remembered all the men he had lost. His uncle, Théodred… 

Lady Rían filled the uncomfortable silence with a great sigh. “Such terrible times! I am sure the bards will compose many a song about those battles.” A sly look at me. “By the way, my dear, is that where you suffered your misfortune with your hair?”

Suddenly I was tired of all the little snipes. “No,” I replied. “It’s a traditional style for Shieldmaidens in the Mark.” I pulled a strand of my hair forward. “You cut off a finger’s breadth for every orc that you kill.”

Lady Rían’s mouth dropped open as I bared my teeth in a smile at her. But at the same time I carefully avoided looking at all the men of Rohan around me who did of course know the sum total of orcs I had killed. Yet nobody spoke up to give me the lie.

I got up from my chair. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I find the atmosphere here rather cloying. I think I need fresh air.”

It wasn’t an easy feat to glide majestically out of the circle of watching faces with those bulky clogs on, but I acquitted myself creditably. Another moment more and I would have taken them off to bash in a few perfumed heads.

My momentum carried me across the clearing and to the edge of the riverbank. I took a deep breath to steady myself. That odious woman! She couldn’t have made it any clearer that she wanted me gone. Well, she would get her wish, for I had no intention of trespassing on her hospitality any longer. I just needed a brief space to collect myself, then I would find Amrothos and return to the tent.

The riverside sloped steeply because the stream had swept away part of the soil and I got a good view of the river. The sky was still light, for the sun had only just set, and further down I could make out some riders watering their horses. My brother’s Swan Knights, I realized. They had Nimphelos along, glowing like a pearl in the twilight. That moment I would have willing exchanged places with the man washing her down. It would have been far more enjoyable than attending Lady Rían’s gathering.

“Fool!” I whispered. What had I expected anyway? That Éomer would take me in his arms and proclaim his undying love?

Somebody cleared his throat behind me.

I gasped and spun round. Éomer!

He took a step back and held up his hands. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

My heart rate returned to normal. Or as normal as it could be with him standing so near. “My fault,” I replied. “I wasn’t paying any attention.”

He stepped up to the edge of the riverbank, but a careful distance away. “I see your men are giving Nimphelos a wash,” he stated the obvious.

“Yes. She enjoys that.”

Casting a quick look over my shoulder, I saw Emeldir and her friends still sitting with Erkenbrand and the other Rohirrim, but many curious glances were directed our way. A strained silence fell while I tried to think of something innocuous to say. As usual in Éomer’s presence, my mind had gone blank.

He cleared his throat. “I told the truth just now. We owe you a great deal and I appreciate your help with my men.”

“I only did my duty,” I affirmed, stealing a look at him out the corner of my eye. He was staring out over the river, but I did not think he saw anything. The memory of his kiss swept through me, of those lips claiming mine. His taste. Heat flushed through me. How could he do that to me without even touching me!

“I never thanked you properly,” Éomer went on, still watching the men washing down the horses. “Not just assisting our healers, but also the kites.”

“The kites!” I had forgotten about them. “They worked?”

“Yes, we would not have caught that orc band making for Fangorn Forest if it hadn’t been for them.”

I inclined my head. “It would have meant nothing without the valour of you and your men.”

Silence again, stretching between us like something alive. I felt as if I were walking between sleeping beasts and the least misstep on my part would wake them up and they would pounce on me. So many things we dared not touch upon: that night in Edoras, my lies, Théodred, our kiss…

“I heard about your uncle’s death,” I said stiffly, taking up the thread of the conversation again. “I’m sorry. He was a good man.”

“Yes,” Éomer agreed. “But at least he died his own man. After the past years, that’s more than I ever hoped for.” He had his hands clasped behind his back, as if he wanted to keep them from straying.

I swallowed. Tomorrow he would leave for Rohan and I might never see him again. I had to talk to him, tell him the truth about that awful night in Edoras. Even if it might mean having my heart torn publicly to shreds in front of the whole court of Gondor.

“Éomer…”

A loud neigh cut through the air. Hooves drummed on dry earth. What? Between the tents a horse burst forth, a short leading rope trailing behind it. People had to jump aside to avoid getting trampled as it slid down the bank to the river, showering sand all over them.

Éomer cursed. “That’s Firefoot!”

The stallion had caught his footing again and plunged into the river.

I grabbed Éomer’s arm. “What is he doing?”

“It has to be a mare.”

We looked at each other. “Nimphelos!”

Chapter 24

Downriver, my brother’s men seemed rooted to the spot while Firefoot made straight for them, splashing through the water. The horses started milling about, neighing nervously, and that finally galvanised the men into action. I saw one of them grab for Nimphelos’s halter.

Screaming a challenge, the stallion bore down on him. The man jumped aside, only just avoiding flashing hooves. The other horses scattered, but Nimphelos slewed round to meet Firefoot. With foam flying through the air, they circled each other a couple of times. Then Firefoot snaked his head forward to nip the mare on the flank and she took off across the river, the stallion a heartbeat behind her.

All around us, people exclaimed in consternation when the horses climbed the opposite bank in great bounds. A last triumphant neigh from the stallion floated across to us as they disappeared into the dusk.

I gasped. “Éomer! They’ve run away! What shall we do?”

He looked down at me. Somehow I had ended up with my body pressed against his side, but nobody paid us any heed. The other guests all crowded near the edge of the riverbank, talking to each other and gesticulating wildly. A strange expression crossed Éomer’s face.

“Come!” He grabbed my arm and started pulling me through the crowd. 

I stumbled along behind him. “Éomer, where are we going?”

He did not answer as he threaded his way towards the back of the crowd, drawing me along in his wake. A moment later we burst free of the press of people, but he gave me no chance to catch my breath and demand an explanation.

“This way.”

He tightened his grip on my arm, pulling me across the clearing and into the shadow of the trees. A quick look back over his shoulder, then he dragged me further into the darkness. All I could manage to do was to avoid tripping over hidden tree roots and fallen branches. Where was he taking me? At least up ahead the forest seemed to thin out again.

Éomer stopped abruptly, and let go of my arm. Somehow we had circled round and reached the riverbank again, only further upstream from where we had been. As I caught my breath, I could hear faint voices, but they sounded very far away. From the river below, the croaking of myriads of frogs reached us. We were completely alone.

I turned to Éomer. “What are we doing here? My brother will be worried about me.”

He crossed his arms across his chest. “Let him.” In the darkness of the trees it was difficult to make out the expression on his face, but his voice sounded grim. “Lothíriel, I will tolerate no more interruptions. I want the truth!”

“The truth?”

He started to pace to and fro. “It is as if you were two different women. One of them has a toy horse by her bed and risks her life to rescue mongrels…”

I coloured. So he had noticed Felaróf.

“…the other,” Éomer continued, “tells my sister that she had nothing but a flirtation in mind and lies to me in cold blood.”

He had spoken to Éowyn about me! My heart sank as I remembered what else I had said to her. I moistened my lips, trying to frame a reply.

Éomer took a step towards me. “Which woman is real? Lothíriel, when we parted you said to me that I had no idea what happened that night in Edoras. So what did happen? Why did you lie to me?” He took another step closer. “I have to know.”

I hesitated. It looked as if fate had granted me what I had wished for: an opportunity to speak to Éomer on my own. But something told me that this was my only chance - if I failed to convince him now, I would not be given a second one. Where to begin? If only he was not looming over me in such a threatening manner!

Backing away from him a little, I spread my hands. “It’s like this…”

The ground gave way beneath me.

I cried out in alarm as I felt myself starting to slip down the bank. Throwing himself down, Éomer lunged for me, catching me by the arm and arresting my fall for an instant. I scrabbled for purchase with my feet, but felt nothing but empty air. One of my clogs slipped off and fell down. Suddenly the whole section of the riverbank that Éomer was lying on collapsed with a loud rumble. We slid down amidst an avalanche of stones and sandy soil. Still holding my hand, he grabbed the exposed root of a tree, but it broke with a loud crack, dislodging more dirt. Coughing as earth filled my nose and mouth, I came to rest lying on my back at the bottom of the slope. Then Éomer landed on top of me, driving the air out of my lungs.

“Lothíriel!” He rolled off me. “Are you all right?”

Too winded to reply, I gasped for air. Stars danced across my vision.

Éomer bent over me, showering me with sand. “Lothíriel, did you hurt yourself?”

I moved my legs experimentally. Everywhere muscles objected to their ill-treatment, yet nothing seemed broken. But my ribs hurt! I lifted a hand to touch them. “I…I’m not sure.”

He slipped an arm under my shoulders and helped me sit up. I coughed up more sand, wincing as my ribs protested. I would be black and blue tomorrow!

“Have you broken anything?” Éomer asked.

Still catching my breath, I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

He brushed dirt off my cheeks, while supporting me round my back with his other hand. I found myself looking up into his eyes, only inches away from mine. In the gloom they were completely black and I knew I could so easily lose myself in them. How much I wanted to. His fingers traced the shape of my lips, then stilled.

“Oh, Lothíriel!” he whispered. And he tightened his arms around me as he bent down to kiss me.

I relaxed against him. It felt so right! So utterly and gloriously right. Here I belonged, in his arms, cherished and loved. And how I had missed him. With a touch like a feather his hand trailed down my neck, to linger for a moment in the hollow at the base of my throat. Skimming over my breasts, it settled against my ribs where my heart beat wildly. Could he feel it? His mouth pressed against mine, gentle but insistent, asking for surrender. He tasted of sand and grit, and of the wine we had drunk. Of sweet desire and unfulfilled longing.

Too soon he withdrew his lips. Breathing harshly, he stared down at me. “I hadn’t meant to do that!”

His voice was rough and filled with anger. But his temper did not frighten me, for I knew that we belonged together. Couldn’t he see it? Silly man! My heart overflowing with happiness, I smiled up at him.

He growled in frustration. “Lothíriel, I have by no means forgiven you.”

“No, of course not,” I soothed him. 

“I’m still angry with you.”

“You’re still angry with me,” I agreed. It was so wonderful to have him near.

“Don’t look at me like that!”

He let go of me so abruptly that I nearly fell over. In a single, smooth movement he surged to his feet and paced down to the river. The frogs fell silent.

“I still want to know the truth of why you lied to me.”

Some of the happiness drained out of me when I saw his rigid stance. And I had a stone digging into my buttocks. Suppressing a groan, I shifted my legs, dislodging the sand covering them. Fortunately it was dark, for surely I looked a complete mess. I cast a look up the slope that we had rolled down and wondered how we would make it back up and out of this forest. But perhaps we would be able to follow the bank of the river. From where I sat, I could actually see a patch of sky still bright with sunset. Unconcerned with us humans, the frogs had taken up their noisy courting again.

“Lothíriel. The truth.” His voice held no compromise.

Would he believe me? Taking a deep breath, I gathered my courage. Best start with the worst part.

“Yes, I lied to you, for I never went to see Ceolwen,” I began my explanation, addressing myself to Éomer’s back. “That night…that night after I had retired, Wulfstan came to fetch me.” I swallowed. “He said that King Théoden wanted to see me, but instead I found Gríma waiting for me in your uncle’s rooms.”

“Wormtongue!” Éomer hissed. “What did he want?”

“He had put something in my Yule cup, some kind of potion.” I paused a moment, remembering Gríma’s hands slithering across my skin, and drew up my knees to hug them. “It was like walking in a dream. I saw everything, felt everything, but I could not act. As if he had imprisoned my will. And he wanted to…to…”

Éomer froze. “I will kill him,” he whispered. “I will ride to Isengard and take that tower apart stone by stone – with my fingernails if I have to. And then I will…”

“Gríma did not succeed,” I interrupted him. “I managed to get away from him.”

He expelled his breath explosively and turned to face me. “But Lothíriel, you must have known I would do anything to protect you. Why didn’t you come to me at once?”

“I wanted to!”

“But?”

“Gríma said that if I exposed him, he would accuse me of trying to poison King Théoden.”

“That’s ridiculous!” he exclaimed. “Why should you do such a thing?”

“So that you would be one step closer to the throne.”

“That snake!” Éomer snarled. “Killing is too good for him. I will…I will…” He took a deep, calming breath. “So I suppose you went to find the one man who could protect you. My cousin.” He sounded bitter.

I scrambled to my feet and took a step towards him, but dared not touch him. “Éomer, I swear to you, I never went to see Théodred that night.”

“Don’t lie to me! I have proof!” And he took something from a pocket of his trousers. Gold glinted in the darkness. “All this time I’ve carried it along with me to remind me, like an evil talisman.”

The hair band Denethor had given to me. I stared down at it as I might at a serpent. How much grief it had caused me!

“Éomer, I dropped it in your uncle’s rooms. Gríma must have placed it outside Théodred’s chambers for you to find.”

There it was: the truth. But I had no way to prove it. It was up to Éomer to believe me. Or not.

He stared down at me. Then he grabbed my arm and pulled me closer to the bank. The croaking of the frogs ceased abruptly and with little plops they all jumped in.

“Éomer?”

Cold water lapped over my bare feet as he stopped in the shallows. It was brighter here than under the trees.

“Tell me again,” he commanded, taking my chin in his hand and turning my face so the light fell on it.

“I never went to see Théodred,” I told him, looking up at him and willing him to believe me. “It’s true that Denethor wanted me to marry your cousin, but I did nothing to further the match. I swear to you!” A sob rose in my throat. “I wanted you! Always I wanted you! Surely you know that.”

His eyes bored into mine as if he intended to ascertain the truth by sheer will power. So long did he gaze down at me that the frogs took up their concert again. Suddenly the tension drained out of him.

“What a fool I was,” he sighed.

My mouth dropped open. After all my anguish and heartache, to have my explanation accepted so easily. Just like that?

“You believe me?” I stammered. “I have no proof.”

“I don’t need proof. Do you think I cannot tell when you speak the truth?”

And with a violent motion he flung the hair band away. It sailed across the river and disappeared with loud splash. The frogs fell silent again.

“Now it all adds up at last,” he said. “I should have trusted my instincts all along.”

I started crying. I could not help myself, it was just too much. All the months of having to bottle up my feelings, knowing he hated me. The nightmares, the fear he would get killed! His arms went around me and he pulled me against his chest.

“My poor sweet.”

At these words I clutched his shirt and gave way to tears. Violent sobs shook me as I buried my head in his chest. I had been so miserable! Patiently he stroked my back, murmuring reassurances into my hair while I purged my soul of all the accumulated misery.

He believed me.

After a while my sobs turned into hiccups and I regained a resemblance of control. “I was so unhappy,” I whispered into his shirt.

“So was I,” he replied. “I hated everybody. You for betraying me, myself for still caring. Théodred for taking you away. And when he got killed I felt terribly guilty for my unkind thoughts.”

“I’m sorry! What a mess I made of things.”

He took me by the shoulders. “Lothíriel, look at me.” Blinking away tears, I raised my eyes to him. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “Wormtongue is the one to blame, not you. You did what you thought best.” He brushed a finger across my wet cheeks. “Oh Lothíriel, how miserably I failed at protecting you from him! And to think that I promised to keep you safe. I’m sorry.”

I shifted uncomfortably at being reminded of Gríma. “You didn’t know.”

“I knew he could not be trusted. I just wish you had come and told me that night. I would have made short work of him!”

“That’s exactly why I could not tell you,” I answered with a sniff. “Wormtongue wanted me to go running to you. He would have liked nothing better than to have you storming in the king’s rooms, threatening to kill him. In fact he had guards ready, waiting to arrest you for attacking Théoden.”

For a moment I thought Éomer would protest, but then his shoulders sagged. “It’s my cursed temper, isn’t it! You know, Éowyn said the same in the Houses of Healing.

She told me that I had no idea what it was like having Gríma hovering over her, watching her every move and not daring to say anything.”

He gave a humourless bark of laughter. “That certainly set me to thinking. Especially since my temper had just nearly got me killed in a stupid, idiotic way.” He brushed back a strand of my hair. “Remember? That’s what you said to me before I left for Gondor.”

“I was angry at the time.”

“You were right! And I nearly took all my men into the grave with me as well. The bards are writing songs of my feats on the Pelennor Fields when really they should berate me for losing my temper. If it hadn’t been for Aragorn…”

I shivered at the thought of what might have been and at once his arms closed on me. “I’m sorry. Those were desperate times. I thought I had lost everything and just wanted to take as many of the enemy with me as I could.”

I hugged him. “Oh, Éomer, I was so afraid for you. I thought of you all the time.”

“And I thought of you.” He cradled my face between his hands. “I tried to banish you from my mind, but always you returned. And your kiss! It drove me crazy and kept me sane at the same time. I despised you,” he whispered, “yet I fought for you.”

His lips descended on mine. Gently this time, but no less thorough than when he had kissed me at Helm’s Deep. Sliding my hands up his chest and round his neck, I stood on tiptoe and leant into his kiss. He responded with a pleased murmur. With no hard chainmail between us, I sensed the muscles of his shoulder tensing under my touch. How good that felt! I did not think I could ever get enough of him. To have his arms around me, holding me safe. To feel his body close, warm and solid. Deep inside my soul, something uncoiled, tension draining away. I had come home.

After an eternity he broke off the kiss. “Oh, Lothíriel,” he whispered. “You have no idea how much I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” With a contented sigh, I snuggled into his chest. He was just the right height for me.

He picked a twig out of my hair. “Your scent. I’d forgotten how good you smell.”

Irrational laughter bubbling up within me, I lifted my face to him. “Of soil and leaf mould?”

He grinned down at me. “Utterly ravishing.” A crooked smile. “I’m sorry I let you feel my anger. And that kiss at Helm’s Deep… I deserve a flogging for it!”

“It wasn’t that bad,” I protested.

“It was no way to kiss an innocent like you,” he declared. “I wanted to punish you. To frighten you! But instead…”

“I’m not so innocent as to get frightened by a kiss from you,” I replied stoutly.

That made him chuckle. “Of course you’re an innocent. Or you would not be here with me, alone in the forest in the dark, and not the least bit worried.”

“Don’t be silly!”

He laughed out loud. Then he kissed me again. Long and lingering.

Not lingering enough. “Don’t stop!” I sighed when he pulled away.

“Dear heart, I think I had better,” he said. “It’s getting late. We should make our way back to the camp before I give in to temptation.”

“Do we have to?”

“It’s not as if I wanted to.” His voice shook with suppressed amusement. “But the Princess of Dol Amroth and the King of Rohan can’t just disappear into the forest for half the night without people talking. Your father wouldn’t like it. And we need his good opinion.”

Unfortunately he was right. I was indulging in highly improper behaviour here - even if it did involve my future husband.

Reluctantly I stepped out of the circle of his arms.  “Yes, I suppose so. Besides, Amrothos is probably worried about me.” Suddenly all my aches and pains came rushing back. Dismay filled me at the state I was in. “I must look a mess!”

“You do,” Éomer agreed with a grin. From somewhere he miraculously produced a clean handkerchief, dipped it in the stream and proceeded to wipe my face. “If I take you back like this, your brother will have my head.”

I closed my eyes, enjoying the feeling of his fingers brushing across my skin.

He touched a strand of my hair. “I’m sorry about cutting it off. I didn’t realize…”

“It’s nothing,” I shrugged. “You saved my life.”

“Those silly women,” he growled. “They’re just jealous, knowing you would outshine them dressed in sackcloth.”

That surprised me into a chuckle. “I think you’re biased.”

“I most certainly am. Ever since you rode up this afternoon, I wanted nothing as much as to take you in my arms and kiss you.”

Somehow I had ended up squashed against his chest again. “Then why don’t you?” I suggested.

Éomer was happy to oblige, but too soon he withdrew his lips. “My sweet temptress, we have to get back before your brother starts a full scale search for you. Otherwise people will talk.”

“I suppose you’re right,” I sighed. “Only I’ve lost my shoes.”

He looked at my bare feet, then at the massive pile of sand at the bottom of the slope we’d fallen down. “I don’t think we’ve got any chance of finding them in there. Plus it’s getting dark.”

Gathering up my riding skirts, I took a cautious step across a clump of reed grass. The moist ground squelched under my feet. “Very well. I will manage somehow.”

“Now you are being silly.” And he gathered me up in his arms.

“Éomer!” I exclaimed. “You can’t mean to carry me.”

“Why not? After all, I’ve done it before. You don’t weigh much more than my sword and armour and you’re much softer.” Laughter rang in his voice. “It would help though, if you stopped wriggling.”

Meekly, I followed his orders and slipped my arms around his neck for good measure. With large strides he walked along the bottom of the riverbank, splashing through the water wherever necessary and ducking under overhanging branches. Soon the light ahead grew brighter. 

“Lothíriel,” he said, “I want you to promise me one thing.”

“What is that?”

“Don’t ever lie to me again, not even to save me from myself.”

“I promise!” I buried my head in his chest. “I didn’t want to lie to you! I just couldn’t think of any other way out.”

He kissed the top of my head. “Why didn’t I see it? Your lips said one thing, your eyes another. I wish somebody had hit me over the head and told me I was behaving like a complete idiot.”

Closing my eyes, I nestled against his neck, breathing deeply of his scent. Already it was so familiar that I would have recognized him anywhere. How nice it was to be held by him! I would quite happily have spent the rest of the night in his arms. Not really a thought a properly brought-up Gondorian lady should entertain, but after all we would soon be husband and wife and then…

“Who goes there!”

The shout made me jump.

Éomer tightened his grip on me. “The Lord of the Mark,” he called.

A sentry materialized out of the darkness. “Éomer King! My lord, Captain Éothain has been looking for you.” He peered at me. “Is that the princess? Prince Amrothos…”

“I know,” Éomer interrupted him. “I’m on my way to see him. You may return to your duties.”

With a nod of dismissal, he continued along the sandy path that led up the riverbank. We got hailed twice more on our way across the camp, but both times he only gave a curt answer. Very soon we reached the Dol Amroth encampment, which was bright with torches and full of soldiers milling about. Éomer cursed quietly. The moment they recognized us, we got surrounded by people asking questions about what was the matter.

“Leave the talking to me,” Éomer whispered. Aloud he called to make way.

