Dol Amroth 3019.

The odd request from her cousin Faramir had played on her mind all day, but she was no nearer to coming to any conclusion as to whether she would be of use in her present depressed state. Trying to get her thoughts in order – they had been totally skewed with all the upset of the war – Lothíriel clasped her hands around her knees and stared out to sea. The daily fight between the black-backed gulls and the terns grabbed her attention, anything to put off the decision she needed to make soon.  The small terns were trying desperately to avoid the attacking gulls and get back to their nests with their prey intact. One victim headed straight towards her, but again and again a gull dived from above, harassing the sleek little bird which jinked and twisted desperately to get away. But the next time the big gull attacked, the tern gave in, opening its bill and dropping the fish that would have fed its chicks.  The gull snatched it before it hit the sand and wheeled away triumphantly, leaving the impoverished tern to head back out over the waves.

Lothíriel sighed; the brutal encounters above her were so much like the recent terrible battles of the Ring-war: where the West had fought against such overwhelming odds. But against all hope they had triumphed, and so would the terns in the end. Some chicks would die, but the little birds would bravely keep on and on, ensuring a new generation would skim elegantly across the endless seas in the coming years.   A bit happier now that she had rationalized the struggle between life and death going on in front of her eyes, Lothíriel’s thoughts went back to her cousin’s letter: it was such a strange appeal. Why would the Lady Éowyn, heroine, slayer of the Witch King, need a Gondorian princess to steer her through the complexities of dealing with the returning court? Surely such a brave lady would scythe her way through any pretensions with a swipe of her sharp sword.

Another tern dropped its fish, but she didn't want to watch anymore and thumped down onto her back, digging her hand into the warm sand. She had always loved trickling it through her fingers, picking out the different pieces of shells and quartz that blended together to form the sparkling white beach. The wide sickle of sand that swept below the cliffs of Dol Amroth always drew her, whether for fun or contemplation, and this was a favoured spot, especially today when she felt like being alone. The dunes hid her from all but the birds and the odd butterfly feasting on the purple-flowered orchids. Not being watched was a luxury she could rarely indulge in. Even the fishermen couldn’t see her. They were spread out along the edge of the water preparing to cast their nets into the shallows, taking advantage of the bounty of fish coming in with the tide. Good fishing meant full bellies, enough salted fish for the people of the port as well as Gondor’s victorious armies. Dol Amroth was eager to make its contribution to those that had saved them from the Dark Lord’s loathsome hordes.

She ought to go and help, and didn’t really mind rolling bandages for the Healing Houses or packing up spare garments. So many had had their clothes cut from their bloodied bodies or ridden to the relief of the White City with nothing but what they wore on their backs. If only everyone would stop looking at her so sympathetically. She needed to be left alone to grieve in her own way. After all, just because she was the Lord’s daughter didn’t make her anguish any more than that of the common people. So many had lost husbands and sons, how terrible was that? But nobody was tiptoeing around them. 

With another sigh, Lothíriel levered herself off the sand and got to her feet, brushing off the grains that had stuck to her dress. She’d enjoyed a few free hours and it wasn’t fair to let her mother to do all the work, especially as Mildis would be busy with young Alphros. He had got even more mischievous since his father and grandfather had ridden to war. But eventually they would be back, so would Erchirion and Amrothos. It was Berenor who wasn’t coming home: chopped into pieces on the Pelennor, the parts they could find buried under a mound with a hundred others. Horrible. That was why nobody knew what to say to her. They probably didn’t know what to call her either – if she'd lost a husband she'd be a widow, but what name did you give to someone who’d lost their betrothed? No special name. She was still Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, Prince Imrahil’s daughter. So much, yet so little, had changed.

The road up to the castle was teeming with carts making their way back and forth to the port, so she decided to take the narrow path that weaved up the cliffs.  Such a pretty way to go, especially in the spring, and Lothíriel bent down, unable to resist a closer look at a bright blue sheep’s-bit growing in a crevice.   Standing up again she scanned the slopes, confirming to herself that her favorite sea-thrift was on the verge of flowering. The little plant grew in big drifts across the salt-lashed rocks; soon the cliffs would be clothed in vibrant pink, always a wonderful sight.

The steep climb made her puff slightly, but when she reached the gate she acknowledged the salute of the guards with a wave and increased her pace, hurrying up the long paved street that led to the keep. Lothíriel knew her mother would be in the hall, the heart of the castle where the household feasted and celebrated.  But it was difficult to forget it had been more usual these past few years for the Great Hall to house refugees driven from their homes by the frequent corsair raids, or act as an extra ward when the wounded overflowed from the Healing House. Today, she knew, all the goods to be packed had been laid out on long tables; soon though, as spring had returned to the cliffs, the household would be able to sit in peace and companionship, her family all together at last.

Deciding not to stop and change, Lothíriel went straight to the hall, immediately picking out her mother’s upright, elegant figure amongst a group of ladies who were folding tunics and hose donated by farmers, farriers, fishermen and lords. All so thankful that Rohan had come to their aid they wanted to show their gratitude in any way they could. Surely she should be able to push her own worries aside and be happy to go to the White City and support the Lady Éowyn.

Hearing footsteps her mother looked up, pushing back some strands of her glossy black hair that had escaped from the knot at the back of her head. She smiled when she saw it was her daughter approaching. The other ladies smiled too, that slightly embarrassed, concerned smile that she had come to hate, and the lift Lothíriel had felt at the sight of the flowers evaporated like salt-spray on a sun drenched rock.

‘I am sorry, Mother.’ Lothíriel kissed her smooth cheek. ‘I needed to get away for a while.’

‘Nonsense,’ her mother answered in her kind way. ‘I have lots of help and you have worked hard organizing food to go to the city. Everyone understands that you might want a little quiet time on your own.’

Lothíriel swallowed down a sob and dropped her eyes, quickly picking up a garment and folding it to fit inside the bags they were packing. Her mother’s gaze stayed on her, and she blinked rapidly, determined not to let a tear fall. But a soft hand, slim and manicured, landed on her arm.

‘Lothíriel, I could do with some refreshment, and if you have been on the beach I am sure you would welcome a cool drink too.’ Her mother kept hold of her arm, nodding her head to the other ladies. ‘Perhaps you could carry on without me for a while.’

‘Of course, Lady Arneth,’ they murmured, dipping their heads politely as her mother ushered her away.

‘Some orange juice would be nice, or would you like pomegranate, my love?’ Her mother beckoned to a servant.

‘Orange will be fine, Mother, thank you.’  Lothíriel followed her into the solar and went straight to the window, staring out at the sea. Clouds were forming on the horizon; it looked like rain coming in, but hopefully the winds would stay light or those travelling to and from the Harlond would have an unpleasant journey. She heard the door open and close, the sound of liquid being poured and then her mother’s soft voice interrupted irrelevant thoughts.

‘Drink this, my dear, and let us have a little talk.’

Obediently Lothíriel put the cup to her lips; the juice was sweet and cool, stored in the caves beneath the castle. Her mother sipped hers and then sat down on the padded couch, patting the empty space beside her.

For a moment Lothíriel looked down into her mother’s wise grey eyes that surveyed her with compassion and understanding. Then she fell on to the couch with a little cry of anguish, to be gathered up into comforting arms. Gratefully Lothíriel buried her head into the soft linen of her mother’s day dress. The smell of jasmine lingered, overpowering the musty smell of the garments they had been sorting for days. ‘Now, my little one,’ her mother murmured close to her ear, ‘tell me what is really bothering you, for I know it is not just grief.’

Lothíriel could hold back no longer. ‘I feel so guilty, Mother,’ she whispered, fearful of the consequences of what she was about to say. ‘Everyone is sorry for me and thinking that I am broken-hearted, but although I am sorry Berenor died, and so sad for his parents...I can only feel...relief.’ There, she had said it...but instead of the expected gasp of shock, her mother held her tighter.

‘I thought that was it, Lothíriel. I have suspected for a long time that your love had waned.’

‘I don’t think there ever was real love, Mother.’ Lothíriel gulped, wiping a hand across her eyes. Already she felt better for confessing.

Her mother frowned. ‘Then why did you not tell your father that when he arranged the match.’

Youthful folly!  And because duty and the demands of her position had been drummed into her since birth. But she must have been mad to consent to her father’s suggestion. 'I suppose I was infatuated because a handsome, well thought of man took an interest in me.  And Father was so pleased.'

‘Yes, because he thought he had found someone appropriate you would be happy with. But I suppose we should have waited, you were so young when Berenor offered for you. Be assured, my dear, that although your choices have always been limited, your father would not pledge you to someone he thought you would dislike.’

‘I don’t...didn’t dislike Berenor, it’s just that lately I realised how utterly boring and pernickety he’d become. In a few years he would have grown to be just like his father: fussy and dreary. I don’t think I could have stood that for the rest of my life.’

Her mother let out a sigh, her hand smoothing across Lothíriel’s hair. ‘I understand you perfectly, my love. But the trouble is that eventually, once all the grieving and the celebrating is over, your father will look around for someone else. He will not force you, Lothíriel, but he will expect you to agree to sensible suggestions. If you want a real choice of husband, you will have to find someone suitable you want to marry and hope he will agree.’

‘How am I going to do that?  There is no one in Dol Amroth that stirs my heart. All the unmarried ladies are looking forward to heading for Minas Tirith for the coronation and the celebrations, hoping to meet eligible men,  but I am in mourning and even if I go, like Faramir suggests, surely I cannot attend such feasts.’

‘Normally it would be frowned upon,’ her mother agreed. ‘But the Steward has specially requested your presence; I think that makes a big difference. Anyway, your father will want me to meet him when he enters the City and I am not happy leaving you here when you are so restless.  I think as long as it is known you are there to keep the Lady Éowyn company, and do not dance yourself, there is nothing to stop you attending the formal celebrations. Your father certainly has shown in his letters that he expects you to be there to meet our new king.’

The decision taken out of her hands, Lothíriel felt immediately better. No one could accuse her of taking Berenor’s death lightly if she was responding to a request from the Steward and her father.

ooo

Mildis was still dressing for supper when Lothíriel found chance to talk to her. It had taken moments to wash her own face and shrug into a clean dress, but even when only ladies graced the table Mildis liked to make the most of her brown curls and fair complexion. She was pretty enough anyway and Lothíriel couldn’t really see why she wasted time with kohl and powder.  But Mildis put down her brush and pulled a face when Lothíriel divulged to her the contents of Faramir’s letter.

‘And you’re going to do it? Surely this Éowyn must be a bit barbaric to ride to war with a load of men. But I suppose that’s why he wants you there, to smooth the edges so to speak.’

Lothíriel  shrugged. ‘I didn’t get that impression; in fact it sounds as if it is because he doesn’t want anything to upset her.’

‘There we are, and rather you than me. I expect she gets aggressive if anyone crosses her and you will be expected to sweeten things. Elphir says that your father has made a great friend of King Éomer, but whilst Elphir admires him greatly, he finds all the Rohirrim a little testy and their king rather terse and proud.’

‘What does he say about our new king?’ Lothíriel asked. Her eldest brother always had high standards.

Mildis laughed. ‘I think even Elphir cannot find much to criticize. A natural nobility, he said, that overrides the years of living in the wilds.’

‘But Father wrote in his letters that Lord Aragorn had been brought up in Imladris, surly that is not counted as wild?’  

‘I don’t know, but Elphir said he arrived on the Pelennor looking as if he had been sleeping under hedges and with nothing to his name but a rough looking horse and a long sword. They’ve had to supply everything he needs.’

Lothíriel thought that a sword was far more use when arriving in the middle of a battle than fine clothes, but held her tongue, Mildis being rather keen on decency and decorum. Suddenly she felt optimistic about going to Minas Tirith. It would be exciting to meet so many new and famous people and it would get her away from Narhel. Berenor’s mother tended to sob over her every time they met. Not for one moment would she give away her true feelings which would hurt Berenor’s parents terribly, but the continual outpouring of grief was beginning to wear her down. Yes, it would be good to get away.

Feeling better about the whole plan she smiled at Mildis. ‘I won’t be able to dance, but the celebrations are bound to be interesting, we have never seen an Elf or a Dwarf.’

‘No, that should be exciting. But think, Lothíriel, lords from all over Gondor will be there, you will never have such an excellent opportunity to pick one out. We can have a good look, and find you someone really nice. And rich and handsome, of course.’

‘Mildis!’ Honestly, her sister-in-law was incorrigible.  ‘I am in mourning and cannot pick one out. That kind of behavior would certainly be frowned upon.’

‘Oh. I agree, you can’t do it openly. But if there’s anyone that takes your fancy you only have to mention it to your father. He will be pleased and able to start negotiations quietly. That’s providing the one you want is a fine match, of course. Which he will be, because it’s not a sensible idea to marry a nobody. But I suppose he doesn’t have to be really rich, not with your dowry…’

‘No more!’ Lothíriel held up her hand, finding it difficult to stop laughing. Mildis had certainly cheered her up. ‘I have no wish to choose a husband at the moment, in fact it’s something I don’t want to think about for a very long time.’

But Mildis wouldn’t be swayed. ‘You wait till you see all those heroes, there’s nothing as attractive as a brave man. I think that’s what drew me to Elphir, swords and armour seem to make men very desirable.  You need to stake your claim, Lothíriel; it will be like wasps around a honey pot.’

Lothíriel couldn’t be bothered to argue, and instead turned the conversation to what they needed to take with them.

There was so much to organize and pack in a short time. Lothíriel had no idea how long she was expected to stay in the City. Almost four weeks before the new King was to be crowned and the Rohirrim definitely would not leave for home before that ceremony. But how long would they stay after? How long before she could wave the Lady Éowyn goodbye and return to her own life? Whatever that was going to be. She would need plenty of fine gowns for the celebrations, but what else would she be required to do? Ride? Possibly, so best to take a few riding dresses. But not her mare – Starburst was growing too old to compete with whatever horse a high-born lady from Rohan chose to ride, and Starburst hated sea journeys anyway. All the other decent horses in the stables had gone to war. Maybe Faramir could find her a mount if she needed one. After all, this was his idea.