Then Amrothos forced his way through the crowd. “Lothíriel! Are you all right? What has happened?”

“Your sister had an accident. She’s fine now, but she needs rest,” Éomer answered for me. “However, it might be better to discuss this in private.”

Amrothos got a closer look at him. “Éomer! It is you! An accident?”

“In private, Amrothos. The princess needs to sit down after the ordeal she’s been through.”

What ordeal? I tried to look suitably distressed and apparently managed so well that Amrothos at once shooed everybody away and led the way to the tent.

“Look at the state you’re in, Lothíriel!” he exclaimed while holding open the tent flap for Éomer. “I let you out of my sight for one minute and this is how you return.”

Loud barking greeted us inside the tent and Wulf jumped round us, wagging his tail.

“Éomer King, you have found her!” Wuffa exclaimed. “Are you all right?” he asked me.

I smiled at him reassuringly as Éomer set me down on the bed. “I’m fine. But what are you doing here?”

“Prince Amrothos wanted to use Wulf to search for you in the forest.”

My brother interrupted us. “Will you stop jabbering away in that incomprehensible language! I want to know what happened.”

He seemed to be in a bad mood. Now that I got a closer look at him, I noticed that his face was scratched and his fine clothes torn and stained with dirt. “Where have you been?” I asked. “You look pretty awful yourself.”

“I look awful?” he exploded. “I’ve spent the last hour traipsing through the woods after this cursed mongrel. It’s a miracle we made it out again in one piece. This animal led us from one bramble patch to the next and in the end we emerged in exactly the same spot that we had entered the forest.”

I could tell Éomer was hard put to refrain from laughing. “Good dog,” he murmured in Rohirric.

Amrothos cast him a suspicious look. “And now perhaps you could explain what you have been up to with my sister? The last thing I saw, you were talking to her in plain view and then suddenly you were both gone once the hubbub about that brute of a stallion died down.”

“Nimphelos!” I exclaimed. I had forgotten all about her. “Has she been found?”

“Not yet.”

I started to get up. “But she’s out there in the dark…alone!”

Éomer took my arm and eased me back down. “Don’t worry. She’s not on her own after all.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. “Firefoot will protect her. And I’m sure they’ll be back by morning. My stallion likes his oats too much to stay away.”

“You think so?”

He patted my hand. “I’m sure. I’ve come to realise that Firefoot is more clever than I thought.”

Amrothos watched us with narrowed eyes. “An explanation?” he prompted Éomer.

Éomer straightened up to face him. “Amrothos, you ought to take better care of your sister.” 

“I take better care! But…”

“You should not let her wander about all on her own,” Éomer interrupted him ruthlessly and I had to admire the way he put my brother on the defensive. “You might not realise what she’s been through during the war. During the Battle for Helm’s Deep, Lothíriel got attacked by a group of orcs and very nearly lost her life.”

“What? You never mentioned any of this before!” Amrothos turned to me. “Lothíriel, did you get hurt?”

I shook my head. “Éomer arrived just in time to rescue me.”

“I had no idea!” Amrothos exclaimed. “We thought you were safe with the rest of the women. What happened?”

Not wanting to remember Gubrak, I just shrugged. Éomer put his hand on my shoulder, as if asking my forgiveness for bringing up the painful subject.

“She had wandered off in the caves and got captured by Uruks that had crept in through a secret passage at the back,” he explained. “We killed them all.”

“Captured by those animals!” Amrothos crouched down by the bed and put his arm around my shoulder. “How awful. Poor you!” He looked up at Éomer. “We owe you our thanks.”

Éomer lifted his hand in denial. “I blame myself for not keeping a better eye on her. But it has taught me that your sister is prone to get into mischief and not to let her out of my sight for a single moment.”

Amrothos heaved a sigh. “I know!”

“That’s not true,” I objected.

The two men regarded me with raised eyebrows, looking remarkably similar despite their different colouring. How had they ended up allied against me?

“Drúadan Forest is no place to stray,” Éomer went on smoothly. “Your sister fell down a slope in the darkness. It’s lucky she did not break anything…”

I opened my mouth to protest, but closed it again when Éomer shot me a look of warning. He made it sound as if I had wandered off into the woods on purpose! I did not like it – although I could not think of a better explanation on the spur of the moment.

“Really, Lothíriel,” Amrothos said. “The things you get up! How lucky that Éomer noticed and rescued you.”

Not sure if I could keep my countenance, I decided to borrow Éomer’s tactics and shift the fight to a different ground. “Do we have to discuss this now? I’m hurting all over and urgently need another wash.”

“Of course,” Éomer agreed, all solicitude. “We will leave you to your rest now. I will see you in the morning, my lady.” He took Amrothos by the shoulder. “No harm done after all. Just make sure you keep a better eye on her in the future.”

Bemused, I watched them go. Without a single lie, Éomer had given Amrothos a completely false impression of what had happened in the woods.

At the exit of the tent, Éomer turned round. “Líthe swefnas, min heorte,” he said, giving me a smile that only I could see.

“What does that mean?” I heard Amrothos ask outside the tent.

“Oh, that just means good night,” Éomer answered.

“Lithasweevnas minorte,” Amrothos repeated. “Lithasweevnas.”

My good mood restored, I lay down on the bed and stifled my laughter in the blankets. What if Amrothos tried that out on one of the sentries!

A/N: Líthe swefnas, min heorte = sweet dreams, my heart.

A/N: this is of course not the first time that Éomer and Lothíriel tumble down a slope. With her permission, I borrowed the idea from Willow-41z’s ‘Many Meetings’. Many thanks!

Chapter 25

My whole body ached. With a groan I turned over onto my stomach and tried to burrow deeper into my bedclothes. The sudden movement sent a twinge of pain up my back and an abused muscle in my shoulder throbbed in sympathy. From somewhere the sound of muted voices reached me.

I did not want to wake up. My mind groped for the remnants of my dreams. Dreams such as I had not had for months, filled with laughter and happiness. And another sensation, bone melting and entirely delicious. I wanted to dive back into the ocean of sleep and lose myself in its pleasant currents. If only I did not hurt so much!

All over my body small aches and pains clamoured for attention. Reluctantly I opened my eyes. Brown canvas wall met my sight, backlit by the sun. Already the inside of the tent was warming up, the air turning stuffy. I rolled onto my back, ignoring protesting muscles, and stretched my arms. The events of the previous night came floating back into my mind and a wave of contentment swept through me. Éomer believed me! Had kissed me. Wanted to marry me.

Outside, the voices had got louder. I distinguished my brother’s cultured tones and another, deeper one. A voice that sent a shiver of pleasant anticipation down my spine. For a while I just lay there and listened to the familiar cadence of his words, simply content with knowing he was close. Then slowly the meaning of his words penetrated my sleep-fogged mind.

“… make sure the princess has taken no harm,” Éomer was just saying.

“Lothíriel is fine,” my brother answered. “Like I said, she just needs plenty of rest.”

“I would like to take my leave of her personally,” Éomer answered.

Take his leave? That brought me wide-awake. Where was he going? All of a sudden the answer dawned on me: home!

My heart plummeted. I had not thought one moment past the fact that he loved me. But he could hardly keep his whole army waiting around on his pleasure and neither could he return to Minas Tirith with me. Fool!

“That’s not necessary, Éomer, my friend,” Amrothos assured him. “I can tell her you asked after her. She won’t mind.”

I did not wait to hear Éomer’s answer. Ignoring my aching limbs, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and scrambled to my feet. What to wear? Last night I had borrowed one of my brother’s shirts for a nightgown, not exactly suitable attire. But what if Éomer decided to leave without seeing me! I snatched a blanket from the bed and wrapped it round me. Then I rushed outside.

To my surprise I found that my tent was the last one left standing and all around us servants were in the process of dismantling the camp. Éomer and Amrothos slewed round at my precipitous exit from the tent.

“Lothíriel!” my brother exclaimed. “What are you doing out here?”

“You are leaving?” I took a step towards Éomer.

And promptly tripped over my blanket. Strong arms caught me before I could do more than exclaim in alarm.

“Be careful!” He took hold of me and steadied me.

I put my hands against his chest and looked up at him. “Éomer, are you leaving?”

“I have to…”

“Lothíriel!” my brother interrupted us. “Look at you!” He grabbed the blanket that had started to slip and wrapped it more firmly around me.

Reluctantly Éomer let go of me, his hands lingering for a moment on my waist. “My men have left already, but I wanted to say good-bye.”

To say good-bye when I had only just found him again! Looking down towards the river, I saw that his riders had crossed the stream to follow the Great West Road, the long line snaking off into the distance. At a loss for words, I clutched my blanket closer around me.

“I will be back in Minas Tirith in two months’ time,” Éomer added. “To escort my uncle’s body home for burial. I hope I will see you then.”

More waiting! It was on the tip of my tongue to beg him to take me with him, but I controlled the impulse. Something in his eyes made me think that he might take me at my word. And then what would my brother do? Let alone my father… And the last thing we needed right now was to strain the alliance between our countries. I knew all that, and I also recognised that Éomer had to act as a king now. But to just once be able to do as I pleased, not as I should! However, duty won out.

So I inclined my head to him. “I will be there.”

He reached out a hand as if to touch me, but checked himself. Instead he bowed to me. “My lady, until then. Westu hál.” His voice sounded rough.

“Westu hál.”

Blinking back tears, I watched him turn round abruptly and disappear amongst the crowd. Even though I knew the feeling to be irrational, I could not help resenting the fact that he had not kissed me properly. I realised that he could hardly do so in front of my brother and that he wanted to avoid prolonging a painful farewell, yet at the same time my heart ached at his curt manner. But the moment he was gone, Amrothos took me by the arm and bundled me back inside the tent.

“Lothíriel,” he sighed. “Please don’t tell me that you’ve lost your heart to Éomer!”

I wiped my eyes on a corner of the blanket. “What makes you think so?”

“I knew it!” he exclaimed, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “Lothíriel, half the ladies of the court of Gondor are hero-worshipping him and the other half is chasing him in the hope of becoming Queen of Rohan.”

“I’m not like that,” I protested.

“I’m not saying you are, little sister.” He slipped an arm around my shoulders. “I know he’s very handsome and exotic looking with that mane of blond hair. And I’m sure he was kind to you, for he’s a good man.”

Kind? I wasn’t sure if that was the right description of Éomer’s behaviour. But my brother gave me no chance to say anything.

“I just don’t want you to cherish any false hopes,” he went on. “He’s had all the beauties of Gondor in hot pursuit, yet he never really showed any interest.” The look he cast over me seemed to indicate that he did not really think I could compete with the ladies of the court.

I swallowed the protest rising to my lips. Did he think so little of me? And it was almost insulting that he showed not the least worry of something improper having taken place between Éomer and me! But I couldn’t very well tell him so.

Lowering my eyes, I sat down on the bed. “Maybe you’re right.”  Maybe not.

“Believe me, you’re better off forgetting about him,” he answered, patting my shoulder. “In fact, I got the distinct impression that he has somebody waiting for him in Rohan.”

Not anymore, I thought. But aloud I asked: “You won’t tell Father, will you?” An alarming notion occurred to me. “And also about last night?”

“Of course not. Have I ever carried tales to him?”

“No, never,” I agreed. Dear Amrothos, he had always been a loyal brother to me.

Secretly I heaved a sigh of relief. What my father would say to that escapade I did not even dare to imagine. No, it would be much better for Éomer to proceed according to Gondorian custom and apply to my father first for his permission before paying suit to me. That way nothing could go wrong.

Amrothos straightened up. “We have to be off soon if we want to make it back to Minas Tirith today. I’ll send the maid in to help you get dressed.”

I nodded meekly.

But in the doorway he paused. “I’d forgotten what it is like, having you around.” He grinned. “It was downright quiet without you!”

My riding dress had survived the previous night’s adventure in better shape than I had thought possible, so I looked quite respectable when I left the tent again. At once the servants started to take it down and stow away the canvas on a cart.

“They will follow behind,” my brother explained while he led me down to where the horses stood ready.

“Nimphelos!” I exclaimed upon spotting my mare. “You found her?”

“One of Éomer’s men brought her back. Apparently the two runaways returned early this morning, just as he had predicted.”

As we got closer I received another surprise, for standing next to the mare, holding her leading rope and that of his own horse, was Beorngar. I greeted my former guard with much pleasure, delighted to see that he had made it through the battles unscathed. Nimphelos lowered her head to huff gently into my hand. I could not help thinking that she looked rather self-satisfied.

“So you decided to come back to your mistress?” I said, rubbing that place under her forelock that she liked to have scratched. “Did Firefoot cause a fuss at being parted from her?” I asked Beorngar.

“A little.” He shrugged. “But he was tired. Éomer King is riding one of his remounts today.”

Amrothos had patiently listened to us speaking Rohirric, but now he touched my arm. “We have to be off, Lothíriel.”

I took Nimphelos’s reins from Beorngar. “Will I see you in Minas Tirith in two months’ time?”

Beorngar offered me a leg up. “I am coming with you.” Then he addressed himself to my brother. “Éomer King has told me to keep myself at the princess’s disposal.”

“What?” Amrothos exclaimed. “That’s not necessary. I assure you, we have plenty of guards.”

“I don’t doubt it. But Éomer King felt it was the least he owed the princess after all that she has done for the Mark.”

“Please, Amrothos,” I said, before he could refuse the offer. “Beorngar here was my guard in Edoras. And it would make me feel safer.”

Amrothos drummed his fingers on the leather of his saddle. “Oh, very well.”

My spirits lifted. It was almost as if a small part of Éomer had stayed behind to keep an eye on me.

“You don’t mind having to stay in Gondor longer?” I asked Beorngar as we rode out of camp.

He shrugged. “I have nobody waiting for me back home.” A wry look my way. “Besides, the Marshal – that is the King – felt that you needed somebody to keep you out of mischief in his absence.”

Just outside the camp, Faramir and a group of his rangers were waiting to join us. My brother set a fast pace – as fast as Wuffa on his pony could manage – and before long we overtook parties of Gondorians that had left earlier in the morning. But to my relief we didn’t stop to talk to any of them, for I had no desire to meet Lady Rían or her daughter.

The road followed the edge of Drúadan Forest for most of the day before turning south and finally, as the sun cast the long shadows of the mountains across our path, the White City rose in the distance before us. Thin tendrils of fog had issued from the river and drifted across the Pelennor, making the city seem to float above it, pale and insubstantial. The devastation of war was all too evident still. Homesteads had used to dot the fields, their produce feeding the citizens of Minas Tirith, and at this time of the day the farmers should have been busy bringing in their animals for the night. But no goat bells broke the silence, no squawking hens, no grunting pigs. Only when we got nearer to the city did we encounter work parties repairing the burnt out husks that used to be busy farms. Here some of the fields showed a delicate sprinkling of spring wheat, but everywhere deep grooves crisscrossed our path, as if heavy loads had been dragged along.

“What happened here?” I asked my brother.

“We had to haul the mûmakil carcasses away for burning,” he explained. “Although some of them got butchered on the spot to feed the armies. I got right tired of the taste of mûmak meat.”

“Real mûmakil! I have only ever seen illustrations of them in old books.”

He snorted. “Believe me, that’s where they should stay.”

We approached the city now and I saw that although it had looked almost untouched from afar, the damage to the buildings was extensive. Then a row of mounds of freshly turned earth along the base of the wall caught my eye. Some of them had spears stuck in them, others pennants that hung limply in the damp air. My throat went dry. No need to ask what those were.

The entrance to the city yawned open before us, guarded by a company of the king’s soldiers with their familiar wing shaped helmets. Off to one side lay the ruins of the gates, the wrought iron twisted and blackened by the hate of the Witch King. When they recognised my brother, the guards waved us through and we passed under the thick arch of the gateway, the sound of our horses’ hooves on the cobbles echoing back from the stone. When we emerged on the other side, the first sight that struck my eyes was a row of long, gently curved objects stacked neatly all along one wall. More than double the height of a man, they shone a pale white.

I nudged Nimphelos closer to Amrothos’s horse. “What are those?”

“Mûmak tusks,” he answered curtly. “King Elessar plans to sell them to feed the widows and orphans of those they killed.”

I stared at them. My mind refused to picture a creature that had tusks that size - to have to face them in battle did not even bear thinking about.

In silence we followed the road winding its way up through the seven levels of the White City. The further up we got, the less apparent the damage of war became. Through open windows I caught glimpses of families sitting down to their evening meal and my stomach reminded me that it had been a long time since a frugal lunch of bread and cheese. But at last we neared the archway leading to the sixth level and looking up I saw the dark shape of the huge beech tree that shaded our garden. The town mansion straddled the gate and watching the traffic go by had provided us with hours of entertainment when we were children.

It was a strange feeling to ride into the courtyard of our house. Nothing seemed to have changed since that day over half a year ago that I had left. Even the grey tabby cat that belonged to the cook watched us from her usual vantage point on the stable roof. Her green eyes reflected the light of our torches back at us as we dismounted and went inside. There the housekeeper was very much surprised to see us and at once led us into the dining room.

“My Lord Prince, they’re back!” she announced, visibly flustered.

My father looked up from his meal, a glass of wine halfway to his mouth. “Amrothos? What are you doing here?”

Then he spotted me behind my brother. “Lothíriel!” He jumped up and crossed the room in a few large strides. “How did you get here so quickly?”

I moved into his embrace. “I decided to come home on my own.”

With an unusual lack of restraint, he kissed and hugged me. “What a relief to have you back safely! I was worried about you.” After a moment, he caught himself again. “But why didn’t you wait for your brother?” he asked. “The roads still aren’t safe.”

I leant my head against his chest, revelling in the simple contact. “I organised myself an escort in Edoras.”

“Éomer mentioned nothing about it.”

“He didn’t know,” I answered. “May I have something to eat now?”

“Of course.” He let go of me and got his first proper look at me. “Child, what have you done to your hair!”

Later that night I sat in the window seat of my bedroom, towelling my hair dry after the first proper bath since leaving Edoras. With my aches soothed, but feeling almost too tired to go to sleep, I stared out over the Pelennor fields to the Ephel Duath where a waxing moon rose behind jagged peaks.

My father had been appalled at the tale of what I’d been through during the battle of Helm’s Deep and would have liked to send me straight on to Dol Amroth. ‘To regain your peace of mind’, as he put it. But I had resisted that idea firmly, and my father had been so surprised by such unusual opposition to his commands that he had given in.

I sighed and leant my head against the windowpane. It would be difficult to go back to being the dutiful daughter he expected me to be. Already they had fallen back into their old, familiar roles: Amrothos teasing me gently and my father expounding at length on the politics of the court and the consequences of having a new king. I wondered if they knew that said king went around bandaging the legs of mongrels? Father might yet get a few surprises. Not the least of which would be the King of Rohan showing up to ask for my hand…

That thought made me smile and I got up and crossed to the bed. The sheets had been turned back and one of my nightgowns lay ready. I slipped the cool linen over my head and fingered the neckline, which was embroidered with tiny yellow flowers. Strange that my old clothes still fitted me, when I had returned such a changed person.

Then I blew out my lamp and slid between the sheets. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the outlines of the furniture slowly emerged from the shadows. Two wardrobes, a desk and my shelf of books - all so very familiar. We had spent several months every year here in Minas Tirith, whenever my father had dealings with Denethor and the other nobles of the realm. Although I had always thought of Dol Amroth as my true home.

And now? Where was my home? I felt a stranger here, but would it be any different in Dol Amroth? At least I knew where my heart was: camping under the star-strewn sky, somewhere on the Great West Road. Without the ladies of the court along, they would probably not bother to put up any tents, not if the weather remained dry. Just gather round the campfires and share tales or sing. Was he thinking of me? Hugging one of my pillows to myself, I decided that he was.

I would just have to survive the next two months somehow and then he’d be back. Once he had asked for my hand in marriage, we would be able to spend more time together – unfortunately only suitably escorted of course. Father was bound to insist on all the proper forms being observed, so it might be a long time before I received another kiss from Éomer. And then there was the matter of Gondorian betrothal periods…

Just as I drowsed off, another thought occurred to me. Éomer had never actually asked me to marry him; I had just assumed he would. I grinned. Ah well, otherwise I would just have to seduce him.

It was to be my last peaceful night. Something in my soul must have decided that finally the time had come to deal with all the horrors I had witnessed. Perhaps it was because I no longer had anything useful to do, but spent the days sitting in the garden, reading my books. Every night images rose before me of maimed men – dying even as I frantically bandaged their gaping wounds. Gríma leered at me out of the shadows and orcs stalked my dreams. But worst was Gubrak groping me with taloned hands, his hot breath moving across my body. And no Éomer arrived to save me, for he lay cold and dead on the stone floor.

I began to dread the sun sinking behind Mount Mindolluin, for it meant another night full of gruesome dreams. Instead I started to doze during the day and stayed up half the night, trying to keep my mind busy with reading. Yet invariably I would fall asleep and then the nightmares commenced anew. If only I could have sought shelter in Éomer’s arms, but he would not be back for many more weeks! It made me feel like a swimmer that had to keep afloat somehow until aid arrived.

My lack of sleep showed in black rings around my eyes and my family worried about me; I could see it in the way they tiptoed around me, keeping the conversation to the most innocuous topics. Father even went as far as to send for my aunt, probably thinking that I needed female companionship and the chance to unburden myself to a sympathetic ear. But when she arrived, Aunt Ivriniel was more horrified at my hairstyle than my experiences in Rohan. She declared that I was not to appear in polite society under any circumstances, an edict that caused me no hardship to obey.

At least she brought my other two brothers with her, to keep her safe on the journey, as she put it. Although in my opinion it would have taken a very foolhardy corsair to tackle her. However, I was delighted to see my brothers again at last, especially Erchirion, the closest to me in temperament. But not even his presence could chase away my dreams.

Finally, when the situation steadily worsened, my father decided to take me to the Houses of Healing. I was reluctant, for I did not think I would find help there, but Father overruled me.

I knew the Warden of old and he greeted me with unmistakable pleasure. With his kind brown eyes and hanging jowls, he had always reminded me of a faithful old hound. When my father explained my troubles, he pursed his lips.

“Alas, the maladies of the mind are often more difficult to heal than the ailments of the body.”

I shifted uncomfortably. He made it sound as if I was mentally disturbed!

My father tapped his fingers on the armrest of his leather chair. “Surely there is something you can do? What about that Athelas brew?”

“That is indeed most efficacious with those affected by the Black Breath.” The Warden peered more closely at me. “However, if I understand correctly, the Princess’s trouble stems from a different cause?”

I shrugged. “Just a few bad dreams, brought on by my experiences during the war.”

“A few bad dreams?” my father exclaimed. “You’ve woken up sobbing and weeping every single night since coming home!”

And here I had thought I had been discreet. Had the maids told my father all the details of my nightly upsets?

The Warden clucked his tongue in distress. “No doubt the horrors she witnessed upset the delicate sensibilities of the Princess. We have had several such cases.”

My father leant forward. “Is there something you could give her to help her sleep?”

“We’ve had good results with low doses of poppy syrup. However, in this case…”

“I’m not having any of that,” I interrupted. Both men looked at me in surprise, as if they had forgotten my presence.

My father patted my hand. “Really, my dear, you must let the Warden decide what is best for you. He has known you since you were a child.”

But I was a child no more!

The Warden held up his hand. “As I was just going to say, those are purely palliative measures, aimed at giving a brief relief. Real healing will only come with time.”

“Is that all you can do to help my daughter?” Father asked. Worry lines etched his face.

“I’m afraid so. It is said that in fabled Númenor such ailments could be treated like any other illness of the body, but we do not have that knowledge anymore.”

I saw a lecture on his favourite topic coming, so I got up. “Master, you have been very kind.”

“Not at all, my child,” he assured me. “I will have a small measure of poppy syrup made up for you. But you must use it sparingly and for no longer than a week.”

“I know,” I answered. How ironic that I was now supposed to dose myself after dispensing so much of it to our wounded. But I had no intention of using it anyway.

However, I did not want to start an argument with my father in front of the Warden, so I excused myself to wait in the garden. My father stayed behind, perhaps still hoping that the Warden possessed some magic wand with which to wave away all my troubles.

Beorngar was waiting outside in the corridor and accompanied me. He took his charge of guarding me extremely seriously and always came along whenever I left the house. The gardens lay drowsy in the late afternoon heat and medicinal herbs lined the gravel paths, the strong smell of sage making me sneeze. I sat down on a bench in the shade of a cherry tree and closed my eyes. If only I weren’t so tired all the time!

“Take that thing away!”

The shout woke me from my doze. I sat up with a start, looking at Beorngar. He had slewed around sharply, towards the centre of the garden.

“We didn’t want a donkey, you stupid woman!”

Curses in Rohirric followed, not all of which I understood – probably a good thing. I made out a woman’s voice, yet could not quite catch her words. She sounded upset. That made me jump up and hurry towards the ruckus, Beorngar one step behind. We turned round the corner of a hedge and found a small enclosed lawn. A girl in a blue healer’s smock stood in the centre, a donkey by her side, and facing her were several men, their blond hair identifying them as Rohirrim. One of them limped forward, leaning heavily on crutches, and I saw that his right leg had been taken off at the thigh.

“Are you trying to make a mockery of us?” he growled.

The girl clutched the mane of her donkey. “I’m sorry!” She looked to be no older than me and thoroughly frightened by the man’s threatening manner.

“What is the matter here?” I intervened sharply.

Heads turned my way and the man with the crutches surveyed me ungraciously. A scar ran in an angry red line all the way from one ear down his neck. He had been lucky it had missed the artery there, the healer in me noted.

“What business is it of yours, woman?” he snapped. He added a curse in Rohirric.

Beorngar took a step forward. “Watch your tongue, Tondhere!”

The man peered at him. “Is that you, Beorngar? What are you doing here?”

“Never mind,” I said. “What I want is an explanation of what is going on here.” I changed into Rohirric. “And without any swearing if you please.”

His eyes widened at my use of his language. One of the other men tugged at his sleeve and whispered something into his ear. I thought I recognised some of them as hailing from Aldburg – they would probably know me, at least by reputation.

“My lady,” Tondhere said, looking sullen, “we want to return home with the King when he comes to collect Théoden King for burial. For that we have to practise riding or we won’t be able to make the journey.”

His friends nodded. All of them seemed to be missing a limb or looked to have been gravely wounded.

One of them spoke up. “Healer Haleth here promised to help us and then she brought that animal.” He pointed at the poor donkey, who had started to crop at the grass.

“But it’s all we have in the Houses of Healing,” the girl protested. “Besides, the Warden will provide wains for the wounded.”

“Wains!” Tondhere spat. “I’d rather not return home at all than return in one of those things.” His friends muttered their agreement.

“People will laugh at us,” one of them said.

I sighed in exasperation. Men and their pride! At the same time I felt sorry for these gallant warriors brought so low. I was sure they would never have dreamt of shouting at a hapless girl when they were whole.

“Nobody will laugh at you,” I declared in Rohirric. “You are returning victorious from one of the greatest battles of this age. Wear your wounds as the badges of honour they are!”

I noticed they stood straighter at my words and followed up my advantage. “And what is more, I pledge you the help of Dol Amroth. We have many horses in my father’s stables and I will see to it that you get the use of some of them.”

Tondhere looked at me suspiciously. “Truly? Won’t Prince Imrahil mind?”

“No. We owe you.” Which was what I would tell Father if he questioned my decision. Although I doubted he would, as he thought very highly of the Rohirrim.

“However,” I continued, “you must promise me that you will let the Warden decide if you are able to ride a horse home.” Then I stopped abruptly. I sounded like my father!

Tondhere nodded slowly. “Fair enough.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you, my lady… I’m sorry that I swore at the girl.”

I raised an eyebrow and indicated the healer who had followed our exchange in Rohirric with an expression of confusion on her face. “Don’t apologise to me, apologise to her. She was only trying to help.”

He coloured and bowed his head to the girl. “Healer Haleth, I’m sorry for shouting at you. Please excuse my bad manners.”

She murmured her acceptance of his apology and the group shuffled off to their quarters again. As they turned round the corner of the hedge, one of the riders’ voices floated back to us.

“So that is Éomer King’s princess? She’s as dictatorial as our lead mare back home! It seems to me he has met his match.”

Behind me, Beorngar choked on a laugh. I consoled myself with the thought that the Rohirrim valued their horses beyond anything else.

Meanwhile the girl heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, my lady. I had better put the donkey back in the stables. Some of the healers use him to ride to the outlying farms when they visit patients there.” She shook her head in bewilderment, as if still surprised by the men’s reaction to her offer. “He’s perfectly sound and willing.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I assured her. Couldn’t she see it? These were horse lords!

Already my mind was busy with plans. While we retraced our steps to the Warden’s study, I made a mental list of things to do. Did we have enough suitably steady horses in my father’s stables? If not, would King Elessar help me out? Where could the men exercise away from curious looks? Would they need help with mounting and dismounting? I had seen horses trained to kneel down on the ground to help their riders get on, usually court ladies in their elaborate dresses, so that might be an idea. Also the men would need mounts for their journey to Rohan.

I hardly noticed the Warden’s parting advice, I was so taken up with my plans. But stepping out onto the street I stopped a moment to enjoy a fresh breeze wafting down from the mountainside. I felt better than I had for many days, ever since arriving in Minas Tirith.

A/N: and another year is drawing to its close! I hope you will all have a happy and relaxing Christmas and a good start to the New Year. Until then!

Chapter 26

The next day I sought an audience with King Elessar. I expected to be given a date when to appear before him in the Great Hall where he received petitioners, but instead one of the servants ushered me into his study. It was filled with smoke. Startled, I began to cough and looked around for the source of it.

Somebody laughed. “My apologies, Princess Lothíriel. We’ll open a window.”

I peered through the fumes. The King and Mithrandir stood leaning over a table strewn with papers. The smoke issued from thin rods with a small bowl at the end, which they held to their lips. Pipes - I had heard of them, but never seen them. And they stank! I wrinkled my nose.

Mithrandir opened the window behind them, letting in a gust of much needed fresh air. The parchments fluttered in the draught and the King hastily placed weights on them to keep them from flying away. Just common pebbles, I noticed, nothing like the heavy, elaborate glass paperweights that my father owned.

He looked up at me. “You asked to see me, Princess?”

I coloured under his gaze, feeling as if he could read my thoughts. Quickly I launched into an explanation of the wounded Rohirrim’s need for horses to practice with. My father’s stable mostly held high-strung warhorses belonging to our Swan Knights, which I did not consider suitable. Also there was the question of the best place to exercise.

King Elessar frowned thoughtfully. “A very valid point, my lady. I should have thought of it myself.”

He puffed on his pipe and more acrid smoke emerged. I could only hope that Éomer would not adopt his good friend’s habit.

“I will instruct the stable master to find you suitable mounts,” the King added. “I think that some of the injured horses that Éomer left in our care should be recovered enough by now to be ridden.”

“And you could use the ring where the Tower Guard exercise,” Mithrandir put in from his place on the window ledge. “It’s empty most of the time.”

King Elessar nodded. “A good idea. I will tell Captain Minardil to assist you.”

So easy! In no time at all, they had organised all the aid I needed. When I thanked him, the King waved away my words.

“It is I who am in your debt, Lady Lothíriel, for looking after our allies.”

My mission fulfilled, I took my leave. But as I opened the door, glad to escape into fresh air again, the King cleared his throat.

“By the way, a courier is scheduled to leave for Rohan tomorrow. If you wish, he can take a letter from you to Éomer.”

“A letter?” I stammered.

“I thought you might want to write to him, appraising him of your plans regarding his men…”

“Oh.” To my annoyance the word came out as a squeak. “Yes, I might do that.”

“Very well. I will tell the courier to come and see you tomorrow morning.” He looked down at his papers again, the smoke hiding the expression on his face.

Grateful for the reprieve, I escaped into the corridor.

I sat half the evening over a blank piece of parchment, not knowing what to write. Or rather, I knew exactly what I wanted to write: that I missed him and would not feel whole again until he held me in his arms, that I wanted him to kiss me the way he had that night in Drúadan Forest, that I needed him to chase away my bad dreams and keep me safe.

But of course I couldn’t. How many hands would the letter pass through? And what if my father wanted to see what I wrote to the King of Rohan? So in the end I penned a very short and proper missive, just putting down the bare facts.

Over the next days I threw myself into helping the men in the Healing Houses. The Warden was dubious at first, but when he saw how enthusiastically the men reacted to the chance of being able to ride again, he gave me his support. Few of the healers had experience with horses, but they knew how far to push healing tissues and when to stop. And my presence made sure their orders were heeded.

Some of the riders, especially those from the West Mark, spoke very little Westron and were glad to see a familiar face. I began to make a habit of visiting the Houses every day, and also of taking Wuffa with me. The boy treated his stay in Minas Tirith as a wonderful adventure, although he made no secret of the fact that he looked forward to going home again. Fortunately, my family regarded him as some sort of pet of mine, and none of them ever inquired into why he was so certain that we would soon return to the Mark.

To my surprise King Elessar was a frequent visitor to the practice ring. Despite the many calls on his time, he took a personal interest in all the men hurt during the war. And even more surprisingly, I found that he was very easy to talk to. He told me about his time amongst the Rohirrim serving King Thengel and about meeting Éomer’s father. For my part, I’m afraid with my many questions I revealed rather more of my heart than I intended to, but then he probably suspected already.

I was talking to him in the garden of the Healing Houses one morning when Wuffa came running up.

“Lady Lothíriel,” he called all breathless. “Your father asks to see you at once! Éomer King has sent horses. Lots of them!”

When I reached the courtyard of our house, it was filled with a string of horses led by a group of travel-worn riders. There were about two dozen animals, all equipped with bridles and saddles, and the small space made them appear to be a lot. My father was just conferring with his rather agitated stable master.

“We do not have the room,” the man exclaimed. “Not unless we send some of our own horses back to Dol Amroth.”

“Lothíriel,” my father greeted me, waving a letter. “These are yours. Éomer writes that he puts them at your disposal. But where am I supposed to stable them? Did you consider that at all when you started on your scheme?”

Fortunately I had discussed the possibility with Aragorn.

“The King says that we may use the temporary stables that he’s had erected for visitors on the fifth level,” I answered.

Father looked rather taken aback that I had thought so far ahead. Determined not to be a burden on him, I waved Beorngar over and instructed him to show the Rohirrim where to take their horses. In no time at all the courtyard was empty again, only a pile of steaming horse dung bearing testimony to their presence.

My father had watched in astonishment. “Are you sure Aragorn won’t mind?” he asked.

“He suggested it himself,” I assured him. Then I tried to sneak a look at the letter in his hand. “Did King Éomer write anything else?”

My father looked down at it. “Only that he’ll be back in Minas Tirith by the middle of July. Oh, and there was a note included for you…” He unfolded another small piece of parchment and scanned it. “Just a thank you.”

It took all my self-control not to snatch it out of his hands. “May I have it?”

He handed it over, and I excused myself to go and freshen up. But once I was out of his sight, I bolted up the stairs to my room. With the door locked safely behind me, I settled down in the window seat and spread out the stiff parchment on my lap. My first letter from him! 

He had a neat hand. Not the elegant, highly elaborate court script taught in Dol Amroth, but a more economical style, very much to the point - a bit like his manner of fighting.

Dear Lady Lothíriel,

I am very much in your debt for looking after my wounded riders and hope that the horses I have sent you will enable the men to make their journey home on horseback. I made sure to only select calm and docile animals.

I lifted my eyebrows. That sounded as if he had chosen the horses himself!

Please do not hesitate to write to me again if you need anything else. But from my own past experience I know that my men are in good hands with you.

For some reason that made me remember the time when I had treated his arrow wound, so many months ago. Warmth spread through me.

I will be back in Gondor soon and hope to then be able to express my thanks to you personally.

Éomer of Rohan

He had underlined ‘personally’. I blushed at the pictures those words called up in my mind. Just how personal did he intend to become?

The time flew by after that and with the renewed purpose in my life, my nightmares abated, although they did not vanish altogether. I spent my days between the Healing Houses and the practice grounds. Father had been worried at first that I had taken on too much, but he gave me his support and one day even told me that he was proud of me. Surprisingly, Aunt Ivriniel approved of my activities, for they kept me out of the eyes of the court. Little did she know that Aragorn and Faramir came by nearly every day, sometimes even accompanied by the Dwarf Gimli and his unlikely friend, Prince Legolas. The Rohirrim extended to them the easy comradeship between fellow warriors.

The end of June brought another surprise: a beautiful Elven bride for our king! Although beautiful did not really even begin to describe her. I attended the wedding, with my aunt constantly telling me to keep in the background, and amused myself by watching the court beauties being disconcerted by their new queen’s simple elegance that owed nothing at all to powder and paint.

I wondered what she made of us. In the library back home, my father kept a casket with the letter by Steward Mardil that granted the Princes of Dol Amroth dominion over the Fief of Belfalas. The paper was faded and the one time that my father had shown it to me, I had hardly dared touch it, for fear of it crumbling to dust. Yet this woman, looking no older than myself, had already been centuries old when that letter had been received by my long dead ancestor. I found that difficult to believe. Until I saw her eyes – they held the memories of ages.

July arrived and I found myself getting restless. It was as if the Queen had brought otherworldly weather with her, for one cloudless day followed the other. It should have made for good travelling conditions and increasingly I spent time on the citadel walls, looking north. But no news reached us.

Then one morning my maid woke me with the news that the Rohirrim were back.

I peered over the top of the crenellation down onto the road. The garden wall of our house provided the ideal viewing spot to watch the traffic go by through the gate to the sixth level just below me, and had been one of our favourite places as children. In a single morning you might see colourfully dressed courtiers on their way to petition the Steward, rangers from Ithilien bringing their reports, or one memorable day even a procession featuring the Harad ambassador with a caged lion.

But today I was looking for a very different visitor. I lifted my gaze from the road and let my eyes travel across the Pelennor. Like mushrooms sprouting overnight, green and brown tents had sprung up in three orderly, concentric rings. I could almost make out the White Horse on Green flying from the pavilion in the centre. And earlier on I had spotted a party of horsemen making their way towards the city gates.

Hooves clattered across the cobbles, but it was only a courier in the king’s black and silver livery, probably carrying reports from the coastal provinces. The wall was very deep, so I sat on it and leant back against one of the merlons. A lilac bush provided welcome shade from the morning sun.

It was hard to believe that I would finally see Éomer again, even if only briefly. Unfortunately he would head for the citadel first to speak to Aragorn. My father and brothers had already gone up to await him. He would call on me afterwards, I was sure, but I had found myself unable to stay away when I knew he would pass so close by. If only I could have sneaked out and met him on my own!

Just then more hoof beats sounded, of a whole company this time. Eagerly I leant forward. There! A blond rider bearing the White Horse standard, and behind him… My heart gave a funny little hiccup when I spotted Éomer. He was talking to Marshal Elfhelm, who rode beside him, but that moment he lifted his head, as if somebody had called his name. His gaze swept across the houses lining the road, then up. And up. Our eyes met.

For the space between one heartbeat and the next, the world vanished around me and there was just him and me. Suddenly his teeth flashed in a white smile and I could breathe again. Next to him, Elfhelm leant over, then started to follow his gaze. Hastily I scrambled back out of view.

I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of hoof beats slowly fading. He was back! Somewhere in the garden, a thrush lifted up its voice in song. In a daze I picked up the book I had brought with me and strolled back towards the house. A lawn stretched before it, edged by flowerbeds and shaded by the boughs of the enormous beech tree in the centre, planted my great-grandfather. Had I paid more attention to my surroundings, I would have avoided it, but as it was, I nearly tripped over my aunt’s basket of embroidery yarns before I realised she was sitting in a chair there.

“What are you doing, child?” she greeted me. “Always walking round with your head in the clouds!”

I mumbled an apology.

“Speak up!” she commanded me. Over the last couple of years she had become hard of hearing, but she insisted that it was just us not speaking clearly enough.

“I said that I am sorry,” I shouted.

“No need to yell at me!” she answered. “But I have not seen you for days. Sit by me for a while.”

I would have preferred to retreat to my room and daydream about a certain rider of Rohan, but I could hardly decline this invitation. Aunt Ivriniel appraised me critically while I settled down in a chair opposite her. She wore unrelieved black, as she had ever since her husband’s premature death many years ago, and necklaces of jet beads hung around her thin neck. Once she must have been a great beauty, but grief and disappointment had worn deep grooves into her face.

“At least you’re dressed properly for once,” she commented.

Self-consciously, I looked down at my gown. It was one of my favourites, the silk a light blue colour shading into turquoise that made the white lace lining the neckline seem like sea froth. And my aunt had hired a new maid, an elderly, thin-lipped woman, who had a clever way of gathering my unruly hair into a bun, although it was secured rather tenuously by dozens of hairpins.

“Thank you, Aunt,” I said.

She took up her embroidery frame again and I saw that she was working on another handkerchief. My father had a whole chest full of these exquisite little silk squares.

“You should do something useful,” she told me. “For example, practise your embroidery and sewing. You used to do very pretty stitching.”

“I am doing something useful,” I replied.

An old argument. On every one of her infrequent visits during my childhood, she had tried to drill me in what she called the ‘womanly arts’ and I knew that I was responsible for several of those lines of disappointment on her face.

“How will you find a suitable husband if you do not behave like a properly brought up lady?” Aunt Ivriniel asked, pointing her needle at me. “I admit that your father has trained you well how to run your future home, but men also expect their prospective wives to be accomplished in the domestic arts. They require their shirts to be mended, have their favourite dishes cooked for them, and generally to be made comfortable.”

“Not all men are like that,” I protested. “Helping my wounded riders is more important than mending shirts.”

“You are a Princess of Dol Amroth, you should not mix with common soldiers – no matter how deserving – on a daily basis.” 

“Father doesn’t mind.”

That had been a mistake. My aunt took a deep breath and launched into her familiar complaint. “I always said that Imrahil has given you far too much freedom,” she declared at the top of her voice. “And now you see what has come of it! Your hair…”

Gravel crunched from the direction of the house. I touched her arm.

“Aunt, somebody is coming.”

Was my father back already? Surely not. The trunk of the beech tree was so wide that it would have taken three men to span it with their outstretched arms, and it cut off much of the view of the house, so we could not see. Then the housekeeper appeared, escorting a visitor.

Éomer! I could only stare at him in stupefaction. What was he doing here? Fortunately my aunt was too busy surveying him to notice my reaction.

“The King of Rohan to see Princess Lothíriel,” the housekeeper announced.

I jumped up, on the verge of throwing myself into his arms. But I remembered my aunt’s presence and after a brief hesitation sank into a curtsy instead.

“King Éomer. What a surprise.”

“Lady Lothíriel, I could not pass by without stopping to thank you for the care accorded to my men.”

He took my hand and kissed it. Warm breath brushed across my skin and sent a jolt of pleasure through me. He must have felt it, for his fingers curled around my hand and lightly stroked my palm. When he looked up at me, his eyes were dark with hunger.

My aunt clearing her throat brought me back to the present. I schooled my features into a polite mask. “My Lord King, I believe you have not yet met my aunt. Please let me introduce Lady Ivriniel to you.”

He bowed over her hand as well, though he did not linger quite so long. “I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting you, my lady, but I have heard Imrahil speak of you very fondly.”

His manner was courtly, his Westron impeccable. Aunt Ivriniel looked at him in surprise, obviously revising the mental picture she had of the King of Rohan.

“Won’t you sit down?” she invited him.

“Thank you.” He chose the sturdiest of the chairs. “Unfortunately I cannot stay long, for I am expected up at the citadel. But I wanted to express my gratitude personally.”

His eyes swept across me in an intimate caress, making my breath hitch in my throat. All he had done was kiss my hand and already my heart fluttered like a bird wanting to escape its cage.