By the time they left even her mother looked tense and strained, tiredness showing in her eyes. So many wounded had come home and they all had to be succored and the families offered help before the ladies of Dol Amroth could leave with a light heart.  ‘Someone is going to have to come back soon,’ her mother muttered as they waited to board the ship. ‘Leaving the castle in the hands of servants is not ideal.’

‘It won’t be for long,’ Lothíriel tried to soothe her. ‘Surely Father will want to come home as soon as the new king is crowned.’

‘Elphir certainly will,’ Mildis chirped. Alphros had gone with one of the sailors to help untie the mooring lines, so she was free for a moment.  ‘He doesn’t like Minas Tirith in warm weather very much anyway, and it will be exceptionally crowded and smelly now.’

Lothíriel had never noticed it smelly on the upper levels, but perhaps with all the warriors around it wouldn’t be as fresh as Dol Amroth. But Minas Tirith was not the only crowded place; the ship had been loaded to bursting. Musicians, dancers – it would be a lively passage.

Thank goodness the weather remained calm, at least until they entered the Anduin. Luckily the stiff breeze that had sprung up blew from the west, easing their journey up the great river. Seeing the destruction that had been wrought on the fertile fields and homesteads of the Pelennor made Lothíriel close her eyes in horror. No wonder requests of food had come to the Southern Fiefs.

‘Look at the burial mounds.’ Her mother clutched at her hand. Lothíriel didn't want to open her eyes and had to force herself. But she grasped at the rail when the great piles of new earth came into view.  No, she couldn’t look, not at where Berenor might be buried, so let her gaze wander far away from them, squinting at shapes she saw in the distance. What were they? Suddenly they showed up clearly as the sun appeared from behind a cloud. Horses! Hundreds and hundreds of horses, grazing peacefully.

Horses everywhere! In paddocks outside the gates and being led up through the steep streets. Horses and bearded blond men had invaded the City. ‘Thank goodness they have,’ her mother remarked in response to Mildis’ little sniff of disdain at their rough accents and un-groomed appearance. ‘And there will be many more when the army returns from Cormallen,’ she said to emphasize the point.

Lothíriel liked Mildis, she really did, but sometimes she had to bite her tongue.

Later, she stood on the balcony of her father’s house, looking towards the mountains of the Ephel Dúath. Last time she had stood here the Land of Shadow had been wreathed by noisome smokes and black clouds had rolled down the mountainsides obliterating the view of the river. But this evening all the sky was clear, the mountains looked benign, and the setting sun flamed the river red.

So much to be thankful for, and tomorrow she would meet the lady who had contributed so greatly to Gondor’s victory. She just hoped they would get on.

ooo

‘Lothíriel! You look wonderful. I didn’t realize I had such a beautiful cousin.’ Faramir held out his arms and she ran into them.  She wasn’t beautiful, and shared her colouring – black hair, grey eyes – with Faramir and all those with a fair proportion of Númenorean blood. And most admired tall elegance, so her average height and elfin looks were not likely to set the court alight. He always made a fuss of her though, and it seemed ages since she had seen him. So much had happened in that time, but he brushed aside her sympathies on the loss of his father and brother, instead concentrating on her.

‘Somehow you don’t seem as sad as I thought you might. Perhaps I see slight shadows, but nothing that will not pass.’

Those far-seeing eyes of his always did get to the truth and Lothíriel didn’t try to hide anything. ‘I am not heartbroken, Faramir. Sad that Berenor died yes, sad that so many others had to die. But I will not pretend to you that I don’t feel some relief that I’m not getting married in the summer. I may get the chance of having a husband I will be really happy with, and am hanging on to that.’

Faramir hugged her against him. ‘War has changed many things, Lothíriel; I feel that your father will not want you to be unhappy and will countenance any sensible choice you make.’

Finding someone to choose would be the first thing to do! But at least being in mourning meant there was plenty of time, and the longer it took the better. Having just been released from one betrothal, there was no need to rush into another.  It would be nice to just be herself for a while. But before that a task loomed, one that hopefully would not be too onerous.

‘Enough about me, tell me about the Lady Éowyn, and what exactly you want me to do.’ Did Faramir’s eyes soften at the mention of Lady Éowyn’s name? Sure they had, Lothíriel listened intrigued as her cousin started to explain.

‘We all owe much to Lady Éowyn, and as you probably know she lay in our Healing Houses, gravely wounded from her confrontation with that evil wraith. Our king coaxed her back from shadow and death, as he did me. But she is in a strange place amongst unfamiliar people.’

‘There seems a great many of her kinsfolk around, ‘Lothíriel pointed out.

Faramir shrugged; ‘Her brother has asked her to join him in Cormallen, but she does not wish to go.  She prefers to stay in the Healing Houses until King Éomer returns. The Houses have become her refuge in the city, although she will probably not admit that.'

Lothíriel had the distinct feeling that Faramir had not told her the complete reason Éowyn would not go to Cormallen, but he went on before she could query his words.

'The ladies of the court are gradually returning, the merchants are opening their shops, and the city preparing for celebration. Since I resumed my duties I have not been able to spend much time with her, but besides that I feel she needs a woman to show her the way of things here. The customs of Rohan and those of Gondor differ in many ways. Éowyn is outspoken and ...unlike many ladies. I would not have her embarrassed or looked upon with derision.’

‘I would have thought any lady would be grateful for her part in saving us and not even think of deriding her,’ Lothíriel retorted. But then she thought of Mildis and realized that some ladies could probably be spiteful when they gossiped together.

Faramir smiled. ‘I knew you would feel that way. And you have entry everywhere besides commanding respect for the position you hold, which is why I thought you were the person to steer her through these next few weeks. Once King Éomer joins her I’m sure she will be confident of her position here.’

Lady Éowyn’s comfort certainly seemed important to him. Lothíriel squeezed his arm affectionately. ‘If you think that a shield-maiden of Rohan and a Gondorian princess are likely to get on, then I will be happy to do my best to make her feel at ease in the city.’

‘Good, I had no doubt you would, Lothíriel. Thank you. Shall we go now?’

Lothíriel nodded, but at that moment there was a knock at the door. ‘Lord Húrin wishes to speak to you urgently, lord,’ the scribe said as he poked his head around the door.

Faramir sighed, his lips clamping together in annoyance. Lothíriel put her hand over his. ‘I can find Lady Éowyn. I am sure she knows I am coming.’

‘Yes, of course. I told her when your message came. You will probably find her in the garden at this hour.’

‘Then I will not take you from your duties, Cousin. I will see you at supper tonight.’ Her mother had invited him and she would be able to report on her meeting with Lady Éowyn.