A frown appeared between his eyebrows. “My lady, have you been ill? You look tired; I hope you haven’t worn yourself out on behalf of my men.”

I looked away. How could he tell so quickly? “Just a few bad dreams,” I answered.

He opened his mouth as if to pursue the topic, but that moment my father’s well-trained servants appeared with plates of diced watermelon. The cook had the fruits shipped up from the coast and hung them in nets in our well so they were always fresh and cool.

Éomer complimented my aunt on the excellent quality of the melon and she smiled at him graciously. His line might be a mere five hundred years old, but a king was still a king.

“Are you planning to stay in Minas Tirith long, my lord?” she asked.

Éomer shook his head. “I’m only here to collect my uncle’s body for burial.” He turned to me. “Tell me, Lady Lothíriel, will you be accompanying your father to Rohan?”

I inclined my head in assent. “Yes. I would like to pay my respects to King Théoden.”

He nodded with satisfaction. “Excellent.” I got the impression that he had gathered the information he had sought.

“Imrahil must be grateful to have you here to lend him support,” he said to my aunt. “And I see that it is from you that Lady Lothíriel has learnt her skills as such an accomplished needlewoman.”

Ivriniel blinked up at him. “She has?”

He gifted her with one of his brilliant smiles. “It was one of the first things I noticed about her.”

My aunt shot me a triumphant look. “I have always maintained that a true lady should be skilled in all domestic matters.”

“Oh, absolutely,” he agreed. “In fact Lady Lothíriel stitched up something for me on her first evening in Aldburg, for which I was exceedingly grateful.”

The tease! I concentrated on my plate of melon pieces, or I would surely have dissolved into laughter at Aunt Ivriniel’s self-satisfied expression. Éomer was clearly on the way to being classified as a ‘nice young man’ in her books.

After a few more polite exchanges with her, he got up to take his leave. “Thank you so much for your hospitality, Lady Ivriniel,” he said. “Do you think it would be permissible for your niece to show me the garden on the way out?”

In a mellow mood, she beamed up at him. “Of course. An excellent idea. It’s very pretty this time of the year.”

“Would you be so kind, Lady Lothíriel?” He held out a hand to me.

I placed no more than the tips of my fingers on it as I rose to my feet. “If it is your desire, my lord.”

“It is very much my desire,” he whispered as we walked across the lawn back towards the house. The warm sound of his voice sent a quiver through me.

Out of the corner of my eyes I saw him grin down at me. The man knew what an effect he had on me and enjoyed it. Show him the garden! Well, I would prove to him that I could be a perfect Gondorian lady, just as Aunt Ivriniel always wished for.

I stopped in front of a cluster of daylilies. “We have a variety of these plants in our garden as they have very pretty flowers,” I said, pitching my voice to carry. I motioned at the delicate blooms on their long stems. “As you can see these are yellow, but we also have orange…”

“Do you know,” he interrupted me in Rohirric, “I’m not sure what suits you better: the elegant gown of a Gondorian princess or the blanket wrapped hastily around you the last time I saw you.”

Rendered speechless by this frontal attack, I stared up at him.

“I like the tousled look,” he added. Then he raised his voice. “Are those also daylilies over there, my lady?”

How dare he! But two could play that game.

“They are snow lilies.” I started walking again, careful to keep to the elegant, gliding motion deemed appropriate for a lady.

“Or maybe a tousled Gondorian princess would be nice?” he mused aloud in Rohirric.

I fought to keep my voice level. “In Gondor we treasure lilies for their sweet scent, and as a symbol of purity of mind and heart, my Lord King.”

“Really? How fascinating! You will have to tell me more about that.”

He was irrepressible. I cast a quick look back at my aunt. She had taken up her embroidery again and was watching us with a benign smile. Little did she know!

“We also like to combine the ornamental flowers with more useful plants,” I ploughed on, “for example: thyme, rosemary and sage, as in this setting.”

Éomer raised a questioning eyebrow at me. “I believe they carry a symbolic meaning, too?”

I inclined my head in assent. “Courage, loyalty and strength.” They would suit him well, actually. Unlike the lilies!

“Unfortunately the roses are past their prime,” I continued my tour, “yet you can see how our gardener has shaded the colours from white to yellow to deepest red.”

“And what do they stand for?” he asked, his voice dripping innocence.

He had to know in Gondor roses signified love. And passion.

“They stand for sharp thorns,” I answered sweetly.

He chuckled. “I’m not afraid of thorns, not if the end is worth it.”

We had stopped underneath an arch overgrown with blooming honeysuckle. The sweet scent filled the air.

Éomer took my hand and twined his fingers through mine. “Do you know what I would like to do now, min leoflic merewif?” he asked in a conversational tone. “Kiss you until you are breathless.” He pulled me closer.

“Éomer! My aunt!” I hissed in alarm.

“She can’t see us.”

“What?” I twisted round to check.

Sure enough, the thick trunk of the beech tree was between my aunt and us. Éomer had found the one spot in the garden where we would be unobserved.

“You’ve chosen this place on purpose,” I accused him.

“Yes,” he admitted his perfidy without the least shame. “And moreover this very convenient shrub here - which undoubtedly has a deeper symbolic meaning assigned to it as well - will screen us from any passing servants. We will hear them coming on the gravel path long before they can spot us.” An arm snaked around my waist and pulled me against him.

Clearly I still had a lot to learn from such an experienced campaigner.

I placed my hands flat on his chest, pushing against him. Not that it made any impression on Éomer. “Aragorn and my father are waiting for you up at the citadel,” I reminded him.

“I know,” he agreed, tightening his hold around my waist. “I sent Elfhelm ahead to tell them I would be along shortly. You make me do foolish things, my lady fair. But I could not pass by without seeing you. Without touching you…”

One hand came up to cradle my face. “It’s so good to see you again,” he said, suddenly serious. “Every day during the last two months I wished that I had not let you go with your brother.”

“If only you had taken me with you,” I whispered, yielding to him. “I missed you so much!”

He traced a finger across my cheekbones. “I missed you, too. Like a physical ache, an emptiness that could only be filled by you. Meduseld is cold and bleak without you.”

Somehow my arms had crept up to twine themselves round his neck. “Oh, Éomer! Don’t ever let go of me again. I need you so much!”

Our lips met and the world narrowed down into the here and now. I had thought that I remembered what his kisses felt like, but the reality of him was so much headier. And I had forgotten how safe he made me feel. How complete.

I closed my eyes to better taste him. The fragrance of honeysuckle mingled with his warrior scent, that familiar mixture of leather, sweat and horses. Leisurely, he laced his fingers through my hair, releasing a shower of hairpins. His other hand followed the curve of my spine with gentle pressure and my skin came alive under his touch. I gasped.

Éomer gave a guilty little laugh. His lips moved downwards, brushing along the exposed line of my throat, leaving my skin aflame with sensation wherever he passed. Involuntarily, I dug my fingers into his shoulders and threw my head back. He took that as an invitation to graze his lips across my collarbone and settle in that sensitive spot at the bottom of the throat. His warm breath tickled across my skin when he kissed it. In the pit of my stomach a fire kindled.

“Éomer!”

He froze. I uttered an inarticulate protest. I didn’t want him to stop!

“It is you!”

The voice came from behind me. I knew it.

A/N: for the meanings of herbs I borrowed from the English folk ballad ‘Scarborough Fair’.

Min leoflic merewif: my beautiful sea-wife (= mermaid)

Chapter 27

Father! Reality came crashing down on me like a bucket of ice-cold water emptied over my head. What had I done… Without thinking I buried my head in Éomer’s shirt.

His arms went round me protectively. “I’m a fool,” he whispered in Rohirric.

“What do you think you are doing!” my father exclaimed.

Éomer had gathered himself. “Imrahil, you must forgive me. I got carried away.”

“Carried away? I should say so!”

I forced myself to straighten up and turn round. Red-faced and scowling, my father stood a few steps away from us, with my three brothers ranged behind him. Erchirion had one hand on Father’s shoulder as if to hold him back. Next to him, Amrothos stood with his mouth open, still assimilating the situation. What did they think of me? Then I spotted Marshal Elfhelm behind them as well; he gave his king a helpless shrug. Heat of a different kind raced through me. Why couldn’t the earth open up and swallow me!

“Unhand my daughter at once!” my father snapped.

I became aware of the fact that Éomer still had his arms around me. Reluctantly he let go of me, leaving me cold and vulnerable. My hair had come undone on one side and hung dishevelled around me. How could we have not heard them coming!

“Imrahil,” Éomer said, “it is not as you think. I am here to ask for Lothíriel’s hand in marriage.”

Amrothos’s eyes popped and he made a strangled sound, which might have been funny at another time.

Elphir, ever the diplomat, spread his hands. “Maybe we should discuss this in private?”

Father made a cutting gesture. “There is nothing to discuss.”

Struggling to regain my composure, I stepped forward and took my father’s hands. “Please, Father, do not be angry with us. I’m sorry we behaved in such an unseemly fashion. I was just so pleased to see Éomer again!”

Some of the fury drained out of him as he looked down at me. “It’s not you I am angry with, Lothíriel,” he said, squeezing my hands. He lifted his head to glare at Éomer. “But I am disappointed! I called you friend and came here to welcome you to my house. Never would I have thought to find you sneaking in behind my back and taking advantage of my daughter.”

Éomer coloured. “You are right to censure me. I am entirely to blame.”

I wanted to protest that I had not minded being taken advantage of, but behind my father’s back Erchirion shook his head warningly, so I kept quiet.

Amrothos had found his voice again. “But…but…”

What if he mentioned us disappearing into Drúadan Forest! That would surely put an end to any hope I had of marrying Éomer. I cast my brother a look full of entreaty and he seemed to understand, for he closed his mouth with a snap.

“I only wanted to see Lothíriel briefly,” Éomer went on, “to make sure she was all right after the ordeals of the war. I don’t know what got into me.”

Father’s face softened slightly at this reminder that Éomer had saved my life in Rohan.

“Please, Father!” I pleaded. “We meant no harm.”

He sighed. “Lothíriel, what an innocent you are!”

“I assure you, I came here with honourable intentions,” Éomer said.

Father pulled me to his side. “For the sake of our friendship and because my daughter begs me to, I will forgive this incident. But if I ever catch you again…” He did not have to specify the consequences.

Éomer bowed his head. “It won’t happen again. You have my word.”

I could not help feeling a sharp pang of disappointment. It had felt so right to kiss Éomer and be held by him. Why hadn’t we paid more attention to our surroundings! What fools we’d been.

“Imrahil, will you allow me to pay suit to your daughter?” Éomer asked.

Father hesitated. I stepped away from him and looked up at him imploringly. “Please…?”

“Lothíriel, you are so young. Surely nineteen is too early to think of marriage.”

“I’m twenty,” I reminded him. My birthday had come and gone unnoticed while we awaited news from Gondor back at the Hornburg.

He raked his hand through his hair. “Your mother was twenty-seven when she married me.”

Couldn’t he see that had nothing at all to do with my own situation? And my age had not stopped Denethor from using me as a pawn in his game.

“It would be a good match for Gondor,” I tried to reason with him, “strengthening the alliance between our countries.”

Éomer took a step forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Imrahil, I swear to you that I would take good care of Lothíriel. I would lay down my life for her, for she is my life.”

Father regarded us for a long time. “We will see,” he finally said. “Depending on your behaviour from now on.”

Clearly he was in no mood to be moved by pleas. Éomer seemed to recognise this as well, for he bowed again.

“I will take my leave then.” He looked at me. “Lothíriel, I’m so sorry.”

For kissing me or for being caught at it? I swallowed down a sob at having him go.

“What is all this shouting about? What is going on here?” somebody barked that moment. Then Aunt Ivriniel appeared from behind the beech tree. She peered at Éomer.

“Oh, you’re still here, my Lord King. Did you enjoy your tour of the garden?”

Unsurprisingly, after that I saw very little of Éomer during the rest of his stay in Minas Tirith, and never without having at least one brother in tow. My father even limited the number of dances allowed to us at the nightly entertainments. However, Éomer still managed to make his intentions clear by studiously ignoring all the other ladies after his allotted time with me. I had to admit it afforded me some guilty pleasure to see the court ladies disconcerted in this way, but at the same time I felt frustrated at our impasse.

And so matters still stood, when three days later I found myself with my father and brothers amongst the nobles assembled outside the door to the Hallows to honour King Théoden on his way home. The sky was overcast and the sun hid behind dark grey clouds, as if it mourned for him, too. I shivered in the morning chill.

“They’re coming!” A whisper of anticipation ran through the crowd.

When I craned my neck, I saw that the Kings of Gondor and Rohan had arrived, accompanied by a small guard of Rohirrim. As they drew level with us, Éomer glanced up and picked me out effortlessly amongst the other ladies. Sorrow shadowed his face and I knew that it was no easy task for him to collect the body of the man he had looked upon as a father. I had to clasp my arms to keep myself from running up to him. If only I could have chased those sad thoughts away! Feeling powerless, all I could do was try to convey my sympathy through my eyes. But although he did not acknowledge me with more than a slight inclination of his head, the lines of strain seemed to ease.

The porter of Fen Hollen appeared from his little house by the door to greet the two kings and show them the way. I rubbed my arms to stay warm while we waited patiently for them to come back. It took a long time, but finally the gates swung open and they and their men emerged again, carrying a large bier on their shoulders that gleamed a dull gold and looked very heavy. The crowd fell silent and bowed their heads as the men bore their burden past in a measured tread. We fell in behind them.

I had never before appreciated how long and winding the road down to the gates was. The citizens of Minas Tirith lined the way, wishing to pay their respects to the man who had led his riders over three hundred miles to come to their aid and had died defending them. I cast my mind back to when I had spoken to him for the last time, that morning at the Hornburg. A kind man, honourable and true, who had risen above his personal tragedy to fulfil his oaths.

At last we passed through the great gates and emerged out onto the wide expanse of the Pelennor Fields. A wain stood ready to receive King Théoden’s bier and the hobbit Merry sat on the wagon, holding his sword and shield. Those of us who would ride to Rohan had their horses waiting for them and the orderly procession broke up as everybody sought out their steeds. Dirhael, who commanded our company of Swan Knights, led up Nimphelos and helped me mount. She was frisky, dancing about nervously while I arranged my riding skirts. Then suddenly a quiver ran through her and her ears swivelled forward. I looked up to see Éomer ride towards us, with Firefoot pulling eagerly on the reins. Nimphelos greeted her swain with a pleased nicker.

Éomer inclined his head to me.  “My lady, will you honour me with your company for a while? I would count it a great favour.” He had the look of somebody who had not slept much and strain still lined his face.

“Of course,” I answered at once, not even glancing at my father for permission.

Éomer needed me. Besides, what harm could there be in riding by his side; after all he could hardly ravish me in plain sight… even though I might not have objected to a little ravishment. I blushed. Where had that thought come from? He was a bad influence on me, I chided myself as we made our way through the crowd.

When we reached the wain, it started out at a slow pace, pulled by a team of two heavy draft horses. Éomer as chief mourner fell in behind it and following us, the rest of the cortege sorted itself out. My father was talking to Aragorn and I saw their eyes linger us. What were they discussing? I hoped that Aragorn would exert his influence on our behalf, for it was well known that he called Éomer his brother. And surely he would welcome such an alliance between Gondor and Rohan? How ironic that all winter I had worried about having to fulfil my obligations as a princess and now I trotted forth those same arguments to convince my father to allow me to marry the man I loved!

I also looked round for Éowyn, but she had let herself drop back to ride by Faramir’s side. I sighed. She had not exchanged more than a polite greeting with me since coming to Minas Tirith and avoided me the rest of the time. Somehow I got the feeling that gaining her forgiveness would be a lot more difficult than her brother’s.

The wind had picked up and above us clouds scudded across the sky, looking close enough to touch. As the procession wound its way slowly across the Pelennor towards the northern gate, more people lined the way, but I did not think Éomer noticed them. He stared fixedly at the tailgate of the wagon before us, lost deep in his thoughts. I let him be, content to just have him beside me. It was enough; there was no other place I’d rather be. I took the opportunity to study the other travellers, especially the Elves. Surely no King of the Mark had ever been laid to rest in more splendid company. A low radiance seemed to cling to some of them, particularly Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond. More felt than seen: a dim glow glimpsed out of the corner of the eye that vanished when you looked at them directly.

After about an hour of travelling in this way, suddenly a pheasant rose from a bush beside the road, wings whirring as it took flight. The horses started violently and at once Éomer reached over to grab Nimphelos’s reins.

“It’s all right,” I told him, leaning forward to pat the mare’s neck.

He straightened up and looked around, as if only now realising how far we had ridden already.

“I’m sorry,” he exclaimed. “You must think me very poor company and wonder why I asked you to ride with me.”

I frowned. “Éomer, I don’t except you to entertain me all the time. You have enough cares on your mind, so don’t worry about me.”

He smiled at me. “You’re not much like the other ladies of the court, are you?”

“So my aunt tells me.” I shrugged. “Besides, I kept myself busy observing the Elves. It’s incredible to see them with my own eyes.”

Éomer nodded. “I know. Had you told me a year ago that I would meet Elves, Halflings and the Heir of Elendil, I would have laughed in your face. To say nothing of talking trees! It’s like walking in a children’s tale in plain daylight.” He grinned. “In fact I had to take back certain rash words about the Lady of the Golden Wood.”

I had heard about his disagreement with Gimli and could not resist teasing him. “Yes, I have been told how much you admire Queen Arwen.”

For a moment he looked disconcerted, but he quickly recovered. “It must be the black hair.” He winked at me. “Although it is much too long, of course.”

I laughed. “Few people would agree with you.”

“Then they aren’t discerning enough.”

He cast a look over his shoulder. My father and brothers were riding a few paces behind us, with his guards following at a discreet distance.

Éomer turned serious again. “No, Arwen is surely the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, graceful, kind and wise. But while I am very happy for my friend Aragorn to have won her, I do not envy him in the least.” He changed into Rohirric. “For I do not have the overwhelming urge to protect her.” His eyes caressed me. “To wake up next to her in the morning…and to have her fall asleep in my arms.”

Maybe I had been wrong about his inability to ravish me in plain sight. Just by lowering his voice he could turn my insides to mush. How did he do that?

“Have I offended you, Lothíriel?” he asked.

Not trusting my voice, I shook my head.

Éomer sighed. “But I owe you another apology, don’t I, for the other day. That was a foolish thing to do.”

No need to explain that he was referring to our interrupted kiss in my father’s garden.

He shifted in his saddle uncomfortably. “I blame myself for taking advantage of your innocence. It won’t happen again.”

“But I’m equally to blame,” I protested. “After all, I did not stop you.”

He flashed a grin. “To be honest, I’m not sure you could have.”

“Now you’re being silly!” I told him.

That made him laugh. “Oh, Lothíriel, that’s one reason I love you. The Gondorians treat me with such exquisite politeness, it’s stifling. And my own people seem to think I have the solution to all their problems. I need somebody to just see me for myself, not the King of the Mark.”

Warmth filled me at his words. “I have always seen you for yourself.”

“I know. Promise me to always be undiplomatic.”

I grinned. “That should be easy.”

Éomer smiled at me. “I need somebody to tell me when I act in a stupid and idiotic manner.” He raised a brow in self-mockery. “Although most of my stupid acts involved you in one way or another, min heorte.”

That night we pitched our camp some ten miles north of the Rammas Echor, then set out again mid-morning. Our pace was slow, due to the many wains we had with us, not just King Théoden’s, but also those for the injured. I settled into a routine, spending part of the time riding at the front with Éomer, and part of the time with my wounded men. Gondor’s healers had padded the wagons with thick straw mattresses, but even so it was a bumpy journey, and those who were able to preferred to ride.

One of those who had recovered well was Tondhere. On horseback he possessed a gracefulness entirely lacking on the ground. And his new freedom had given him back his confidence, so much so that he was full of plans for the future.

“My father has a small shop in Aldburg,” he told me one afternoon. “I want to expand his business and trade with Gondor. I’ve seen the woollen cloth they sell in Mundburg, most of it inferior quality in my opinion.” He motioned at his missing leg. “As long as I am on a horse I can still fight to defend my goods.”

“You’re right.” I tried to think what else he could sell, for Rohan needed trade to make up for the losses in foodstuffs during the war. Horses were the obvious answer, but I knew that Éomer wanted to build up the herds to their former level first.

“What about tapestries?” I asked. “Maybe I could persuade Éomer King to give one to my father as a gift, to hang up in his town house. That would be sure to start a fashion.”

Tondhere barked a laugh. “It’s a shame you are a princess, for you would have made a good trader!”

Éomer also let himself fall back to ride with the wounded from time to time, taking a personal interest in each man. Wuffa had discovered that he was an excellent storyteller and squeezed him mercilessly for tales of Rohan’s heroic past. I enjoyed listening to him recount them, at times not even taking in his words, but just content to have him near. After all the anxious months of waiting for news from Gondor, it still seemed a dizzying prospect to have a future spread out before us.

A future together. I took the opportunity to spend as much time in Éomer’s company as possible. For while I knew him like a second self where his heart and honour were concerned, in other matters I knew very little about him. What were his likes and dislikes? I found out that he preferred ale to wine, that he liked porridge for breakfast, laced liberally with honey, and his tea so strong it was undrinkable. That he could be grumpy in the mornings, but my presence called forth a smile like the sun suddenly breaking through cloud cover.

Always one of my brothers attended me, although it must surely have bored them witless. Especially since they did not understand any of our conversation, as Éomer delighted in talking only Rohirric with me in their presence. They each reacted in his own way: Elphir wore a polite, glazed smile, while Erchirion applied himself to learning the language. Amrothos just ground his teeth in frustration, but I was careful not to push him too far. It had taken some persuasion, but he had promised me not to mention my disappearing into Drúadan Forest, so I owed him. I dared not even imagine what my father would say if he found out about that escapade.