Faramir kissed her on the cheek, and Lothíriel gave him a quick hug before she turned to go out the door. She passed Lord Húrin, who nodded a greeting before he flew into Faramir’s room. She heard him launch into some complaint to do with horse-dung before she hurried away down the passage. 

Once she left Faramir’s study, Lothíriel went down the back stairs to avoid passing through the Hall of Kings, for she always thought it a cold, somber place. Crossing the Place of the Fountain she let her thoughts linger on the conversation with her cousin – surely she was not imagining Faramir’s excessive interest in the Lady Éowyn’s welfare. Why this should be she had no idea. Was the lady so difficult that he needed to make such extreme efforts to keep her happy?  Lothíriel sighed; whatever had she let herself in for? Well, she would soon know as once she left the tunnel it only took a few minutes to reach the main door of the Healing Houses. Her enquiries told her, as Faramir had said, that Lady Éowyn had gone out to walk in the garden.

There were not many green places in the City of Stone; unusually her father’s house had a spreading tree in the courtyard and room for a few flowers and herbs. But large open spaces spread around the Healing Houses and had been tended devotedly for years uncounted. The gardens offered a retreat for those recuperating from illness or injury as well as providing herbs and flowers for the making of medicines and salves.

Lothíriel took a deep breath as she left the dim interior of the central passage and stepped out into the bright light. The fragrance made her nose twitch, so many perfumes joined to produce a heady scent of foliage and flowers. Now – she looked around – where would the Lady Éowyn be? On impulse she headed along the rose walk, where there were no blooms yet, but the glossy leaves arched over her head, hiding her from the sun that had elbowed its way between the scurrying clouds. Beyond the rose walk a greensward sloped down to the wall, and as she had hoped a woman stood in one of the embrasures looking out towards the Ephel Dúath.

Tall, she could see immediately, and of course blond, her hair hung down her back like a cascade of molten gold.  But Lothíriel had not been expecting Lady Éowyn to be so slim. Somehow she had imagined her to be...brawny. After all, one needed strength to wield a sword, and as for chopping off the head of a monstrous bird.... At that moment, although surely she had not made a sound, Lady Éowyn turned abruptly and Lothíriel almost gasped. Wan and sad she looked, but beautiful. Lady Éowyn was utterly beautiful, her fine bone structure and proud carriage a witness to the Númenorean heritage of her grandmother.

Lothíriel bowed her head. ‘Lady Éowyn,   I am pleased to meet you. I am....’

‘I know who you are,’ Lady Éowyn interrupted. ‘You have the look of Faramir.’ Cold grey eyes surveyed her critically. ‘I told him I didn’t need you here, and I don’t.’ 

‘He said...’

‘I don’t care what he said. I am staying here until my brother comes and I don’t require an escort to show me around the city.’

Rude woman! When she had come all this way. Lady Éowyn might be a heroine, but that did not give her the right to be so discourteous. Batting down the sharp rejoinders that came to mind, Lothíriel merely nodded. ‘Then I will bid you good morning, Lady Éowyn. I have no wish to force my presence on you.’

Pivoting swiftly on her heel, Lothíriel headed back across the grass.

To be continued

With grateful thanks to Lialathuveril for her expert beta. And also to the ladies of the Garden of Ithilien workshop for their helpful comments. LBJ

Chapter 2

'Wait!'

Lothíriel had not regained the protection of the rose walk when the imperious command stopped her. If it hadn't been for the fondness she had for Faramir she would not have heeded the raised voice. Grudgingly Lothíriel turned around. Lady Éowyn had reached the middle of the lawn; she came to a halt and stretched out her uninjured arm in a gesture that looked like an invitation to peace.

'I am a little bad-tempered this morning. I did not ask for you to come and that annoyed me. But I should not have been so rude. '

Lothíriel inclined her head briefly, and held those cool grey eyes in a steadfast gaze. If Lady Éowyn thought she would try and placate her, she thought wrong. 'I imagine neither of us is used to rudeness, more to deference, Lady Éowyn. But you do not need to be polite to me, for I do not have to be here.'

Suddenly Lady Éowyn let out the ghost of a laugh. 'You are obviously stronger in will than one would have imagined, Lady Lothíriel. A trait you share with your cousin.'

'I have never had any doubts about Faramir's strength, Lady Éowyn, but I agree others have been fooled by his scholarly inclinations.' As for herself, her parents had brought her up to face any fear confidently. So she would not be intimidated by an angry lady, however fierce and brave she might be.   For a moment Lady Éowyn didn’t answer her, she looked far away, a soft smile giving life to the pale face. Lothíriel dropped her shoulders and let go of her irritation – this woman had faced down an evil no man could have stood against, she deserved some allowances. 'Shall we start our acquaintance again, Lady Éowyn, in a more friendly manner?’

The slayer of the Witch King nodded, looking relieved. 'I would like that. To be honest I thought Faramir was sending me a mealy-mouthed princess to try and keep me happy.'

'Do you need to be kept happy? I would have thought your recovery, the incredible part you played, and our victory would have made for happiness.' Then Lothíriel remembered King Théoden. 'Is it that you grieve for your uncle?'

Lady Éowyn shook her head. 'No, I mourn Théoden, of course I do, but I am glad he went to dwell with his fathers as one of their finest sons. At the end he made sure that the House of Eorl did not lose its greatness, and for that I am thankful.'

A proud warrior indeed. Hadn’t Mildis passed on Elphir’s same pronouncement about Lady Éowyn’s brother? Perhaps the Rohirrim were generally of haughty nature. Lothíriel put the thought aside and gave her attention to her companion. She would at least try to form some kind of relationship for Faramir’s sake. 'Then why are you so discontented, Lady Éowyn, for I can see that you do not rest easily here, yet Faramir tells me you do not wish to join your brother, King Éomer, in Cormallen.'

The brave shield-maiden let out a deep sigh. It sounded like a wail on the wind, and in it Lothíriel sensed a hidden cry for help. Lady Éowyn crossed her arms round her slender body, hugging herself as though deeply chilled.  'There are some things that do not mend easily. Wars and battles give us chance to put an end to heartache and despair. I thought to end mine by death, but I am still here and my heart and my mind are now more confused.'

Despair? Who had rent this proud lady’s heart asunder?  What had made her seek death, Lothíriel wondered.  'You have lost a lover?'

Éowyn shook her head sadly, her face drawn and strained; she hesitated for a moment and then spoke softly as if to herself. ‘No, I did not lose him, I never held his heart. He is not dead, but lost to me, for someone else claimed him long before we met. I thought the love I felt for him would never wane, but now...I have met another and...' she dropped her voice further and Lothíriel could barely hear the desperate words... ‘he comes no longer.'

'Who comes no longer?' Lady Éowyn didn't answer, but the truth came to Lothíriel instantly – Faramir.  It explained why he was so solicitous of Éowyn’s welfare.  Surely that meant her feelings were returned. But the lady looked so dejected that Lothíriel hesitated to say anything, fearful that she had made a mistake and Faramir was just been being kind to one who had brushed with death. However Lothíriel knew she would have the opportunity to gauge Faramir's mindset when they met at supper that evening. So instead she took a step forward. 'I cannot mend your heart, Lady Éowyn, but I can be a friend and help to ease the loneliness I sense in you, if you would allow me.'

Her companion seemed poised for flight, and Lothíriel thought she was going to reject her offer, not wanting to admit to any weakness, but then that wistful smile touched the proud face again. 'I don't know why I have already said so much; perhaps it is because you remind me of your cousin. He is so easy to talk to.'

‘And you miss his conversation now he is so busy.'

Lady Éowyn nodded reluctantly. 'The days pass slowly. Especially now Merry has gone to Cormallen.'

Something really upsetting must be holding her back from joining her brother. Did it concern Faramir? Or not wanting to meet the lover that had spurned her for another? Lothíriel thought Lady Éowyn must be a few years older than herself but her upbringing had always added maturity to her young years and she decided to take the lead. Probably it would only be for a short time until Rohan’s most noble lady regained her equanimity. But Lothíriel now understood Faramir's concern – the court would be a bewildering place for someone outspoken but delicate in mind.

'Shall we walk together in the gardens, Lady Éowyn? We can perhaps tell each other a little about our homelands.' Innocuous conversation would hopefully ease their restraint with each other until they felt comfortable to talk about important things.

They ambled along the walkway that hugged the wall. Geraniums and stonecrops tumbled over the path, white-tailed bees buzzed over the flower heads and small sparrows hunted for seeds amongst the foliage. The gardens were a calm and beautiful place, but inside the Houses those that had fought for Gondor’s deliverance now fought to recover their own lives. Farther on a number of men were sitting in a group in the sunshine, outside one of the wards. Mostly blond men, although there were some dark heads amongst them. One bearded warrior raised his hand which Éowyn acknowledged with a wave.

'I talk to them most days,' she said. 'But it is hard to know what to say. Perhaps I will take you with me sometime. That would be a treat for them – a real princess.'

Lothíriel laughed; by that time they had dropped their titles and conversed easily. Éowyn spoke Westron with no hint of a harsh accent, which she attributed to her mother's early teachings. Soon Lothíriel had heard about the loss of her parents and her love for her uncle, such love that Éowyn had not considered that her defiance of the Witch King's vehemence would lead to a living death, her only thought to protect her uncle's body from desecration.

'Have you ever lost someone close, Lothíriel?' Éowyn asked when they sat down to enjoy the view of the hills of Emyn Arnen. Their wooded slopes ran down to the far bank of the river and were bathed by the afternoon sun.

'My betrothed died on the Pelennor,' she answered, waiting for the inevitable show of sympathy. But Éowyn looked at her shrewdly. 'You do not look heartbroken to me.'

Plain spoken indeed. 'No,' she agreed, and was soon telling Éowyn of her relief and hope that she would be allowed to have her say on any further prospective matches.

'You seem capable of standing up for yourself,' Éowyn remarked. I don't see why you have to accept any other choice but your own.’

All very well, but Éowyn didn't know her father.

ooo

Lothíriel left when Éowyn went to take a rest before supper, promising to return in the morning. After the initial bad start she felt they had made considerable progress and hoped to be able to persuade Éowyn to walk in the city in the next few days. Strolling through the cool passages towards the main doors of the Houses Lothíriel mulled over what she might say to Faramir that evening and did not notice the Warden approaching until his voice startled her from her reverie.

'Lady Lothíriel.' He bowed his head slightly. 'I was told you were visiting the Lady Éowyn and hoped to catch you.'

'Yes, Master, I have spent the past couple of hours with her.  Lord Faramir thought she needed some company.'

He nodded, pausing as though to decide whether it was wise to speak of the matter on his mind and talking slowly when he at last opened his mouth. 'I thought so too. A while ago her full recovery looked certain, but these past days her spirit has waned and her face is pale again. I have already made an appointment to see Lord Faramir later today...for I feel he might know the cause of her malady as they spent much time together when he was here. But if you think it not necessary and perhaps it better for you to speak to him...'

'No...if you have noticed, Master, then I think you should keep your appointment. I will add my concerns when I see Lord Faramir tonight. It appeared to me that Lady Éowyn’s welfare is important to him.'

The warden held her eyes for a moment, understanding reached between them. 'Exactly, my lady.'

But Faramir, pleased that she had established some rapport with Éowyn, only nodded thoughtfully when Lothíriel told him she felt Éowyn’s recovery had stalled and she had relapsed into melancholy. He assured her that the Warden had spoken to him and he would try and find time to visit Éowyn. Not very satisfactory, but she had no further chance to talk to him as he fell into deep conversation with her mother, eliciting  from her a promise to oversee the preparations being made to house and cater for their new king and the other important people who would be staying in the Citadel.  Her mother accepted graciously, with a little smile of satisfaction playing around her mouth – always happy when she had something to organize.

Not expecting Faramir to have found time to talk to Éowyn before she arrived at the Houses in the middle of the next morning, Lothíriel hurried straight to the niche in the wall where she had arranged to meet her. But she came to an abrupt halt when she got halfway across the lawn. Two figures stood on the wall, outlined against the sky. Two figures locked in a passionate embrace. Faramir and Éowyn! She had been right, and her heart sang for them. So would many others, for they were in full view of those citizens who cared to look upward.

Not wanting to intrude, Lothíriel quietly slipped back inside, passing a few moments with the Warden who seemed as hopeful as she that Éowyn’s malady would finally leave her.  Hearing footsteps approaching, they turned to see Faramir and Éowyn, hand in hand. Already the anguish she had seen on Éowyn’s fair face the day before had been replaced by joy. Faramir smiled blissfully at them both and said to the warden.

'Here is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan, and now she is healed.'

Lothíriel’s heart jolted; like a lightning storm in summer, the power of their love seemed to cause the very air to crackle. Envious of their unashamed happiness determination rage through her – whatever trouble she unleashed, however hard she had to fight, she vowed she would only wed one of her choosing. They were entering a new age and some of the old traditions should surely be put behind them.

ooo

Éowyn wished to stay lodged in her room in the Healing Houses until her brother returned, although Lothíriel persuaded her to walk every day, and took pleasure in showing her the city. She introduced Éowyn to the noble ladies returning from their refuges, but the shield-maiden had no time for gossip and irrelevant chitchat.  Most excused her indifference and only a few snooty looks were flashed her way – a woman who had ridden to war and had slain a Nazgûl could not be expected to conform totally to the niceties of court life.  However Éowyn agreed to join Lothíriel’s family for the occasional meal and managed to make polite conversation about the preparations being made to welcome a king to Gondor in between telling them a little of her homeland. But most of all Éowyn loved hearing Lady Arneth recounting stories of Faramir’s childhood as he had often visited them at Dol Amroth.

Oh yes, Lothíriel knew Éowyn was going to marry Faramir. But apart from her mother no other officially knew, as Éowyn’s brother had to be consulted before anyone else was informed. Éowyn seemed surprisingly nervous about telling him, and it took a few days for her to explain why.