About a week after leaving Minas Tirith, we crossed the Mering Stream into Rohan and a subtle change came over Éomer: he was the lord of the land now and the heavy mantle of power and responsibility settled on him. The news of our coming had spread ahead and from the many narrow valleys of the Ered Nimrais his people came down to pay their respects to King Théoden on his last journey. At Éomer’s request, I rode at his side at the head of the cortege from then on.

I saw many speculative glances cast my way and wondered what my father made of them. Often during the past days I had been aware of his watching presence, but so far he had kept his own council. Éomer had a distinct way of emphasizing his claim on me by seeing to my comfort and protection. And there was something very possessive about the way he was always there to assist me mount or dismount - not that I really needed any help, but it was rather nice to have him swing me down effortlessly from Nimphelos, so I indulged him. He knew, of course, even though only his eyes dancing with laughter gave him away.

Finally, after another week’s travel, the golden roof of Meduseld came into view, glinting serenely in the rays of the setting sun. We had arrived.

“Home,” Éomer said.

Breguswith, the Meduseld housekeeper, led the way through the door behind the dais into the corridor leading to the private quarters. She looked harried, no wonder with all the guests to provide for.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” she told me. “But we had to give your chamber to some of the ladies from Gondor.”

I hadn’t even realised I still had a room in Meduseld. “That’s fine,” I assured her, wondering where she would put me instead.

That moment she stopped outside Éowyn’s room and knocked on the door. With Éowyn? Surely not! At the call to enter, Breguswith opened the door and went in, but I hesitated on the threshold.

Éowyn stood bent over the washbasin, her saddlebags dumped at her feet. “What is it?” Her eyes rose to me and she frowned. “Do you need anything, Lothíriel?”

Breguswith cleared her throat nervously. “Éomer King desires that the Princess shares your room, Lady Éowyn.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I put in quickly. “I can stay in the Dol Amroth tents.” My father had decided to forgo a guesthouse, so the many ladies from Gondor would have more room.

“It was Éomer King’s expressed wish,” Breguswith said, her voice carefully neutral.

He might as well have ordered us to make up. I wondered if my face held a similarly mulish expression as that of Éowyn. Neither of us liked to be commanded about.

“Come on in then,” she agreed.

And she ignored me studiously while servants brought in a truckle bed and set it up for me. I was tired anyway and all I wanted was a quick wash and a soft pillow to rest my head. Another time I might have attempted a few words of conversation, but now I just put my nightgown on and slipped in between the sheets.

Soon afterwards, Éowyn followed my example and blew out the candles. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

I lay staring up into the darkness. My muscles ached from spending a fortnight on horseback and the bed squeaked every time I tried to find a more comfortable position. The noises that reached my ears were both familiar and strange after my long absence. Wind sighing around the eaves outside, the call of a guard to another, a burst of laughter from the men still talking in the Hall.

It was almost as if I had not left at all, I thought sleepily. Maybe I had dreamt the whole Ring War and the men out there were still celebrating Yule. I yawned as I spun that fantasy on. No misunderstanding between Éomer and me, no harsh words… I turned onto my side and the bed creaked loudly. I yawned again as sleep finally claimed me.

Clammy hands fondled me, slipping up my arm while my mind wandered in a fog. A wet kiss placed at the bottom of my throat, breathless words whispered in my ear. I will have you. Black eyes turned red as an evil spark kindled in them. Claws raked across my breast. You are mine. The stink of old blood.

Go away! I struggled weakly, but my feet were caught and I could not move. The hands were dragging me down. Éomer! Help me!

He is dead. Dead and rotting.

“No!”

A dark shape bent over me, shaking me. “Lothíriel, wake up!”

I stared up without recognition. “It’s not true! Please tell me it’s a lie,” I begged. “He is alive!”

“Who is?”

“Éomer!” I sobbed. “He is alive!”

“Yes, he is,” the voice soothed me. “I swear it.”

The voice would not lie to me, I could trust it. Slowly the room came into focus and my terror receded. Éowyn - for of course it was her - held my hands in hers and sat kneeling by my bed.

“Let me light a candle,” she said.

The sharp crack of steel on stone and then warm light flooded the room, chasing away the last shadows of my dreams. I sat up and found my legs tangled in the bed sheets. Had that caused my nightmare? Éowyn would think me silly.

Surreptitiously, I wiped tears from my cheeks. “I’m sorry for waking you. I’ll move to my father’s tents tomorrow.”

Éowyn shrugged. “I’ll put up with your bad dreams if you put up with mine.” Then she bit her lip, as if she’d said more than she had intended.

I gaped at her. “You have nightmares, too? But you’re the slayer of the Witch King!”

“Perhaps that’s why.” She pressed her mouth into a thin line.

I mulled this over while I settled down on my cot again. Éowyn placed the candlestick on a small table by her bed and slipped back under her sheets to stare up at the ceiling. She had always seemed so strong and her deeds on the battlefields of Gondor had given her a reputation to match. To see this crack in her façade of cool Shieldmaiden was startling.

“What did you dream?” she asked abruptly.

It was always the same. “Gríma touching me…the orcs in the caves,” I swallowed. “Éomer dead.”

The night was so quiet, I could hear her breathing. How late was it? We had to be the only people awake, apart from the guards on their rounds. The candlelight surrounded us in a small bubble of silence.

“I told him he would be a fool to forgive you,” she said all of a sudden. “Back in Dunharrow, before we rode for Gondor. I was angry at the time…angry and bitter.”

I was at a loss what to answer. Éomer had told me a little about her falling in love with Aragorn, although he considered it more a grasping for some sort of escape.

“And now?” I asked.

“And now I’m not sure. Faramir thinks highly of you, he says you would make a good queen. As for Éomer…” She snorted. “It’s obvious he intends to get what he wants and soon, even if your father doesn’t realise it yet.”

That made me blush. “I think Faramir feels the same about you.”

“He’s better at hiding it.”

We exchanged a grin, some of the old ease restored between us.

“Éowyn, I owe you an apology,” I said impulsively, “for abandoning you to Wormtongue’s machinations. It was foolish to run away like that, but I saw no other way out.”

Her grin faded and with a sigh she turned onto her side and stuffed the pillow under her head. “It hurt to be lied to. And I could have done with a friend.” Her eyes were large and troubled in the candlelight. She frowned. “Éomer said that Wormtongue threatened you.”

“Yes.” Remembering my nightmare, I wrapped my blanket closer around me. “He put something in my Yule cup to paralyse my will and then he had Wulfstan call me to your uncle’s rooms. He intended to…to bed me. To revenge himself on Éomer.”

Éowyn shivered. “Wormtongue always knew what would hurt the worst.” Her voice petered out and I wondered what he had said to her.

“But you got away,” she added.

“Yes. But Gríma threatened to use me to disgrace Éomer. So I ran. As far away as I could manage.”

Burning low, the candle flickered and then went out.

“I ran too,” she whispered, her face a pale oval in the darkness. “All the way to Gondor.”

I remembered something she had said to me the first time we went down to the training grounds. “And did you find your glory?”

“So they say. But it’s easy to be heroic when you have nothing to lose.”

She fell silent. Outside an owl called and a shadow flitted past the window, briefly outlined by the light of the moon. A high-pitched squeal of some small animal followed, a mouse perhaps. I hoped that it had got away.

The quiet stretched between us. Had she fallen asleep? I closed my eyes, weariness dragging at me. I would think of Éomer and hopefully that would chase any bad dreams away.

“He loves you,” Éowyn said in a voice so low it was almost inaudible. “You had better make him happy, or…”

“I will,” I promised.

A/N. min heorte = my heart

Chapter 28

Éowyn showed that she had forgiven me by dragging me down to the practice grounds at the crack of dawn the next morning. My bow had been lost in the cavern in Helm’s Deep and probably still lay there somewhere underneath rotting orcs - not that I had any intention of ever recovering it - but Heorogar, the master-at-arms, lent me one suitable to my strength until I could have a new one made. It was almost like old times, except for the missing faces. Most of Théoden’s guard had been slain with him on the Pelennor Fields and been replaced by men from Éomer’s own éored.

The rest of the day Éowyn spent closeted with Meduseld’s steward and the housekeeper, leaving me free to show my father around Edoras, and so we went for a walk down to the gates and then up along the encircling wall. I tried to look at the town as if I were a stranger. Was my father comparing the thatched houses made from wood to the stone building of Minas Tirith or the elegant, rambling houses of Dol Amroth? And did he find them crude and rustic? Yet surely he had to see the care lavished on the beautiful woodcarvings and the pride of the women busy sweeping out their homes, keeping them scrupulously clean. Everywhere I looked, I could see signs of renewal: roofs freshly thatched, doorposts repainted, gardens planted neatly. And the people! Instead of displaying the faint air of dejection that had hung like a pall over them during Théoden’s last months, they looked you straight in the face, smiling and confident. Many of them remembered me from my time at the Healing Houses and exchanged greetings and news of their families with me.

From the wall we could see the lush fields where this year’s crop of foals was pastured, surely superior animals to anything Gondor could offer, and further to the White Mountains, which furnished an impressive backdrop. I made certain to point all this out to my father, but he returned only polite nods of acknowledgment. Climbing back up the hill, we stopped at the Houses of Healing, where I was overjoyed to meet Aethelstan, fully recovered from the injuries received at Helm’s Deep.

And then when we crossed the square in front of the hall on our way back, I suddenly found myself hailed by a familiar voice.

“Lothíriel!” somebody screeched.

I whirled round to see Aeffe fling herself from her horse. She rushed up to embrace me, closely followed by her twin sister. We hugged and laughed and then Ceolwen was there as well with little Ermenred in her arms. How much he had grown!

“He’s so big!” I exclaimed. “And he looks just like his father.”

A deep laugh from Erkenbrand made me recall my manners and I turned to greet him as well. To my delight he had brought Gamling along, the old warrior who had commanded the garrison of the Hornburg in his absence.

Aeffe was squeezing me so tight, I had trouble breathing. “Oh Lothíriel, it’s so nice to see you back!” She lowered her voice to what she probably considered a conspiratorial tone. “Father told us about meeting you on the road to Gondor. Was Éomer King very much displeased?”

I met Ceolwen’s questioning eyes over Aeffe’s head. “Not too much once he got over the shock of seeing me.” Ceolwen seemed to understand my message, for she flashed me a grin.

My father clearing his throat behind me finally made me remember his presence. Although he had probably met Erkenbrand during the war, he would of course not understand a word with us gabbing away in Rohirric. So I took his arm and introduced him to my friends.

“Lady Lothíriel’s father!” Gamling beamed. “What a pleasure to meet you.”

As we walked up the steps to the hall and the twins plied me with questions about Gondor, I was suddenly struck by a thought – all my life, I had been known as the Prince of Dol Amroth’s daughter, the relationship defining how people regarded me. Yet the warm welcome extended to us in Rohan was due to my help during the war and had nothing at all to do with my rank. The pensive expression I surprised on my father’s face as he talked to Erkenbrand made me wonder if perhaps the same thought had occurred to him.

Over the next days more guests from all over the Mark arrived and three days after our arrival King Théoden’s funeral was held, followed by a great feast to celebrate their new king the same evening. Ceolwen looked happy and relaxed with her husband safely by her side again and the twins were an instant success with the Gondorian courtiers. Aeffe displayed her scar proudly and was much sought out as a dance partner – but not only by the Gondorians, for I saw Beorngar stand up with her repeatedly.

Later that night, Éomer took the opportunity to ask me to dance. I accepted with alacrity, for we had seen little of each other lately with all his duties as host.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been so busy,” he told me. His hand rested lightly on my waist as he swung me round, the closest together we had been since that disastrous kiss in Minas Tirith. As if following my thoughts, he added, “I intend to talk to Imrahil again, to come to an agreement about a betrothal, but I need to find an auspicious moment.”

Faramir and Éowyn whirled by, laughing, and I watched them enviously. Éomer had announced their handfasting earlier on.

I sighed. “Father’s been very reticent. He hasn’t said a single word to me one way or the other.”

Éomer had watched his sister, too. “Well, I have another argument now.”

“And what is that?”

“As Aragorn said, I’m giving away the fairest thing in my realm. Surely Gondor owes me back something equivalent?”

I laughed. “I’m not sure if Father will agree.”

“We’ll see.”

The dance ended soon after and out of politeness Éomer had to stand up with some of the other ladies. No chance this time to slip out unobserved!

Aragorn and his company left four days later, as they intended to accompany the Ringbearer and his friends as far as Isengard. My father had elected to stay in Edoras and I wondered if his decision had anything to do with Éomer asking for my hand. Perhaps he too meant to discuss it further?

It was time for the midday meal when we returned from saying our goodbyes outside the gates of Edoras. All morning, clouds had moved in from the west, and as I walked up the stairs leading to Meduseld, big, fat drops of rain began to fall. A warm summer shower, but nevertheless I was glad to get underneath a roof.

The Hall was abuzz with people laughing and talking, while the rain drummed a counterpoint on the roof. Éomer settled me in the chair next to him, with Father and Amrothos on my other side. All through the meal, he kept up a flow of light conversation, but I saw him watching my father from out the corner of his eye. Waiting for that auspicious moment?   

With a look of concentration on his face, Wuffa came to serve our wine. Éomer’s steward had taken him in hand and started to train him as a page. One thing had not changed however: Wulf was at his heels as always.

My father thanked the boy and gave him a kind smile. “Do you like it here?” he asked.

Wuffa nodded. He had learnt enough Westron in Minas Tirith to make himself understood, even if some of it was of dubious provenance.

“Yes, my Lord Prince,” he answered. “I’m learning how to be a page. And Wulf likes it, too.”

Éomer grinned. “That dog will eat me out of house and land. He gobbles his own weight in meat every day.”

Wuffa clutched the decanter of wine to his chest. “He’ll make himself useful. I want to train Wulf as a guard dog.”

On my other side, Amrothos snorted. “I hope he’ll make a better guard dog than a tracker. Why, he led me around in circles for over an hour in Drúadan Forest.”

Father frowned. “What were you searching for in Drúadan Forest?”

My brother froze and I just knew I had guilt written all over my face. Father looked from Amrothos to me, alerted by some parental instinct for mischief.

“Amrothos?” he asked.

“He was searching for Éomer King and the princess,” Wuffa piped up. “They had got lost in the woods.” He poured the last of the wine. “You see, it was very dark,” he added helpfully.

Not as dark as my father’s face. “What is this? Why was I never told about it?” he asked.

Éomer got up abruptly. “I suggest that we continue the discussion in my study.”

For a moment I thought that my father might refuse, but then he gave a curt nod. “Very well. But I demand an explanation.”

“You will get it.”

Éomer led the way to his rooms and held the door open for me. I hesitated on the threshold. The last time I had been here, Gríma had awaited me inside - not a good memory.

But when I entered the room, it was completely changed. Gone were the heavy curtains shutting out all the light and instead of the thick furs a carpet in a warm red colour covered the floor. Against one wall stood a desk piled with papers and a map of Rohan hung on the wall behind it. The only thing that remained was the ornately carved chair by the fireplace. When Éomer offered it to me I declined with a shudder and elected to sit in the window seat instead. The window stood slightly ajar and from outside the rich smell of wet earth drifted in.

Father remained standing by the fireplace. “Well?”

I watched with numb acceptance as Éomer spread his hands and prepared to launch into an explanation. Once my father found out that I had been alone with him in the forest I might as well pack my bags to return home.

“As you know, on my way home to Rohan after the battles I met your daughter and her party a day out of Minas Tirith,” Éomer began. “That evening Lord Húrin gave a farewell party just outside Drúadan Forest.”

Father folded his arms across his chest. “And?”

Éomer began to pace the room. “There had been…misunderstandings…between us and I needed to talk to Lothíriel. I wanted to know the truth before returning to Rohan.” He took a deep breath. “So I persuaded her to walk in the woods with me. Alone.”

I waited for the inevitable explosion. It didn’t come.

My father tapped his foot on the fire grate. “And then?”

“We talked and settled our differences.” Éomer looked him straight in the eye. “I kissed her.” When my father showed no reaction, he added defiantly, “several times.”

I held my breath. But my father’s face remained unreadable. “What happened next?”

Éomer seemed equally surprised by my father’s lack of reaction. “Lothíriel had lost her shoes - there was a small accident - so I carried her back to the camp. We managed to persuade Amrothos that nothing had happened.”

Silence descended, only broken by the rain tapping against the windowpane behind me.

Finally my father sighed. “You said nothing at all during the war to indicate an interest in my daughter.”

“Amrothos mentioned that he thought Éomer had someone waiting back in Rohan,” I pointed out.

Éomer slanted me a smile. “Did he? Perhaps he is more perceptive than I thought after all.” He turned back to my father. “You see, we had to clear up our misunderstanding first,” he explained.

“And that was when you decided that you wanted to marry Lothíriel?”

“No.”

When we both stared at him in surprise, Éomer elaborated. “I had resolved to do that a long, long time before.”

How long before? Suddenly I remembered stopping over in that village on our way from Aldburg to Edoras and the little girl who had asked Éomer if he was going to marry me. What had he answered?

“Imrahil,” Éomer said, “I ask you once more: will you allow me to pay suit to your daughter?”

I wasn’t sure if I agreed with Éomer’s choice of an auspicious moment and regarded my father’s face anxiously. But he gave nothing away.

“I do not approve of my daughter spending time with men in the woods not properly escorted,” he said.

I swallowed down a hot protest that I hadn’t gone with men, I had gone with Éomer. “I’m sorry, father,” I said instead.

He looked over at me. “Oh, I don’t blame you, Lothíriel. I’m sure Éomer was very persuasive.” He turned to Éomer. “However, I’m willing to take your word that nothing more happened nor will happen, for I know that I can trust your honour.”

I released a breath of relief. Perhaps there was some hope left.

Father crossed the room and took my hands. “Lothíriel, I have been watching you during the journey, and I had a lot of thinking time,” he said slowly. “I am proud of the work you did with the wounded Rohirrim, how you helped give them a new purpose.” He smiled down at me. “My little daughter has grown up. Aragorn remarked that you would make an excellent queen and he would approve of such an alliance between Gondor and Rohan.” He squeezed my hands. “But are you really sure this is what you want?”

“Oh, Father, I am,” I breathed.

“Then I’m willing to countenance the match.”

I jumped up and threw my arms around him. “Thank you!”

He laughed. “I was young once, too, you know.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Éomer said. “I promise to take good care of Lothíriel.”

He held out his hand and my father clasped it firmly. “I would not give my dearest treasure to somebody I could not trust to keep it safe.”

I did not really like being called a treasure, but I was too happy to object.

Éomer took my hand and raised it to his lips. “My betrothed.” He grinned. “That calls for a glass of wine.”

He drew me with him to a small table by his desk and passed me three glasses. Then he uncorked a bottle of wine and started to pour. Suddenly I remembered Gríma doing the very same thing on that fateful Yule evening, but as if reading my mind, Éomer smiled at me reassuringly.

“We threw out all the old wine. This one is newly brought from Gondor.”

He filled the glasses to the brim and handed one to my father. “To your lovely daughter, soon to be Queen of Rohan.”

I blushed as they toasted me. “Thank you.”

Although strictly speaking Éomer still hadn’t asked me to marry him - he had only asked my father - but I would not insist on formalities.

We all took a sip. The wine tasted of sunshine and long, lazy summer days. Perhaps it even came from Dol Amroth.

“May we announce our betrothal tonight?” Éomer asked.

“I don’t see why not,” Father agreed.

“And then there is the wedding date, of course…”

My father shrugged. “I don’t think we have to worry about that yet, there is plenty of time to settle it.”

My heart sank, for in Gondor the proper engagement period constituted a year and a day. Yet surely, being in Rohan, we would be allowed to marry sooner?

Éomer took another sip of wine. “Well, I was thinking how useful it is that all the nobility of Gondor is assembled in Rohan already. And in another ten days or so Aragorn will be back from Isengard. That would tie in nicely with the traditional waiting period of a fortnight between hand-seal and wedding.”

My father choked. “A fortnight? Impossible!”

I set down my glass on the desk. “But Father, we are in Rohan and here customs differ.”

“I am willing to take that into consideration,” he answered, “and I do not insist on a whole year’s waiting period. I was thinking of sometime in the spring. That way you can spend the winter at home in Dol Amroth, preparing for it.”

More waiting! I’d had enough of that to last me a lifetime. “What is there to prepare?” I objected. “Éomer is here, I am here and so is the rest of our families. What more do you need?”

Father frowned at my outburst. Probably he thought I was showing an eagerness unsuitable to a properly brought up maiden. Or perhaps he remembered his own courtship. Grandfather had been a stickler for propriety and I knew that he had insisted on all the proper formalities being observed when my parents had got married.

“There is also the matter of my sister’s wedding to take into account,” Éomer threw in. “If we marry now, Éowyn could show Lothíriel all the ins and outs of running Meduseld before she departs for Gondor.”

For a heartbeat annoyance flared within me. Although I knew Éomer was just doing his best to persuade my father, it sounded as if his main concern was exchanging one housekeeper for another!

“True enough,” my father conceded. “But please consider, the wedding dress alone will take several months to sew.”

“Actually, it’s ready,” Éomer said.

“What?” we both exclaimed.

Éomer raised an eyebrow. “I assumed that Lothíriel would wear the traditional wedding dress of the Queens of Rohan. Éowyn has had it made ready for her, it just needs a final fitting.”

So that was what Éowyn had meant that night when she had said that Éomer intended to get what he wanted sooner than my father expected! I was torn between admiration for this clever move and irritation over having no say in the matter.

My father had a cornered look. “That may be. But I still want Lothíriel to have a quiet period of reflection about the choice she is about to make. You have an overwhelming presence and my daughter is very young, a mere twenty years old.”

Éomer bit his lip. “I do realise that.”

I opened my mouth to assure my father that I knew what I wanted, but he held up a hand.

“No. Let me finish. Lothíriel has suffered from terrible nightmares ever since returning from Rohan and I blame myself for sending her here without making sure she would be truly safe. Returning might bring back all the horrors she suffered.”

Éomer lowered his eyes. “I hold myself equally to blame for not taking better care of her.”