‘He will think me...unsteady...that I do not know my own mind.’

They were sitting under the tree in the courtyard of the Dol Amroth town house, drinking lemon cordial, something Éowyn had never tried before. Lemon was a sharp fruit only palatable when sweetened with honey, a bit like Éowyn, Lothíriel mused silently – except she had been sweetened by love.

‘Is this something to do with your lost lover?’ Lothíriel prompted as Éowyn had dried up, looking down into her lap.

Eventually she nodded. ‘Lord Aragorn fought with us against Saruman. I lost my heart to him, right from the beginning. But he was...merely kind to me, which only made my anguish worse. Éomer knows I rode to war to seek relief in death, and now I have to tell him I love another. He will not understand.’

‘I see.’ So the shield-maiden had lost her heart to Gondor’s new king, no wonder she had not wanted to go to Cormallen. And she supposed King Éomer would want to be sure she knew her own mind this time, be certain she was not clinging to Faramir out of pure misery. Lothíriel could certainly understand that if he cared for his sister, and she was sure he did from the clues she had gleaned from her conversation with the shield-maiden. ‘Excuse me, Éowyn, may I ask if you are now sure your passion for Lord Aragorn has passed, and you truly love Faramir?’ He was her favorite cousin after all and she did not want him to be hurt.

Éowyn’s eyes were unreadable and Lothíriel waited, wondering if she really knew the answer. But then Éowyn gave her wan smile. ‘I behaved like a fool, it was nothing but hero worship, I realize that now.  Aragorn’s so strong and brave and...noble... and  he helped save us. I waited on an old man, one becoming more withered and wasted with every day. And our people, once so proud and bold sank slowly into despair. I thought all hope lost and then Aragorn appeared like he had stepped out of one of my dreams, breathing new life into our struggle.   What I felt for him was only a stupid wish to lift myself from the mediocrity of my life and ride to glory as my brother had done. But I am not sure if Éomer will accept that.’

Lothíriel certainly did, it made perfect sense. But she wanted to shake Éowyn from her gloom so said, ‘It must be a womanly trait to fall for heroes. From what I have seen of my brothers, men’s first loves are usually of the disreputable kind. Amrothos fell for a woman who was not much more than a ...’ she hesitated but Éowyn supplied the word.

‘A whore.’

‘Yes.” She chuckled. “Although he couldn’t see it until Erchirion offered her money and she accepted. I agreed to marry Berenor because he was handsome and upstanding, and a bit of a scholar as well as being a reasonable swordsman. But I didn’t realize how much of a bore he was. I hope to make a wiser choice next time as I abhor the thought of a life of tedium and monotony.’

Éowyn laughed, the apprehension had gone from her eyes and they sparkled. ‘I’ll remind Éomer of his first love, I think she was a barmaid. But if that doesn’t work I’ll get you to plead my case.’

Sure that would not be necessary now she had heard Éowyn’s explanation, Lothíriel laughed back. Éowyn had convinced her that the love between her and Faramir was real and ardent, and if King Éomer truly wanted his sister’s happiness he could be nothing but pleased.

Éowyn opening her heart to her had encouraged their relationship to flourish. Like herself Éowyn had no sisters and had grown up living amongst men of war. Both of them had been a little short of female company of equal status to themselves, and maybe because of that they soon formed a friendship, one that Lothíriel hoped would be lifelong, as marriage to Faramir would make Éowyn her kin. She had not learnt to wield a sword as Éowyn had, her father drew the line at that, but Lothíriel was not ignorant of warfare and her brothers had made sure she could use both bow and knife. And she could ride, Dol Amroth being the one place in Gondor where horses were used to get quickly to any conflict, usually raids along the coast, as well as carrying their knights into battle.

They didn’t go riding though, the Pelennor still being a gruesome place best avoided until the clean-up had been finished and the trenches all filled in, but besides that Éowyn needed some riding dresses. She had arrived garbed as a man in breeches and hose. Lothíriel had spent considerable time in Minas Tirith over the years and was well aware of the conventions that abounded in the high circles of the city. In spite of her slightly irregular upbringing compared with most ladies of Gondor, she would not recommend bucking them. Éowyn accepted reluctantly that Faramir’s future wife could not be an instrument for gossip, and as she was so tall Lothíriel could not lend her anything, so they spent a great deal of time amongst patterns and pins.

Two dresses for riding, one in green the other in grey, with suede leggings to wear under the voluminous skirts. Éowyn’s own cloak would suffice for the journey home, but besides that Faramir had given her a beautiful dark blue mantle arrayed with silver stars that had belonged to Lothíriel’s aunt Finduilas. It looked stunning over the simple white dress Éowyn had been wearing and Lothíriel suggested they bespoke another couple of white dresses in richer materials suitable for her to wear to the celebrations. The seamstresses were only too eager to produce clothes for such a famous lady, working long hours to get everything ready.

So much to do. Lothíriel’s mother threw herself into turning the King’s House into a dwelling suitable for their long-lost sovereign. King Éomer too had to have quarters fit for their most revered and trusted ally, and Éowyn gasped at the size and richness of the chamber prepared for her. Beautiful carved child beds were found for the hobbits, and rooms with access to the gardens for the three elves. Her mother had no idea what a dwarf would require so made up one room near the hobbits and then one near the elves when Éowyn told her Master Gimli and Prince Legolas were rarely apart.  Mithrandir had a chamber with a dome in the roof through which one could see the stars.

All got done, thanks to the efforts of legions of willing servants as well as some of the returning ladies, keen to establish themselves in the new court.  Even Mildis found time to go through the storerooms picking out curtains and bedcovers that looked rich enough for royalty. Lothíriel helped all she could, discussing menus and recipes with her mother and the housekeeper for the royal guests. Wagon loads of food were arriving every day from the coastal lands, tons of grain, fish and meat needed to feed the returning armies. Everywhere clerks ticked lists and checked sacks before distributing the stores to the temporary mess-halls that had been set up in newly-opened buildings. But she and her mother also sent out for baskets of foraged greens and herbs from the lower slopes of the Ered Nimrais, seeking to lighten the diet and create some tasty meals for the lower ranks as well.  Lothíriel could only be thankful that all the Mûmak meat had been sent to Cormallen, she didn’t even want to contemplate how to make that palatable. But she had to laugh at Lord Húrin’s outraged face when he recounted an earlier meeting with Lord Elfhelm: his tentative suggestion that they feed the troops horsemeat since there were so many dead Rohirric warhorses had nearly got him disemboweled.

‘I still don’t understand his anger,’ Lord Húrin grumbled to her mother. ‘A dead horse is a dead horse, and there would have been less to bury.’

‘I am sure we will manage without upsetting the Rohirrim,’ her mother soothed him.

Then at last came the evening when they stood on the walls looking out over the Pelennor at the pavilions being erected outside the city. In her mother Lothíriel sensed excitement, but also great relief: how blessed they were that all their family had survived.