“Becoming Queen of Rohan carries heavy responsibilities with it,” my father reminded him. “I would want her to recover fully before taking them on.”

I was getting tired of having my state of mind discussed as if I wasn’t present. “But I’m fine!”

Couldn’t my father see how much I needed Éomer? Only in his arms would I feel safe. To my annoyance I felt hot tears rising to my eyes.

Father put his arm around my shoulder. “My dear, I only want what is best for you. Éomer loves you, I’m sure he will give you the necessary time to put the events of the war behind you.”

I cast a look of appeal at Éomer, but he would not meet my eyes. “Perhaps Imrahil is right…”

“And your hair would have time to grow back as well,” my father added persuasively. “You will be a lovely bride.”

“My hair!” I twisted away from him. “As if that mattered! Stop treating me like a child. I know my own mind, I do not need anybody else to decide what to do with my life.”

“Your father is only thinking of your own good,” Éomer tried to soothe me.

For some reason I was equally angry with him. “You are no better!” I snarled at him. “You never even asked me to marry you.”

“What do you mean? Of course I did.”

“You asked my father. Not me!” I hissed. “I am fed up with the men around me instructing me what to do. All of you telling me what is best for me. All failing!” I jabbed my finger at the chair by the fireplace. “I sat in that chair when Gríma attempted to rape me. Where were the two of you then? I had no help from either of you. I needed none!”

Through the tears blurring my view I saw their shocked faces. My father reached out to touch me.

“Lothíriel, I’m so sorry…”

I stepped back. “How can you ask me to wait longer? I want to be with Éomer now, for time is precious! All through the war I did nothing else but wait for news and pray he would survive somehow.”

Suddenly I could stand it no longer. I needed to get out! Whirling round I fled to the door and pulled it open. But on the threshold I looked back at my father.

“I will marry Éomer even if…if…if I have to abduct him!”

Then I stormed out.

The rain felt good. I closed my eyes and lifted my face up at the sky, letting the rain rinse away my tears. Cool and impersonal, it cared nothing about the cares of us mere mortals.

“My lady?”

Reluctantly I turned round. One of the doorwardens stood behind me.

“It’s raining heavily,” he stated the obvious, plainly uneasy at seeing me get wet. “Won’t you go back inside?”

I shook my head. My anger had carried me straight through the hall and out the heavy double doors. I had no wish to go back inside and face the curious looks. Lady Rían was probably already spreading rumours that I had quarrelled with Éomer.

The man took off his cloak and held it out to me. “May I offer you this, my lady?”

I found my voice again. “No thank you. Hunlaf, isn’t it?”

He nodded. I looked around for somewhere to go and my eyes fell on the stable buildings. That was it, I would visit Nimphelos. Slowly I started down the stairs, lifting up my sodden skirts to avoid tripping over them. The fine blue silk had turned black in the downpour and stuck to my legs clammily. I started to shiver.

In the stables, the comforting smells of hay and horses welcomed me. A few of the stable lads were at work mucking out horseboxes, but nobody paid me any attention as I made my way down the passageway. Nimphelos was just pulling out fresh hay from her manger and greeted me with an absentminded whicker. Seeking comfort, I threw my arms around her and pressed my cheek against her neck. At first the mare started at my wet touch, but then permitted me to stroke her. After a while, I picked up a brush and started to groom her, although she did not really need it. The rhythmic movement soothed me and warmth began to creep back into my body from the exercise. When I was finished, I leant against her and closed my eyes.

“I’m such a fool,” I whispered into her soft coat. “Father will never allow me to marry Éomer now.”

Nimphelos huffed gently and nuzzled me.

“You were right to run away with Firefoot when you had the chance,” I told her. “I should have done the same.”

The door to the horsebox creaked behind me and Nimphelos lifted her head inquiringly. Without turning round I knew who stood there. Was he very annoyed with me for my ill-considered words?

He said nothing, but I could feel his presence at my back. A hand landed lightly on my shoulder.

“Lothíriel?”

“Oh, Éomer, I’m sorry for my childish tantrum,” I choked out.

“I am hardly the right person to blame you for losing your temper,” he said. His hands moved on to gather my hair and spread it out across my shoulders, combing through it with his fingers. “You’re wet through, my sweet.”

I felt myself relaxing under his touch like a nervous filly being handled for the first time.

“Is Father very angry with me?” I asked.

“He loves you. All he wants is for you to be happy.” A hand moved down to trace my spine with a touch as light as a feather. “Three weeks.”

What did he mean by that? Would my father let me stay in Rohan a little longer before returning home?

“What happens in three weeks’ time?” I asked.

“The King of the Mark marries his queen.”

I stiffened. “What?”

He laughed. “Imrahil has agreed! Once Aragorn returns from Isengard, the whole court of Gondor will be assembled here and that’s all we’re waiting for.”

I spun round to face him. “Are you serious?”

Grinning down at me, he nodded. “Yes.”

“But why? What made Father change his mind?”

“You did, I think. But you will have to ask him yourself. I did not linger to enquire into his motives once he had given his permission.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “I expected him to pack me off to Dol Amroth at the first opportunity.”

“So did I.” An arm slid round my waist and pulled me close. “I thought I would have to wait for you to come and abduct me…” His voice shook.

“It’s not funny!” I pushed my hands against his chest, but without putting any effort into it. Not that it would have done me any good anyway.

Éomer put a finger under my chin and tilted up my face. “Do know how magnificent you are when you’re angry, min faeger fyrdraca?”

I loved it when Éomer addressed me in Rohirric. He spoke Westron like a native of Gondor, but his voice went dark and low whenever he used the language of his birth with me. Almost a whisper, it was as intimate as a touch. With a contented sigh I melted against him and his lips claimed mine in a light kiss. How long it had been since he had held me in his arms. Only now did I realise how much I needed him to hold me close, to love and cherish me.

Nimphelos chose that moment to snort loudly and shove me in the back, demanding attention. I stumbled against Éomer, who chuckled and pushed the mare’s enquiring head away.

“Go and eat your hay!” He patted her absentmindedly on the neck. “My stable master thinks she’s in foal to Firefoot, you know.”

I nodded, for I had in fact suspected the same thing.

His arms had crept round my back again. “As the stallion’s owner, by law I owe you restitution,” he breathed in my ear before brushing a kiss across my temple.

Restitution? That sounded promising. I closed my eyes to better enjoy his attentions. “What penalties did you have in mind?” I whispered.

A chuckle rose in his chest. “I’ll think of something.” Gently, he kissed my eyelids, then moved down to my mouth again. My limbs went heavy as a warm languor spread through me.

But all of a sudden I remembered his promise to my father and drew back. “Éomer, you’re kissing me!”

“So I am.” He leant his forehead against mine. “After all we’re engaged now. However, I had to promise your father to be circumspect.”

Then I noticed how quiet the stables had become. The only noise I heard was the contented chewing of horses and the occasional whinny. No talking, no wheelbarrows rumbling by, nothing. Were we completely alone?

“Where have all the grooms gone?” I asked him.

“I’ve sent them away,” he answered, his nonchalance taking my breath away. “King’s prerogative. And unlike certain foreign princesses, my men obey me.”

I ignored that last statement. “They will all be talking about us!”

“Probably.” He sighed and reluctantly let go of me. “I suppose we should return to the Hall.” His eyes flicked over me and a corner of his mouth quirked. “And get you into dry and clean clothes again.”

I looked down at my gown. It clung to every curve of mine and was covered in short, white hairs from Nimphelos. Across one sleeve she had smeared an artistic splotch of slobber.

“Wait here,” Éomer told me and popped out the stall.

A short while later he returned with a faded green horse blanket, which he settled round my shoulders.

“I’m afraid that’s the best I can offer you at the moment.” He grinned. “I do not want my betrothed to catch a cold just before the wedding.”

I pulled the cloth closer around me. It smelled strongly of horse, but then so probably did I. “Oh, you do not fancy a bride with a running nose?”

Éomer laughed. “Do not even think that you can get out of marrying me that way! I told you that I like the dishevelled look.” Then he turned serious again. “Lothíriel, I am sorry for not asking you to marry me. I just presumed…”

Recalling my outburst, I coloured. “Well, you presumed correctly.”

He stroked a thumb across my cheek. “Even so, I should have asked you first.”

The memory of a long ago autumn day floated through my mind.

“Do you remember our journey from Aldburg to Edoras last year?” I asked him.

Éomer looked confused. “What about it?”

“We stopped over at a small village at midday and I talked to some children. One of them, a little girl, asked you whether you were going to wed me.”

His brow cleared. “Oh, that! Yes, I remember.”

“What did you answer?”

Éomer smiled down at me. “I said: I will ask her when the time is right.” He cupped my face between his hands and took a deep breath. “Lothíriel, will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

A/N: According to the appendix Éomer and Lothíriel wedded the year after, but I thought I would allow myself to go slightly AU in this matter and have them marry earlier.

A/N: min faeger fyrdraca – my beautiful fiery dragon

Chapter 29

“There.” Ceolwen helped me slip into the sleeves of my white undergown and then began to fasten up the rows of tiny mother-of-pearl buttons along the underside. “That will make the sleeves fit snugly and look really elegant.”

I smoothed out one of the cuffs, designed to end in an embroidered point over my middle finger. My father’s tent had started to heat up from the morning sun, but the silk lay smooth and cool against my skin.

Ceolwen paused for a moment. “Are you nervous?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral.

I shrugged. “A little.”

Of course I was! After all, today was my wedding day. A big step to take, and which would determine the course of my whole life onward. From Princess of Dol Amroth to Queen of the Mark, from Imrahil’s daughter to Éomer’s wife, from maid to…

Ceolwen had finished with the buttons and went to pick up the dark green dress that would go on top. I lifted my arms and she helped me wriggle into it. We had to be careful, because my maid had already pinned up my hair. While Ceolwen tied up the laces at the back to make the bodice fit tightly, I shook out the rich skirts so they fell in a pool of shimmering emerald around me. The gown’s neckline was bordered with a narrow ribbon of gold and plunged rather low.

“Are you sure this is right?” I asked, tugging at it.

With a chuckle Ceolwen chased my hands away. “Of course it’s right! And I’m sure Éomer will appreciate the sight.”

That made me blush furiously. Ceolwen shot a quick look up at my face and cleared her throat. “Your mother died when you were little, didn’t she?”

“She died giving birth to me,” I confirmed. What a strange question to ask.

“So you have no other female relatives, apart from your aunt?”

“Well, there is Aerin, Elphir’s wife, though I have not seen her for over a year.” Why this sudden interest in my family?

Ceolwen arranged the wide bell sleeves of the outer gown so they fell in graceful folds. “Did she ever talk to you about what happens between a man … and a woman?”

Suddenly the tent felt stifling hot. Was this why the Rohirrim had the custom of having a married friend attend the bride on the morning of her wedding?

“Eh…” I stammered. “Well…”

“I thought as much,” Ceolwen said. “Listen…”

“This isn’t necessary,” I interrupted her hastily. “I know all about it. My family breeds horses.”

“Horses!” she exclaimed. “Really, Lothíriel, that is not at all the same!”

“I know that!”

It came out embarrassingly close to a squeak. Surely my cheeks were hot enough to fry eggs on them!

“I grew up with three brothers,” I pointed out. “We used to go swimming together, so I know how they’re…built.”

If only Éomer would arrive and rescue me from my well-meaning friend! I took a step away and tried to act unconcerned. “Where are my boots?”

Ceolwen produced the elegant, dark green riding boots and helped me into them.

“You might know the mechanics,” she said, “but there is more to making love than that. You give of yourself and receive in return - which can be very pleasurable.”

This was not a conversation I wanted to have on my wedding day, but I found myself listening with a kind of helpless fascination.

“You’ve enjoyed Éomer’s kisses, haven’t you?” she asked.

“Yes,” I choked out. Of course I had. She didn’t expect me to go into details, did she?

“There you go. If you’ve enjoyed his kisses, you’ll enjoy his other attentions. It might feel strange at first, being alone with a man and having him touch you where nobody has ever touched you before. But he’ll be gentle, just as with his kisses.”

I managed to croak some kind of noncommittal reply. The memory of Éomer kissing me at Helm’s Deep surfaced in my mind, the ferocious hunger I had felt in him. But at the time it had been right and I had responded in kind. Besides, he had apologized for it and ever since he had been gentle. Well, mostly…

Ceolwen had watched me closely. Now she gave a sudden smile. “Lothíriel, I’m convinced you will have a loving and fulfilled marriage between you. Just relax, even when you might feel…vulnerable. Trust Éomer.”

Relax! Easy for her to say. I had been a lot more relaxed before she had brought up this whole topic.

“Well, he should know what to do, shouldn’t he!”

The words came out sharper than I had intended, but Ceolwen just grinned.

“I’m sure he does.”

She straightened up and went to open the flap of the tent. Gratefully I escaped out into the cool morning air.

In Rohan, tradition called for the bride to spend her last night before the wedding under a different roof from her prospective husband and for the groom to come and collect her there, so for the occasion my father had moved his tents onto a small knoll a couple of miles from Edoras. The plains stretched gently rolling into the distance in front of me, the grass seared golden by the summer sun except where lush green growth betrayed the presence of hidden streams.

Giving my cheeks time to cool off again, I strolled down to where grooms were watering the horses. The morning mist still lingered near the small brook at the foot of the hill, but the rising sun had already started to burn it away from the high ground. My father and brothers turned round at my arrival and Father came to meet me with outstretched hands.

He looked me over searchingly. “My dear, are you sure of this?” he asked.

I nodded. “I am.”

Was my nervousness so obvious? I smoothed down my skirts. The gown I wore had belonged to Éomer’s grandmother, Morwen of Lossarnach. Not her actual wedding dress, but one used for formal occasions and carefully put away in a chest for the last thirty years. A gown meant to impress, as functional in its way as a suit of armour. Luckily she had been tall and I possessed the same colouring, so the white, green and gold suited me well.

Nimphelos had been decked out in the same colours, her mane braided into dozens of plaits to display the elegant curve of her neck. She condescended to accept a rind of bread left over from breakfast.

“Shall I help you up?” my father asked.

I nodded and he hoisted me up into the saddle. For once I was riding sidesaddle, as my gown permitted nothing else. I had practiced during the past week and hopefully Nimphelos would behave. Father helped me arrange the folds of my train so they fell gracefully across the mare’s croup, but when he stepped back, I reached out a hand to stay him.

“Father.”

He looked up enquiringly. For the first time I noticed a few grey hairs along his temples. A wave of love for him swept through me.

“Thank you. For loving me. And for letting me follow my heart.”

He gripped my hand. “Lothíriel, I only ever wanted you to be happy.”

“Is that why you agreed to have the wedding so soon?”

A shadow passed over his face. “It was something you said, about time being precious.” He stopped and I thought he would say nothing more, but then he fixed me with his penetrating grey eyes. “Lothíriel, live your life to the full. Your mother and I, we thought we’d have a lifetime together, but in the end we had so little time.”

He hardly ever spoke of my mother. Tears rose to my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He squeezed my hand. “Please do not cry on your wedding day. Silmarien would have been so happy to see her daughter today.” He smiled. “Courageous, beautiful and marrying a man who so obviously loves her.”

“I’m sorry for shouting at you the other day,” I apologized impulsively.

“Your mother used to do that, too, occasionally.”

My mouth dropped open. Everybody had always described my mother as the perfect lady. “Really?”

One of his rare grins lit up his face. “Only in private.”

A shout from the sentry on top of the hill interrupted us.

“The King of Rohan is coming,” my father said.

With my mouth suddenly gone dry, I nodded.

Father mounted up and we rode towards the edge of the camp. I was touched that my brothers all urged their horses over for a quick peck on my cheek or a squeeze of my shoulders.

“Just tell us if Éomer ever gives you any trouble and we will set him right,” Amrothos told me, making Erchirion chuckle.

Elphir frowned at them. “As if she’d need your ham-handed meddling in her affairs.”

But before they could continue their bickering, the thunder of approaching hooves reached us. Then the Rohirrim were upon us. Grey horses burst forth from the mist, cresting the hill in front of us like a wave and racing down towards us at a dead run. At the last moment, the stallion at the front veered right, leading the éored in a tight circle of our camp.

The warhorses of my father’s knights startled and neighed their challenge. Only Nimphelos stood like a rock in stormy seas, unimpressed by this display of male prowess. I did my best to emulate her when Éomer brought his snorting, foam flecked stallion to a stop in front of me, although my heart beat like a drum. He wore a tightly fitting dark green tunic edged with gold to match my own and looked simply splendid: The Lion of Rohan.

“Princess Lothíriel,” his glance swept over me. “I have come to claim my promised bride. Are you ready?”

“I am ready.” Miraculously, my voice sounded cool and collected.

He flashed me a smile of approval and took out something from a leather bag hanging on his saddle. “Will you receive this from my hand?”

The bridal crown. Usually just a wreath decorated with flowers, but in this case the petals were cut from precious stones and set on a circlet of gold. If I accepted the bridal crown, I accepted the man.

I inclined my head. “I will.”

In a fluid motion, he rose in the saddle and reached over to place the crown on my head. It was surprisingly heavy.

Then Éomer turned to greet my father and brothers. “Shall we ride?” He wore a satisfied expression on his face.

Entirely too satisfied.

“Yes,” I answered, kicking Nimphelos forward and leaving him to sort himself out.

Put on their mettle, my father’s knights formed a tight formation around me as we rode out of camp. Laughing, Éomer caught up to my side within a few strides. His men fanned out behind us.

“It’s traditional for the groom to come and collect the bride,” he reminded me.

“Is it also traditional to bring a whole éored along, as if for a surprise attack?”

Unabashed, he grinned down at me. “No, that was my idea. You never know, somebody might try to abduct me.”

He dared! It became clear to me that those words had been a grave tactical error. Then suddenly I was visited by a vision of Lady Rían and her daughter lying in ambush in the tall grass beside our path and started laughing helplessly.

“Why anybody would want to abduct you is beyond me.”

“There have been threats,” he answered darkly.

He was irrepressible! Involuntarily I grinned back, feeling more relaxed than I had all morning.

“So are there any more customs I should know about?”

He waved a hand about airily. “Oh, you’ll see.”

What did he mean by that? Some of my nervousness returned, for Éowyn had told me details of what to expect. By the sound of it, weddings in Rohan were rather different affairs from the dignified proceedings in Gondor. But my father chose that moment to ride up on my other side and I got no chance to enquire any further.

As we approached Edoras, more and more people lined the road. It seemed as if the whole population of the city and the surrounding countryside had assembled to watch us arrive. Not until I saw the joy and hope on the many faces lifted to us, did I realise how important this very public joining of a man and a woman was to the common Rohirrim - a symbol of renewal after the grim times of war and the promise of the continuation of the line of Eorl.

At the gates to Edoras we shed most of our guard before we continued upward. The road was so packed with people that there was only just enough room for three horses to walk abreast. Fortunately Nimphelos took the noise and cheering in her stride and the stallions either side sheltered her from the exuberance of the crowd.

Guards had been posted to keep half of the square in front of the steps to Meduseld clear and it was a relief to reach the open space. Éomer dismounted and came round to help me down, but my father forestalled him.

“My privilege for the last time,” he told him.

With a smile, Éomer bowed to him. “I defer to you, my friend.”

Father held out his arms and I unhooked my leg from round the pommel and let myself slide down. He caught me and set me on my feet, letting his hands rest on my waist for a moment.

“You look beautiful, daughter,” he said and kissed me on the forehead. “Like a queen.”

I threw my arms around his neck. “Thank you, Father!”

He laughed and squeezed me back, before he offered me his arm to escort me up the steps to Meduseld. On the terrace, the nobles of Gondor and Rohan were assembled, all who had been able to find a place, and the great doors stood open in order for those inside to catch a glimpse, too. It warmed my heart to see so many friendly faces: the King and Queen of Gondor, Éowyn and Faramir, Erkenbrand with his family and many more.

Right at the top of the steps a space had been kept clear for us. My father stepped back to leave me to face Éomer on my own. By bringing me here, he showed his consent to the match, but the final decision was up to me. Éomer waited a moment for the crowd to settle. It was midday by now, the most auspicious time for a wedding, and the sun threw his short shadow on the freshly scrubbed flagstones. A stiff breeze blew, tugging at my skirts and teasing out a few loose strands of hair. Slowly the noise of the crowd subsided, until all I could hear was the flapping of the horse banner above us.

In what a strange way fate had brought me here, to this time, this place, this man. I lifted my eyes to his face and found him looking down at me searchingly. Suddenly I noticed every detail about him. Hair bleached flaxen blond by the summer sun, the scar from the arrow wound on his neck, long since faded, freckles on his tanned skin that I had never spotted before. I would have liked to reach out and trace the shape of his lips.

They curved into a smile. 

“Lothíriel, Imrahil’s daughter, Princess of the South-kingdom,” he said in Rohirric. “I ask you, have you come here of your own free will?”

Although he did not raise his voice, surely it must have carried to every corner of the square.

“I have.”

I had expected the words to come out wobbly with nervousness, but instead they rang steady and clear, as if the confidence he wore like an invisible mantle enveloped me as well.

“Then I ask you, Lothíriel, will you wed with me?”

“I will.”

Éomer held out a hand and I placed mine in it, which seemed small and fragile when he closed his strong fingers around it.

“I call to witness the sky above us, star holder, path provider,” he took up his vows. “I call to witness the fire within us, heart kindler, foe defeater.” His fingers brushed across mine in a caress. “I, Éomer, Éomund’s son, Lord of the Mark, take you, Lothíriel, Imrahil’s daughter, Princess of Dol Amroth, to be my wife. I bind myself to you, to know no other, to hold and protect you and be the father of your children.”

My turn. I took a deep breath. “I call to witness the earth below us, grain yielder, life giver. I call to witness the wind around us, rain bringer, tale singer. I, Lothíriel, Imrahil’s daughter, Princess of Dol Amroth, take you, Éomer, Éomund’s son, Lord of the Mark, to be my husband.” The world narrowed down to this man, who regarded me unblinkingly. “I bind myself to you, to know no other, to love you and care for you and be the mother of your children.”