Lothíriel reached for her mother’s hand when they saw the banner bearing the Ship and Silver Swan flying over one of the big tents. ‘We will see them tomorrow. It seems so long since they all rode away.’

Her mother nodded, her eyes wet with unshed tears. ‘You know, my love, I never believed we would win. I pretended I did for all our sakes, but I thought I would never see your father and brothers again.’ She turned and smiled at Éowyn. ‘We owe you a debt that we cannot ever hope to repay; you, your brother and all your kinsmen. I cannot thank King Théoden, but I wish to thank King Éomer personally as well as Mithrandir, our new king and the hobbits, of course.’

Lothíriel had rarely seen her mother so emotional – always the perfectly controlled lady, she normally hid her feelings. Éowyn was having trouble hiding hers, excitement and pride mixed with anxiety of her brother’s reaction to her news. Lothíriel couldn’t believe there would be any problem once he got to know Faramir, no finer man existed.

ooo

 The First Day of May, and even before the sun rose above the Ephel Dúath the walls were lined with people and those of rank and importance clustered around the barrier that had been erected in place of the gates, waiting for their new king. The pageant and the words of the ceremony all but passed Lothíriel by, so intent was she in feasting her eyes on her father and brothers. She and her mother stood hand in hand, joy flowing between them like a fast-running tide.

Éowyn had taken a place the other side of her – standing tall and noble, her golden hair lifting in the breeze. Truly the ‘White Lady of Rohan’ as many had taken to calling her. She took in what was going on silently, her grey eyes darting between Faramir and her brother. Faramir was absorbed in his duties, but King Éomer smiled in her direction more than once. Quite handsome, Lothíriel noticed, his hair of darker gold than Éowyn’s, and he was very tall. Not slim, but muscled and broad-chested.  An imposing man.  However, apart from observing how effortlessly he kept his stallion calm and in line, she gave him no more thought, running to meet her family as soon as the official proceedings were over.

What a day! Surely the most wonderful of her life: how easy they fell into laughter. The months before that terrible hour when her father had led their troops out of the castle and to battle had been increasingly frightening; grey and grim days as the Shadow fell on them.  But their victory promised that every day would be full of light.

So much to celebrate, but once the initial euphoria was over her mother had duties;

Having organized so much, the housekeeping and hospitality for so many could not be left entirely to others. Éowyn would be sleeping in the King’s House for the first time that night, so after checking the kitchens were functioning properly, Lothíriel offered to go and make sure she was happy and had everything she required.

The usually quiet passages were full of servants, so many needed to look after the exalted guests. They moved silently along the corridors, well trained anyway; her mother would have made sure only the best served the royal apartments.

Surprising then, that Lothíriel heard raised voices as she turned onto the passageway that led to Éowyn’s room – a man and a woman were having a fierce argument.  After a moment she recognized the guttural tones of the language of the Rohirrim, but could understand little of what they were saying. It had to be Éowyn and her brother.  Anger welled up inside her when she distinguished Faramir’s name amongst the irate words.  Éowyn had been right: her brother was obviously questioning his sister’s judgment. How dare he! After all she had suffered!  And surely Éowyn must know her own mind. But Lothíriel could do nothing and reluctantly started to make her retreat, vowing to kick him on the shins if she got the chance. A pity she could not dance, that would have afforded all sorts of opportunities.

Before she took two steps away the shouting stopped and she heard the door being flung open.

‘You, girl! Fetch some wine!’

The arrogant command had her gritting her teeth to stop the cutting retort on her lips. Mastering the urge to really be rude, she turned slowly.  ‘I am not a servant, my lord. But if I were I would expect to be treated with courtesy and respect. I will ask someone to bring you wine, and hope that you will be grateful enough to thank them politely when they do so. Good afternoon, my lord.’ Lothíriel gave him a quick nod, allowing no time for him to reply, before she spun round and marched back down the corridor. He was worse than his sister for bad-mannered behavior.

ooo

So hot, and so full, Merethrond needed expandable walls. But stone didn’t stretch and the result of so many people crammed into the hall was that there was hardly room to sit, let alone dance. Already Lothíriel felt sticky in the layers of silk, and wished they could have celebrated outside. Mildis, unfazed by the crowds, was determined to carry on with the task of finding her a husband, and pulled her into a small alcove near the dais while they waited for the king to arrive.

‘What about that one?’ Mildis motioned towards a tall, rather lanky man, who was talking to Amrothos. ‘He’s the new Lord of Lebennin, not too far from home, and Elphir said he’s become real friends with Amrothos. Your father would be bound to approve of him.’

Lothíriel was not sure being friends with that particular brother was a recommendation, his friends usually drank too much and indulged in practical jokes, but besides that, he was too thin. ‘I think I’d prefer a bit more meat. There would be nothing to hug.’

Mildis stifled a giggle and surreptitiously pointed to another young man with thick black hair and an untidy beard. ‘Angbor’s heir,’ she whispered, ‘but I don’t think you’d fancy him.’

Mildis was right: she didn’t.  Just for fun Lothíriel nudged her as a vacant looking man glided past, dressed in plush red velvet. His face was clean shaven and one had to say rather beautiful, in a soft sort of way. Mildis looked at her surprised. ‘Don’t tell me you’re interested. True, he’s rich, but he’s reputed to have sawdust between his ears.’

‘But lovely looking, don’t you think.  And he would be unlikely to cause me any trouble if he’s not very bright.’

‘I...’ her eyes widened, ‘Oh, Lothíriel, you are funning me.’

Lothíriel laughed with her, it was so good to be able to give way to mirth and enjoy being alive. But suddenly they heard the commanding rap of a rod being banged on the floor – the king and his entourage were ascending the dais. 

After catching her father’s eye and smiling proudly at him, Lothíriel studied the mixture of people on the raised platform. King Elessar certainly looked regal enough now: his fine clothing would satisfy even Mildis. Four Hobbits, looking like children dressed up to meet with a fusty relative, a wizard garbed all in white, an elf in silver, two in grey and a dwarf with a beard that reached his waist, made it the most unusual gathering most of them had ever seen. Her eyes slid deliberately past King Éomer, but Mildis grabbed her arm.

‘Now I would hate to think of you disappearing to Rohan, Lothíriel, but he is something to look at. And even if he’s a bit rough around the edges, he comes with a crown.  The unattached ladies will be hovering around him like flies.’

A cursory glance was all he got from her. ‘In my experience one tends to find that flies buzz around the most unsavory things.’

‘Lothíriel, that’s most unlike you,’ Mildis exclaimed.   She searched Lothíriel’s face, accurately reading her frown of contempt. ‘Has he upset you? I didn’t know you’d even met him.’

Lothíriel shrugged. ‘Not properly, but I believe that is going to change.’ Her father was beckoning her from the dais; it seemed unlikely she would get away with just meeting her own king. She smoothed down her dress and tried to pretend she was not as hot as she must look. And she did want to meet them all, at least all of them but one. No chance though, because after she had enjoyed a few interesting words with King Elessar, he grabbed King Éomer’s arm. ‘You haven’t met Imrahil’s daughter have you, Éomer. Lady Lothíriel, I understand you have become friends with Éowyn, let me introduce her brother.’