In one practiced movement, Éomer drew his sword and knelt down to present it to me flat on the palms of his hands.

“I put my honour in your keeping.”

I reached out and took it gingerly, for it was sharp and heavy: Guthwinë, his battle friend. With it, I quite literally held his honour and the fealty of his people in my hands. To cut myself would be a bad omen, to drop it disastrous. I regarded the shining length of steel, handed down from father to son, the pommel worn smooth by many hands. The last time I had seen it unsheathed, it had been black with orc blood.

Now was the last opportunity for the bride to refuse. Éowyn had even told me the tale of a Shieldmaiden who had taken off a hateful suitor’s head at this point. I looked down at Éomer and because I knew him well, I saw the hidden twinkle in his eyes. So he knew the story, too.

Holding the sword out before me, I sank to my knees. Fortunately I had practiced this with a wooden staff and managed to do so gracefully and without displacing the bridal crown on my head.

“Take it to defend your wife, your children, your people,” I said and handed it back to him.

A profound silence descended at the end of my words, even the wind died down. I was Éomer’s wife and queen now. So easily – somehow I had expected to feel vastly different, but I still remained myself: Lothíriel, with a knot of nerves in my stomach, but trusting the man before me.

Still holding the naked blade in one hand, he helped me rise. Then he drew me to the edge of the terrace to look down upon a sea of faces lifted up to us.

“Just stand still, my sweet,” he whispered. “One more custom.”

It was all the warning I got.

He threw his sword up in the air. My heart stopped. Rising up, the blade spun round and round, the steel sparkling in the sunlight. For an impossible moment it was poised right above us, point facing down, then started to fall and twist again. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of my father’s white face as he started forward. But I had no time to react before Éomer caught Guthwinë and sheathed it in one smooth motion.

“Eorlingas!” he shouted. “Behold your queen!”

The crowd roared their approval. My heart decided to resume beating, but at double the usual rate. Éomer’s hand slipped around my back to support me discreetly.

“You could have warned me,” I whispered at him out the side of my mouth.

“You would only have worried.”

“I might have changed my mind about marrying you!” I hissed.

“There is that,” he agreed. “But don’t worry, I practiced beforehand.”

And then he pulled me close and kissed me. Any rejoinder I might have made got lost before it ever reached my lips. The first kiss between husband and wife sealed their marriage bond and there was nothing perfunctory about the way Éomer performed this duty. I decided not to worry about Gondorian propriety and yielded into the circle of his arms. After all, I was Queen of the Mark now and had to comply with my new country’s customs. And my new husband’s wishes…

When he finally let go of me, I blinked up at him like a swimmer surfacing into the sunlight after a long dive. My breath came short.

He straightened the bridal crown, which had started to slip, and brushed a finger across my lips. “Lothíriel, I would never risk hurting you. I swear to you, you were never in any danger.” His face was serious, the protective veils of teasing torn away for once, to reveal the man behind them. “You’re safe with me,” he said.

What danger? I gathered my scattered wits. Of course, he meant throwing Guthwinë in the air.

“I know,” I answered. I had always known.

Slowly I became aware of the world around us again. The Rohirrim seemed to take our kiss as a good omen and were cheering louder than ever. It was a strange feeling to hear my name called out with Éomer’s: Lothíriel Queen.

Now I just had to survive the rest of the day.

Chapter 30

I pushed the piece of meat from the left of our plate to the right - his side. That way it might look as if I’d eaten something. But of course Éomer noticed.

“Don’t you like the roasted venison?” my new husband asked, leaning towards me. “Would you prefer chicken pie?”

Without meeting his eyes, I picked up a piece of bread and nibbled at it. “Thank you, but I’m just not hungry.”

“What about a dish of blackberries? They’re sweet and juicy.”

“Please don’t bother,” I begged him. “Truly, I’m full.”

I could sense the doubt and concern in him, but before he could pursue the topic any further, a loud cheer from the tables below us caught our attention. Another barrel of ale had been broached and the serving maids passed out fresh drinks. The men lifted their heavy tankards and toasted us enthusiastically.

“Éomer King! Lothíriel Queen!”

The fifth barrel. I knew, for I had kept count of them through the afternoon. Breguswith, the housekeeper of Meduseld, had told me that she expected our guests to empty at least ten of them by the end of the evening. Ten! Not that I would witness it, of course. Careful not to dislodge the bridal crown still resting on my head, I cast a look up at the windows. The sunbeams slanted in nearly horizontally, lighting up the gilded carvings on the supporting pillars, where high above us Éomer’s forebears held their own feast, attended by blond-haired Shieldmaidens. Soon… 

Thankfully, Éomer had returned to his meal and refrained from pressing any more food on me. He at least had a healthy appetite. But I could feel his regard on me every now and again as I twirled our goblet of wine in my fingers and pretended to listen to the bard who had set up his harp in front of the dais and was playing a ballad.

No doubt it would have been well worth listening to, but I found my attention wandering. Again, I glanced up. Eorl and his men were slowly fading into shadow, until only the multi-rayed suns at the top of each pillar remained lit. Then they too went dark. From outside, the call of a horn went up.

Éomer put his hand on mine. “Sundown.”

At his words, my stomach contracted into a tight knot, and I was suddenly glad that I had not eaten much. In Gondor, the bride and groom would have withdrawn to their rooms at this point, ushered out by the discrete clapping of the guests, but not so here. The Rohirrim took a close and personal interest in the bedding of their queen.

Éomer leant over. “Would you prefer us to retire on our own? I can explain that it is the custom in Gondor, people will understand.”

How tempting an offer! But I saw the anticipation and excitement on the faces of the riders watching us. They had waited long for this moment.

Looking up at Éomer, I shook my head. “I’ve made my choice: I am of the Mark now.”

His eyes warmed with approval. “Lothíriel, I promise that you will never regret it.”

We rose from our chairs and Éomer’s squire presented a long wooden spear to him, which he hefted in one hand: the bridal staff. I put my hand on his arm, and together we descended the three steps from the dais. At once we got surrounded by well-wishers brandishing coloured ribbons, which they tied to the spear. This, too, was traditional, for every ribbon was supposed to strengthen the marriage bond with a particular quality.

Éomer’s men were most enthusiastic and almost fought over who would get to tie his ribbon on first. There was much laughter and teasing about his beautiful bride, which he warded off good-naturedly. Fortunately I did not understand even half of it - just the little I did made the heat rise to my cheeks!

As we proceeded down the hall towards the great doors, the spear began to get completely covered. Some of the ribbons were woven from silk and skilfully embroidered, others just a torn-off strip of coloured cloth. To distract myself, I made a game out of guessing what colour each guest would choose. Blue stood for faith, white for trust and red for love. But by far, most of the ribbons were green: fertility. I swallowed. At least my new people made their expectations plain. 

Outside, more cheers greeted us from the square below. To the east, the first stars had blossomed in a cloudless sky and a bonfire had been lit against the gathering darkness. I welcomed the evening air, which cooled my face. Slowly, we made our way down the steps and around the square, while the bridal staff began to resemble a fir tree with dark green hanging branches. Then an old lady tottered forward. Green, I thought to myself. However, she produced a bright red ribbon, edged with gold thread, and tied it to the staff where it stood out vividly against all the green. When I looked at her in surprise, she opened her mouth in a toothless smile and gave me a wink.

After making a turn of the square, we returned to the hall. As we entered through the doors, Éomer’s riders began to stomp their feet and bang their tankards on the table. The deafening noise, mixed with shouting and cheering, echoed back from all sides. I winced and at once Éomer’s arm went round my waist.

“Nearly done,” he said in my ear.

An overoptimistic statement, for apparently we had missed some guests on our first tour of the hall. Anyway, I knew the worst part was still to come: the putting to bed. I also wondered how heavy the spear was getting, but every time we got stopped, Éomer held it out patiently. Halfway down, I caught a glimpse of Lady Rían and her daughter watching the goings-on with their mouths open. Did Emeldir still want to exchange places with me?

Finally we reached the high table, trailed by a crowd of well-wishers. Here a last batch of ribbons awaited us from our guests of honour. My father, I was touched to see, twined a red one round the staff, as did Éowyn.

When she was done, she took my arm. “Quick, come with me.”

This was not according to plan. I looked up at Éomer in inquiry, but he just nodded at us. Like a dog cutting out a sheep from the flock, she herded me towards the door leading to the private quarters and whisked me through. In the hallway beyond, Ceolwen waited for us.

“Good! You’ve got her,” she exclaimed.

What was happening? Before I knew it, the two hurried me down the corridor and past the guard into Éomer’s rooms. I only had time for a quick glance around - just enough to note that the chair by the fireplace was gone - then they pulled me into the bedroom. Éowyn shot the bolt behind me.

“Success!” she crowed.

“Well done!” Aeffe answered.

By her side, Leofe gave me wide grin. What were they doing here? She and her twin sister stood by the window. Then I looked around the room and spotted Aescwyn as well, Háma’s widow. Wearing a shy smile, she stood by an open cupboard with a pile of red fabric thrown across her arm.  

“What is happening?” I asked Éowyn. “I thought the guests were supposed to accompany me to the bedroom with Éomer?”

“Just a small conspiracy,” she answered. “We thought you would not enjoy getting undressed in front of the assembled female population of Edoras.”

“Or at least as many as could cram into this room,” Aeffe piped up.

Ceolwen nodded. “So we arranged to spirit you away beforehand. Éomer is well able to deal with them on his own and we will see to it that they leave quickly after the bedding of the couple.”

Some of the tension that had turned my stomach into a knot of nerves all afternoon eased. I had forgotten that I had friends here.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Ceolwen drew me into her arms. “Poor Lothíriel, you looked like a prisoner being led to her execution.”

“Did I really?” I exclaimed in distress. What if Éomer’s people thought that I did not want to marry him!

“Only to those who know you well,” Ceolwen assured me.

From the other side of the door, laughter and singing reached us, growing louder by the moment.

Aeffe rolled her eyes. “Here they come. Men!”

Ceolwen drew me forward into the room. “Let’s get you ready. Then it will be over all the quicker.”

The twins started undoing the laces at the back of my dress while Ceolwen unpinned my hair and combed through it. Giving myself over to their clever hands, I got my first chance to look around Éomer’s bedroom – our bedroom now. Inevitably, my eyes got drawn to the four-poster bed with its massive carved posts, where Éowyn was just folding back the dark red counterpane to reveal creamy linen beneath. It was smaller than I had expected. Back in Dol Amroth, my father’s bed could easily have slept a family of five, but this one seemed less than twice the width of a normal bed. With Éomer being such a large man, it might well be rather a snug fit. Éowyn looked up that moment and gave me a wink. Hastily, I concentrated on the rest of the room.

Not that there was a lot else to see. A clothes chest, a wardrobe and a small table with some covered dishes on it by the empty fireplace. In one corner a weapons stand held Éomer’s hauberk, on top of which he had placed his horsetail helmet at a jaunty angle. That moment loud laughter sounded from the other room and somebody lifted his voice in a song. I could not understand the words, but they were greeted with much mirth.

The twins helped me out of my dress and Aescwyn brought over the nightgown she had laid out ready. Cool and smooth, the crimson silk slid across my skin with a seductive whisper. But I looked down at it in dismay. The fabric was sheer and the neckline so low, it did not leave much to the imagination at all!

“I can’t wear this!” I protested. My face probably matched the colour of the nightgown.

My friends began to giggle.

“That is just for Éomer,” Ceolwen told me. “There’s another one that goes on top.”

From the wardrobe Aescwyn got out a robe made from heavy brocade and draped it round me. Elaborate patterns in gold thread covered the red fabric, making it stiff and scratchy as I tied the belt on firmly. But I did not mind, for at that moment I would have welcomed a set of chainmail. Then Éowyn and the others helped me into the bed and stuffed cushions behind my back, so I could sit comfortably.

Éowyn straightened the bridal crown on my head. “Ready?”

I took a deep breath and nodded. While the other four took up stations on both sides of the bed, she crossed to the door and slid back the bolt.

Éothain entered first, carrying the beribboned spear. Next came Erkenbrand and Elfhelm, each with a torch in their hands, followed by my father and brothers. Then Aragorn and Faramir led the rest of the men in, but I only had eyes for my husband: clad in a robe of black and gold, and moving with the dignity of a great lion, he filled the room with his presence.

Éothain laid down the staff in the middle of the bed, and Aragorn turned back the sheets on his side, so Éomer could join me. The mattress sagged from his weight and our shoulders touched, while underneath the cover of his long sleeves, a warm hand sought mine and gave it a quick squeeze. Reassured by the brief contact, I relaxed against him.

“At least we can’t complain about a lack of witnesses,” he murmured to me.

Slowly the room quietened down. I had expected jests and laughter, but even though some of the riders swayed on their feet, all wore a serious expression. Éomer cupped my cheek and leant over to kiss me. I braced myself against the sensation, but he only brushed his lips across mine lightly. Reaching up, he removed the bridal crown and tossed it on the bed. Our marriage was consummated.

Cheers went up and suddenly it all happened very quickly. Éowyn and Ceolwen moved forward, as did Erkenbrand and Elfhelm, herding the others before them. I stared in surprise as the room emptied as if by magic. Éowyn was the last to leave and closed the door behind her with a soft click. Alone! I sagged against Éomer.

He squeezed my hand again, but I could feel the tension in him as he listened to the noise of the witnesses retreating through the study. Finally a thud announced the departure of the last of them. He jumped out of bed.

“Wait there!”

My mouth dropped open as he strode across the room and out the door. Where was he going? Then I heard him shoot the bolt of the main door with a loud crack. A moment later he reappeared in the doorway.

“Done!” he announced with satisfaction. “We’ve seen the last of our guests.”

He sat down on my side of the bed and took my hand. “Lothíriel, I’m sorry you had to go through all this.”

Disarmed, I smiled up at him. “I do understand the importance of this marriage to our people,” I assured him. “And in fact it wasn’t as bad as I had feared.”

“You’re a brave woman.” He kissed my hand.

“For marrying you?”

“For bearing up so well. I promise I will make it up to you.”

How, I wondered, when belatedly the meaning of his words dawned on me. Hastily I looked down and shrugged. “Well, it can hardly get worse.”

Then I realised what I had just said. “That is…” I stammered, “I mean…”

Éomer started laughing. “Oh Lothíriel! Nobody can accuse you of not being honest.”

Blood rushed to my head. “I only meant to say that…well, it should get better, shouldn’t it…”

He was bent over with laughter by now. “Thank you for your confidence!”

I glared at him. “It’s not funny!”

By now my husband was gasping for air. “No, of course not.”

I pulled my knees up to my chest and examined with disfavour the quivering heap that a moment ago had been a dignified king.

“It’s nothing short of a miracle that you managed to find somebody to fill the position of your queen,” I told him.

He wiped tears from his eyes. “I know. She kept slipping through my fingers.”

“Maybe she had more sense than you.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed and smiled at me.

A smile that did strange things to my pulse. I lowered my eyes and smoothed out one of the ribbons that lay spread across the bed. Green, of course. How close he sat to me. And how quiet the night had gone all of a sudden. The thick stone walls muted the noise of the feasting in the hall to a distant murmur. We were all alone.

I was being silly, I told myself. Of course we were alone. It was our wedding night after all! Éomer shifted, and the bed creaked, making me jump. He reached over to take the ribbon from my hand.

“Lothíriel, don’t let that bother you.”

“Expectations seem high,” I countered.

Éomer shrugged. “All in due time.” He picked up the spear and got up. “And I think we do not want this in our bed.”

After a moment’s thought, he leant it against the wall. Next he gathered up the bridal crown still lying on the bed cover and frowned at it. “Or this.” Nonchalantly he tossed it to land on top of his helmet.

“And now, my lady wife, now that you’re mine…” He put his hands on his hips and stood looking down at me. “…and I have you to myself…” Teeth flashed in a white grin and I could not look away. “…you will…eat.”

I blinked.

“I’ve been watching you through the afternoon,” he said. “All you had was half a roll of bread and a little wine.”

“I’m just not hungry,” I protested.

“Well, you should be.”

He picked up the tray from the table by the fireplace, carried it over, and placed it in the middle of the bed.

“Go ahead,” he nodded at me.

Intrigued, I lifted the lid off one of the dishes. It revealed half a dozen tiny cherry tarts nestling close together. Next to them was a basket of buns studded with currants and a bowl of fresh blackberries. Other dishes held different types of cheese and nuts.

“All this for me?” I asked.

“It’s traditional to leave a plate of honey cakes as a fortifying refreshment for the bride and groom,” he answered. “I just gave orders to bring more.”

Touched by his concern, I smiled up at him. He was taking his promise to look after me very seriously! The table also held a flagon. Éomer filled two goblets from it and brought them over. Settling down on the opposite side of the bed, he handed me one.

“Mead.”

I took a cautious sip. Tasting of honey and rather strong – I would have to be careful not to have too much of it!

“We’re supposed to drink this for a month after the wedding,” Éomer explained. “But don’t worry. If you don’t like the taste, I can smuggle in something else.”

He lay down on his side and propped his head on one hand. With the other he took a blackberry and popped it in his mouth.

“Eat!” he commanded.

My stomach growled in response and to my surprise I found that I was hungry after all. Drawing my legs underneath me, I settled down more comfortably and surveyed the feast. The buns smelled of freshly baked bread and when I broke one open it was still warm from the oven. I busied myself tasting the assortment of dainties while my husband looked on with an indulgent smile.

“Was it your idea to have Éowyn spirit me out of the hall?” I asked in between bites of bread.

“Ceolwen suggested it,” he answered. “But I had to promise Éowyn that you’d render the same service to her when she gets married. You’re coming with us to Gondor, aren’t you?”

“Certainly!”

Our marriage had given Éowyn the perfect reason to move forward her own wedding date, so as a result she would be leaving for Minas Tirith in another month’s time. Éomer would of course accompany her, and I had no intention of staying behind and enduring more waiting.

Éomer took another sip of mead. “Good. For I want to show off my new wife.” He rolled the word on his tongue with obvious relish. “You don’t mind all the travelling?”

I shook my head. “Not if it’s with you.” How strange it would feel to return to my native land as Queen of Rohan!

With the worst of my hunger slaked, I made inroads into the cherry tarts, which were seasoned with honey and cinnamon and tasted delicious. When he saw my enthusiasm for them, Éomer grinned, his eyes dark in the candlelight.

Licking off cherry juice from my fingers, I smiled back at him. This was not how I had envisioned spending my wedding night. He looked so relaxed lying there, content to just watch me eat. His black and gold robe covered him down to his legs, except at the throat where it gaped open to show the fine blond hair on his chest. How would it feel to touch him there? The knowledge that I would soon find out was exciting and alarming at the same time.

Hastily I directed my attention back to the dishes in front of me and picked up another cherry tart. Not that I was all that hungry anymore, really.

“May I have a bite as well?” Éomer interrupted my thoughts.

“Of course.”

I broke off a piece, but when I wanted to pass it to him, he made no move to take it. Instead he opened his mouth, a challenge in his eyes. After a short hesitation, I leant over to pop the pastry in. Briefly his lips brushed across my fingers and he smiled. It dawned on me then that he was about as harmless and relaxed as a lion on the prowl. I was being seduced - by my own husband. And I was enjoying it.

My pulse beating loudly in my ears, I withdrew my hand. Through the movement, my overrobe had come undone and now he reached over lazily to play with the belt. Surely to pull it closed again would be undignified. And probably futile anyway.

“Are you still hungry?” he whispered.

“Well…”

“I am,” he added. “But not for food.”

I swallowed. Éomer took my hand and twined his fingers through mine. “You could drive a man mad with these, you know,” he said quite matter-of-factly.

I gaped at him. Then I looked down at my fingers as if they were a stranger’s: long and slim against his strong, calloused ones. Drive him mad - did I really have that kind of power?

“Shall we clear away the plates?” he asked.

“If you wish.”

Slowly Éomer sat up, as if he was afraid to startle me into flight, and picked up the tray. He put it on the floor, together with the empty goblets of mead. Meanwhile I had collected the lids to the dishes. But when I held them out to him, he suddenly cupped my face between his fingers and bent over to kiss me. The lids clattered loudly as I dropped them on the bed, from where they rolled onto the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he said when he drew back, “but I just couldn’t resist the opportunity when I saw you so defenceless.” His eyes laughed down at me.

How he enjoyed teasing me! I gave him my most ferocious frown, but it impressed him very little, for he knelt on the bed and the next moment I found myself pulled gently but inexorably into his embrace. His hands slipped inside my robe and around my waist, while his mouth sought mine. Yielding readily, I relaxed into his warmth and slipped my arms around his neck. How good it felt to have him close, to smell his spicy scent. His lips moved up to kiss my eyelids, then brushed across my temples and down my neck. Taking his time, tasting and exploring, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Leisurely, he moved on to trace the neckline of my gown with kisses breathed on so lightly, they tantalized the senses. A tremble rose deep within me and I felt his lips curve in a smile against my skin.

But I would not let him have it all his way! Greatly daring, I slid my fingers inside his robe - to encounter nothing but bare skin. I faltered. For some reason, I had expected him to wear a shirt or something underneath his robe, like I did. But there was nothing there except naked man. A lot of naked man.

Éomer felt my hesitation and looked up at me. The tightly leashed hunger I read on his face intimidated me. Yet at the same time excitement pooled at the bottom of my belly.

“Trust me,” he breathed. His voice wrapped itself around me, velvety and warm.

“I do,” I whispered.

A smile rewarded me. Cradling me in his strong arms, he eased me down amidst the cushions. I had no recollection of taking off my heavy robe, but it ended up on the floor somehow. Then Éomer sat back on his heels and surveyed me. Heat rose to my face at the possessive way he ran his eyes over me. Clearly he had me where he wanted me. I lifted my chin in a challenge.

His smile deepened. “I remember the first time I saw you, min heorte,” he said softly in Rohirric. “How you emerged out of the mist, prickly and belligerent. And so very desirable.”

“If I recall correctly, you were pretty belligerent yourself, my Lord King,” I countered, trying to keep my voice level.

He leant over me, and I tensed, but all he did was blow out the candle by my side of the bed. Briefly, the sharp smell of smoke filled my nose.

Éomer looked down at me, his face cast into sharp relief by the one remaining candle. “I saw you that night in Aldburg, you know. You hesitated on the threshold of the hall and I knew that you would rather have been anywhere else but there, amongst the pain and fear of the wounded.” He combed his fingers through my hair, spreading it out on the pillow. “I dismissed you for a refined Gondorian lady, sure that you would turn back. But then you stepped into the hall. And into my life.”

How well I remembered that moment! And how strange that it had led me here, to this very different night.

“I knew then that I wanted you for my own,” Éomer went on, picking up the drawstring of my nightgown and playing with it as a cat would play with a mouse. “But I had to wait for nearly a whole year, for you behaved like a skittish filly every time I gave a hint.” He grinned. “And called me my Lord Marshal.”

“You deserved it, for teasing me!”

“I know.” He let his hand roam down my side and across my belly as if he had every right to. Which I suppose he did. “But how could I possibly resist you?” he asked. “Of course, getting treated to the sight of your nightgown soaked with water helped.”

He dared! Without thinking, I reached for a pillow to throw at him. But I had forgotten his warrior reflexes. Just as I swung it round to connect with his chest, he straightened up and grabbed for it. A loud tearing sound. And suddenly there were feathers everywhere! They whirled around us like snowflakes in a blizzard.

I don’t know who was more surprised, him or me. For a moment we both froze, exchanging a guilty look, then he sneezed when a feather went up his nose. I started laughing.

Éomer swept the pillow onto the floor and pounced on me. “Is that the way to treat your husband?” he growled, seizing me by the waist.

I squealed and tried to wriggle away, sending more feathers into the air. He started to tickle me and I convulsed with laughter.

“Yes, it is!” I gasped, reaching for another cushion and pounding him on the head with it.

Éomer briefly let go of me to wrestle my weapon from me, which gave me the opportunity to roll onto my stomach and crawl away. Or try to. He lunged after me and at once I found myself caught by the legs and expertly flopped over onto my back. A cushion landed in my face, smothering my laughter.

“You will pay for this!” my husband said in his sternest tone.

He closed in on me like a big cat stalking its prey. I flung the cushion back at him, but missed him completely. It flew by him and with a heavy thump landed somewhere in the darkness of the room. But there were more. I scrambled backwards while he advanced on me menacingly, and threw everything at him that I could get my hands on: pillows, the coverlet, feathers. Finally he trapped me against the headboard of the bed.

“Attacking the King of the Mark! That calls for punishment,” Éomer threatened, looming over me.

I tried to ward him off with my hands, all the while gasping for air with laughter, but he caught hold of my ankles and implacably pulled me towards him, until I lay flat on my back. Deftly, he lay on top of me and imprisoned my arms against my sides.

“This deeply reprehensible and totally unmotivated attack on my royal person will have to be atoned for,” he whispered, his face a finger’s breadth away from mine.

My breath came in short gasps. “Not unmotivated,” was all the protest I could manage.

He propped himself on his arms and grinned down at me, while his weight pressed me into the mattress. So close. Leisurely he picked a feather out of my hair. Most of them seemed to have ended up on the floor through our struggle. What the servants would think when they saw the mess tomorrow morning I did not even want to imagine. No doubt the gossip would be all over Meduseld before noon.

Éomer’s hand travelled down across my temple to settle round the nape of my neck. “And now that I have you where I want you, my sweet torment,” he said softly, “we will need to address this matter of flagrant disrespect towards the King of the Mark.”

In contrast to his stern words, he bent down to kiss me lightly on the lips. The merest hint of what I knew he was capable of.

Blood pounded in my ears. “How do you propose to go about it?” I whispered.

Having his weight pressing down on me should have been uncomfortable, but instead I found all my senses sharpened, my skin burning wherever it touched his. He kissed me again, more demandingly, and I could taste the mead he had drunk earlier. My belly tightened with desire.

Warm breath ghosted across my face. “I’m afraid such a heinous crime carries a heavy sentence.” His lips began to roam down my throat and across my collarbones. “Although I might be persuaded to leniency where the damage to royal property is concerned.”

“You…might?” The words were embarrassingly difficult to string together. Each touch seemed to shatter my concentration like reflections in a pond.

“Hmm…” He had reached the neckline of my gown, which had slipped off my shoulders in our fight. “Taking this off would make a start.”

I felt laughter bubbling up inside me, mixed with delicious anticipation. “If you say so,” I answered obediently.

Éomer helped me wriggle my arms out of the nightgown and slipped it down to my waist. Taking his time about it, he then eased it across my hips and down my thighs. How could stroking along the length of my leg make me bite my lip with tension! When he reached my feet, Éomer bunched up the silk negligently and threw it to the floor. A few feathers floated back up. Then he made his way back up with the same slow deliberation, as if he were surveying his domain.

Enough was enough. When he took my mouth in a kiss again, I wrapped my arms around his neck and ran my hands through his hair. Thick and soft, it whispered through my fingers. A quiver ran through him.

“Your turn now,” I challenged him, pushing back his robe from his shoulders. Where had my nervousness gone?

The black and gold velvet joined the other debris on the floor. I slid my hands up his sides and across the wide expanse of his back, letting my fingers dance over his skin like butterflies. Close, so close. But I wanted to be closer still and arched my back against him.

His breath caught. “Oh, Lothíriel!”

No, I was not completely helpless. Then his lips seized mine and the sensation drove all other thoughts from my mind. His skin felt flushed against mine and his breath came in fast, shallow breaths, matching mine. Yet strangely enough, I found the thought reassuring that Éomer was not as relaxed and in control as he had seemed.

Trusting myself to him, I let him sweep me into a rising spiral of bright colours. We would find our way together.

Epilogue

Yule 3019, Edoras.

I tied up the last stitch and snipped off the remaining thread with my scissors. There! Shaking out my husband’s shirt, I admired my handiwork. It would do: the rent along one sleeve where he had torn it during weapons practice was almost invisible. Then I had to suppress a grin. How pleased my aunt would be if she could see me. Not that I needed to mend Éomer’s clothes - there were plenty of needlewomen in Edoras willing to do that service - but it was such a wonderfully domestic occupation. After the horrors of the war, the very ordinariness of it was a tonic for my soul.

“The wind is dropping,” Ceolwen interrupted my reverie.

I stretched, and got up to join her at the window. While I had been working on Éomer’s shirt, night had fallen. Snowflakes drifted past, sparkling for an instant in the golden light of our candles, before vanishing into the darkness. I shivered, for with the fires allowed to go out, my solar, usually so cosy, was getting chilly. Already frost patterns had formed on the windowpanes, unfurling their delicate fronds across the glass like icy ferns.

I peered out into the darkness. “Shouldn’t the men be back by now?”

“Don’t worry,” Aeffe quipped from her place by the cooling fireplace, “they won’t miss the feast. Not with the prospect of all that ale flowing freely.”

My other ladies-in-waiting greeted this prediction with giggles, but Aescwyn’s young daughter, who sat on the carpet by Aeffe’s feet, playing with her baby brother and little Ermenred, looked at her with big eyes. Leofwen was a serious child, and not used to having her elders spoken about in that manner.

Her mother looked up from her embroidery frame and smiled at her reassuringly. “It’s early yet. No need to worry.”

“At least we are nice and dry,” Ceolwen said.

We exchanged a conspiratorial grin, for the men would be half frozen when they returned from their afternoon’s excursion. The Yule Hunt had been postponed due to the storm, so they had decided to just go for a ride across the plains. The women on the other hand had all elected to stay in and spend the time chatting and exchanging news. While the twins had made their home with me in Edoras for the time being, Ceolwen had only arrived the day before and had wanted a detailed description of Éowyn’s wedding in Minas Tirith.

Now she took my arm and lowered her voice. “I’ve heard that your brother, Prince Erchirion, is still staying here?”

Involuntarily, I glanced towards Leofe, who was practicing a new ballad on her small lap harp, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Yes, he is.” Had rumours reached the Hornburg already?

Ceolwen followed my eyes. “Leofe’s letters have been full of him, how clever he is, and how handsome... Should Erkenbrand be concerned?”

“Only if he objects to a prince as a son-in-law.”

Her eyebrows went up. “I see.” Suddenly she grinned. “Princess Leofe does have a nice ring.”

I chuckled. No, Leofe would not object to that at all. But actually I thought that she was honestly smitten with my brother – she had even compared him favourably to Arwen’s two brothers! As for Erchirion, he had made his intentions clear in his own quiet way.

“Does that mean that we will lose her to Gondor soon?” Ceolwen asked.

I shook my head. “Not necessarily. Éomer would like Erchirion to stay on, for he has been a great help during the last few months.”

My brother’s extensive knowledge of Gondor had come in very useful while trading for supplies to last us through the winter, but Éomer had further plans. The three of us had spent many an afternoon discussing possible changes for the Mark, ranging from a new system of relay stations along the Great West Road to improved fortification of Edoras. Which reminded me of my own pet project.

I drew Ceolwen over to the table to show her my plans.

“What is this?” she asked when I unrolled the parchment.

“The design for my garden,” I answered. “Éomer has agreed that I may have the south sloping lawn, and we will start work in the spring.”

The herb garden took up most of the space, the beds arranged in terraces all down the hill and protected from the wind by low hedges and stone walls. However, I had also included a couple of small, enclosed lawns where one would be able to sit in the shade of trees and enjoy the view.

Ceolwen bent over the plan. “Thyme, rosemary and sage, chamomile, betony, feverfew, arnica…” she deciphered the tiny writing. “But where will you get all these plants?”

I shrugged. “Some already grow here, in the small garden next to the Healing House, the rest Éowyn has promised to send me from Ithilien. One of my former patients, Tondhere, trades with Gondor and has agreed to transport them for me.”

She traced the paths zigzagging down the hill. “This will take a lot of time to build.”

I smiled at her. “Yes, I know.”

After living a day at a time for so long, it was wonderful to plan an endeavour that would take years to complete. In fact I had taken up negotiations to buy two further plots of land at the bottom of the hill with part of my dowry. For the moment rebuilding the houses destroyed in the war had priority, but eventually I wanted to erect new Houses of Healing there, more spacious than the existing ones. However, so far I had only discussed my plans with Éomer.

As if on cue, the door swung open and a gust of cold wind blew in. I turned round as deep male voices filled the room. My husband and his guests had returned. Éomer was talking to Erkenbrand, but his eyes searched the room and when he spotted me, he flashed a smile at me. Feeling momentarily dizzy, I had to lean on the table at my back. How did he do that? Surely after four months of marriage I should be used to the effect he had on me! Besides, I had only kissed him good-bye a few hours ago.

Éomer used my brief hesitation to cross the room in his usual large strides and gather me into his arms. He lifted me up and swung me round, making me clutch at him. Frozen lips, damp wool, the smell of wet man: wonderful sensations.

“We’re back,” he announced quite unnecessarily.

From the shelter of her own husband’s arms, Ceolwen rolled her eyes at me. “And here I was saying how nicely warm and dry we were.” Erkenbrand was dripping all over her.

Éomer looked down guiltily at the puddle of melted snow forming around his boots. “I’m sorry.”

He started to let go of me, but I held him back. “We have to get changed for the feast anyway.”

“Do you want me to send for your cloak?” he asked. “I don’t want you to get cold.”

“I’m fine,” I replied firmly.

He seemed to recollect that he had promised not to fuss over me, for he said nothing more. Then his brow cleared. “I’ve got something for you,” he told me.

“What is it?” I asked, intrigued. What could he possibly have found on a ride in the snow?

“Close your eyes,” he ordered me.

I did as told.

“Now open your mouth.”

Something to eat or drink? Not mead, I hoped. Just the smell of it made me nauseous these days. Éomer popped some kind of bread in my mouth and I took a cautious bite. Sweet and tasting of honey… it took me back a year, to a bench outside Meduseld in the moonlight. A Yule bun!

When I opened my eyes, I found Éomer smiling down at me. “I wanted to make absolutely sure to spend next Yule in the right company.”

“You will,” I promised, hugging him.

Ceolwen cleared her throat. “Lothíriel has been showing me the design for her garden,” she said.

“Ah, yes,” Éomer replied, back to his usual teasing mood. “As you can see I’m willing to do anything to keep my wife happy, even digging up half the hill.” His arm settled possessively round my waist and pulled me against his side.

I relaxed against him. “If you’re not careful, I’ll make you do the digging yourself!” I threatened. “Remember, you still owe me restitution for Firefoot’s behaviour!”

Erkenbrand grinned at our banter. “Looks like you have your work cut out for the next few years,” he said, motioning at the plans.

“We have time,” Éomer answered, echoing my earlier thoughts.

Then he looked down in surprise. I followed his eyes to see that little Haleth had escaped his sister and come crawling across the room, trailing his mother’s embroidery silk behind him. Now he clutched Éomer’s leg and smiled up at him hopefully. My husband laughed and scooped him up, making the boy shriek with laughter as he held him up in the air. Éomer took a special interest in Háma’s children and Haleth had long ago learnt to look upon him as a certain provider of amusement.

Leofwen came up, carrying Ermenred in her arms, whom she handed to Ceolwen. She dropped a shy curtsy to Éomer.

“Shall I take him back, my Lord King?”

Éomer smiled at her warmly and passed the boy over. “Thank you, Leofwen. Will you be attending the feast too?”

“I don’t know.” She looked at her mother pleadingly.

Aescwyn picked up her embroidery basket and got up. “It will be a late night…”

“Perhaps she could stay until the dancing starts,” I suggested.

“After all, Yule is a special time,” Éomer put in. His voice barely trembled, but I knew he remembered using that same argument with me a year ago.

At the hopeful look in her daughter’s eyes, Aescwyn relented. “Oh, very well.”

“Thank you!”

The little girl clutched her brother to her chest as her mother herded her out the room. I smiled after them. Poor Leofwen had taken her father’s death badly and she was always so serious anyway. It would do her good to enjoy herself for once.

My husband stepped up behind me and slipped his arms around my waist. He said nothing, but I knew in what direction his thoughts lay.

“For some families it will be a sad Yule,” I whispered, leaning back against Éomer.

His hold tightened. “I know.”

So many missing faces. Who would have thought a year ago that both Théoden and his son would fall in battle? Yet it was a time of rejoicing as well, for unhoped for, we had defeated the Dark Lord. And while the wounds of the war were still fresh, Éomer had worked tirelessly to get our people through the winter without further loss. As a result the Rohirrim looked to the future with more hope than they had for a long time.

Éomer sighed. “At least Háma saw his son born before he rode to Helm’s Deep.”

Wordlessly, I squeezed his hands that rested on my belly. The solar emptied slowly as my ladies went to get changed. With a nod at us, Erkenbrand collected his family and left. Only Aeffe lingered in the doorway to exchange a few words with Beorngar, who bent over her hand and slanted a smile up at her. Of course everybody admired her, and the cut on her cheek only added to her appeal, yet I had the feeling that she was not altogether indifferent to the newly appointed Captain of the Queen’s Guard.  

“We have to get ready as well,” my husband reminded me.

In the hallway, the pages were already busy extinguishing the torches in buckets of sand and I caught a brief glimpse of Wuffa and his dog as Éomer escorted me past. The steward had put him to work with our newest recruit, Wulfstan’s brother Wictred. Upon my return from Gondor I had gone to see the father of Gríma’s former guard, a gruff and surly man. He had listened to my account of his son’s last moments with a stony face, but had accepted my offer of having his youngest son trained as a page. Wuffa and Wictred had already bloodied each other’s noses. I grinned to myself. From growing up with three brothers, I knew this meant that they were well on the way to becoming fast friends. 

In our rooms, my maid was waiting. At once Ivorwen took charge of me and bustled me into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her firmly, for it offended her Gondorian sense of propriety to have my husband present when she attended to me. Éomer used a small closet that opened off the study for his own use, but as he dressed simply he usually finished much quicker than me. Sure enough, Ivorwen had only just brushed out my hair and helped me out of my gown and into a silk shift, when the door opened again and he strolled in.

“Please, my Lord King,” Ivorwen protested. “The queen isn’t ready yet.”

“Oh, I don’t mind waiting,” Éomer replied.

He chose a place to sit on the bed from where he had a good view of me, and relaxed against the headboard. I choked down laughter. My aunt had insisted that I keep Ivorwen with me, but I got the feeling the maid might soon take up my offer of retirement in Gondor. When I cast a look over my shoulder, her mouth had tightened into a thin line.

“Which dress will you wear tonight, my lady?” she asked.

I pretended to consider the gowns laid out ready for me on the bed, although I had already made up my mind. However, I rather enjoyed the way my husband’s eyes lingered on my thinly clad figure, so I smoothed down the silk over my hips while looking them over. Out the corner of my eye I saw his fingers clench. Enjoying my game, I picked up a crimson gown that I had no intention of wearing, for it would clash with his dark green tunic. Holding it out from me, I twirled round with it. As if by accident, my shift brushed against his legs.

“What do you think of this one?”

“Nice.” The voice perfectly level, but his eyes promised retribution.

“Hmm….” I smiled at him sweetly and picked up another one. “The russet is very pretty, too.”

I was well within grabbing distance now.

Éomer folded his hands firmly behind his head. “Yes.”

I raised a finger to my mouth and nibbled at it, as if deep in thought. “Or perhaps the cream one after all…”

“Perhaps.”

Something in his clipped tone told me I was treading a thin line, so I took a step back and turned to the patiently waiting maid. After all, I did not want her to return to Gondor with tales of the King of the Mark setting upon his wife in front of the servants. Besides, the room was chilly, even with my husband’s eyes to warm me.

I indicated my chosen gown. “I’ll wear that one tonight, Ivorwen.”

“Very well, my lady,” she approved my choice and helped me slip the heavy velvet over my head.

A magnificent gown: the bodice dyed a shimmering blue, and the skirts embroidered all over in a bold pattern of silver feathers. But then tonight was an important occasion, the first time I would serve the Yule cup to our guests as the Lady of Meduseld.

Ivorwen tied up the laces at the back and picked up my hairbrush. “How would you like your hair done?”

“Something easy to undo,” Éomer put in from his place on the bed.

The maid drew her breath in sharply and I fought to keep my composure. How he delighted in shocking the poor woman! “Yes,” I agreed with a shaking voice, “just keep it simple.”

“As my lady pleases.” Frost crackled on the words.

A few minutes later she had arranged my hair to her satisfaction and draped my warm blue cloak around my shoulders, the very same one that Éomer had gifted to me a year ago.

“Will there be anything else, my lady?” she asked, studiously ignoring my husband.

“No, thank you,” I replied. “Why don’t you go and enjoy the celebration.”

“And you don’t have to wait up for your mistress,” Éomer drawled. “We can manage.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Unless I was very much mistaken, I would have a Rohirric maid by this time next year. In answer Ivorwen dropped a stiff curtsy and left, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Éomer surged out of the bed and pounced on me.

Even though I had expected it, the sheer swiftness of his movements still startled me. He grabbed the cloak and wrapped it tightly round me, pinioning my arms to my side, then pulled me against his chest. My involuntary cry of surprise got swallowed by a ruthless kiss. I relaxed against him. About time.

“My Lady Wife, you are an unconscionable tease!” he accused me when we finally had to come up for air.

“I know,” I said with a sigh of contentment.

His hold on my cloak was slipping and I managed to wriggle my hands up his chest and around his neck. The muscles of his shoulders tensed under my touch. How I loved running my fingers through his mane; it was so thick that any woman would have envied him for it.

Standing on tiptoe, I pulled him down towards me until our lips were a finger’s breadth apart. “So do you regret not marrying one of the court ladies instead? A nice, biddable girl?”

Deep in his chest, a growl rose. “You know the answer to that! It would be like drinking watered wine when what I want is mead.” He closed the distance between us. “Sweet and strong…and utterly intoxicating.”

He tasted of the Yule bun we had shared earlier on, of cinnamon and cloves. I gave myself over to the sensation, knowing that I would never get enough of holding him close, alive and whole. Every day spent with him was a gift. As if he could read my thoughts, Éomer’s touch gentled. When our lips parted, I leant against his chest and closed my eyes to listen to the steady heartbeat of the man I loved. That moment I would happily have stopped time.

But duty called. “Our guests are waiting for us, you have to light the new fire in the Hall,” I reminded him reluctantly.

“Let them wait,” he murmured into my hair. One hand slipped round to cradle my belly. “Lothíriel, next year…”

“… we will have a child,” I finished his sentence. The thought of the new spark of life we had kindled between us was still incredible. We meant to announce the success of all those green ribbons at the feast, although most of Meduseld probably knew already with Éomer fretting over me.

“A son!” he breathed.

“Or a daughter,” I put in.

“We’ll see,” he replied altogether too smugly.

Letting him have his satisfaction, I snuggled up closer to him and at once his arms fastened round me. The place where I belonged, my home. A safe harbour where no nightmares ever plagued me.

“Hold me tight,” I begged him.

Bending over me, Éomer tilted up my face. “My beloved seabird, blown in on the wings of the storm,” he whispered. “Believe me, I will never let go of you.”

FINI

A/N: Many, many thanks are due to my wonderful beta, Lady Bluejay. Without her this story would never have been written, for she encouraged me to carry on with it when after the first couple of chapters I got cold feet when I realized it was a much longer tale than I had anticipated. As always also many thanks to you, my readers and reviewers. I really appreciate the feedback I get from you, it’s been wonderful meeting you all!

And if you want to read more of my writing, there are other Éomer & Lothíriel stories of mine on this site, or you can find my original stories on Amazon, iBooks, Kobo, Scribd, etc. by searching for ‘Lia Patterson’:

Wind Weaver (out in June 2022)

Daughter of Wolves (free on iBooks, Kobo, Nook and Smashwords)

Elephant Thief

Bride to the Sun