Dark eyes flickered recognition, but he bowed over her hand as if he had never seen her before. ‘I have heard much about you from your father and brothers, Lady Lothíriel. Let me thank you for befriending my sister, she says you have offered her good counsel.’

‘I imagine Éowyn is well capable of making up her own mind about anything that concerns her, my lord.’ Let him think on that!

‘Indeed.’  She thought he was going to contradict her, but instead he gave her a charming smile.  ‘Allow me to pass you some wine, my lady. It is exceedingly good.’ King Éomer took a goblet from a passing server, thanking the man profusely as he did so, and challenging her with a quirk of his brows to make comment.

It crossed her mind that Rohan’s king would make a good sparring partner, had she been so inclined to enter the bout. And she had no doubt he could turn on the charm when needed, but the ladies of Minas Tirith could fight over him for all she cared. He would be leaving in not much more than a week and hopefully she need never set eyes on him again.

To be continued.

Chapter 3

 ‘You would like me to come to Rohan with you?’ Visit Rohan – Lothíriel had never given it a thought, quite liking the prospect of enjoying Dol Amroth in the new peace with no war to worry about and with all her family around her. ‘Why, Éowyn? I don’t understand.’

But Éowyn just shook her head and took hold of her arm. ‘I need your help, Lothíriel.’ The grip on her arm tightened as Éowyn encouraged her to follow. ‘Look, let’s sit down by the wall and I’ll try and explain.’

They had just walked up from the City, having ordered some soaps and oils that Éowyn had become fond of and couldn’t easily get in Rohan. Lothíriel really wanted a drink, but sensing Éowyn’s unease agreed to do as she wished.

They made their way to one of the stone seats that overlooked the Pelennor. Far below Lothíriel could see a horse and plough, a farmer tilling a field where not long ago great war-machines had laid waste to the planted crops. Soon the scars of battle would be gone and only memories remain; some good, but most bad. She sighed: too many fine people lost, too many lives destroyed to celebrate without thought.

Éowyn’s hand landed on her arm again, making her jump: deep in her reverie she hadn’t realized Éowyn had started speaking. ‘It’s supposed to be kept quiet, but Aragorn had to tell Éomer as Elladan and Elrohir are coming to stay with us for a while. So of course, I had to know.’

‘Know what?’ Éowyn was not making any sense, or she hadn’t been listening.

‘It’s Arwen, daughter of Elrond of Rivendell, their sister. She’s the one Aragorn is in love with.’

‘An elf?’ Lothíriel exclaimed, fully attentive now.

Éowyn nodded, her face expressionless, but then she’d had time to get used to the startling revelation. ‘I don’t know the full story, but from what I understand Arwen’s father would only let Aragorn marry her if he won Gondor’s crown. Something to do with Arwen losing her immortality. Anyway, it seems her brothers will be going to meet her when Master Elrond’s party travel through Rohan, but will be lodging with us until then. Arwen and her father, and goodness knows how many other elves, will be staying in Meduseld on their way here for the wedding.’

‘I see.’  So their new queen would be an elf. That would raise a few eyebrows. But Lothíriel still didn’t get why Éowyn wanted her to go home with her.  Or how a message had got through so quickly, but then she remembered the eagles. Still, how would they know the exact time to meet up? ‘How...’

But Éowyn didn’t give her chance to ask, carrying on listing the things bothering her. ‘And Éomer is planning to come back in the summer to collect Théoden’s body. Evidently Aragorn is offering for Théoden to be interred here, but of course he belongs in Rohan. From what I can gather if Éomer decides to take him back to Edoras –which he will – half the court, including Aragorn, is likely to accompany the cortege. Faramir will certainly come and your father has indicated he will as well.’ Éowyn smiled, her voice brightening. ‘You will be able to go back to Dol Amroth with him after it’s all over.’

‘But you haven’t explained why you want me to come in the first place,’ Lothíriel pointed out. Why was Éowyn so upset? Surely she really had put her infatuation with Aragon behind her, or did she just think she would be lonely back in Rohan without her uncle and cousin?

Éowyn sat still for a moment staring out towards the mountains, and then let out a long sigh. ‘I have told you a little of what it was like before Gandalf healed Théoden. Well, during that time I can only say that Meduseld mouldered from lack of care and love. Our old housekeeper fell ill and even if I had wished, I had no time to do anything other than tend Théoden, who withered before my eyes. The only way any of us could rebel against Gríma was to be uncooperative, and our cook went home to her widowed daughter after he kept telling her what to feed everyone. The servants did as little as possible just to annoy him, meals were reduced to whatever was easy to produce and hospitality was non-existent. It would be easier for me if Osythe were still there; I might have persuaded her to act as my housekeeper.

'Osythe?’ Lothíriel asked trying to keep up with Éowyn’s tirade.

‘Hama’s wife. He sent her and their youngest daughter back to his family in Upbourn, afraid Gríma would find a way to get to him through them. Hama lost his life at Helm’s Deep but for many years was my uncle’s Doorward,’ Éowyn explained when she saw Lothíriel’s blank look. ‘He was so loyal to Théoden King that he and Gríma clashed many times.  However with Osythe gone there was no one to help me, but Gríma discouraged visitors and wouldn’t normally let them past the door so that didn’t matter much.’ She gave a small expressive shrug. ‘Now that has to change and I am afraid homemaking does not come easy to me, Lothíriel, but I need to learn – fast. I must make Meduseld a fit place for all the guests we are going to have, make it beautiful again. A hall to be proud of, for Éomer’s sake. But I need help… and I have no idea what to feed everyone.’

Although relieved it was nothing more than a housekeeping problem, Lothíriel hesitated, not feeling inclined to do anything for King Éomer’s sake. She would have instantly refused had Éowyn not already told her that he and Faramir had reached an understanding on her marriage and were on their way to becoming good friends. But she still hadn’t answered before Éowyn spoke again.

‘I know you have been trained to run a household from birth and the wonderful meals we’ve enjoyed are mostly down to you and your mother’s organization. I am not expecting you to cook or clean yourself, of course, we have plenty of servants. But they are not trained as well as those here.  You have an easy but commanding way, Lothíriel. Please come, it would relieve my worries to have you with me.’

The idea held no appeal, until she considered that with luck she would have more freedom than was generally allowed her. Conversations with Éowyn had led her to believe that women in Rohan were not as strictly protected and controlled as they were in Gondor. And it would be an adventure; never had she thought she might journey that far from home, travel to the far side of the Ered Nimrais and perhaps catch sight of the legendary Misty Mountains that dipped into Rohan’s northern border. But there were bound to be problems.

‘Do you not think it will cause trouble if a stranger starts ordering servants around and saying how things should be done?’

‘No,’ Éowyn said straight away. ‘If you were a stuck-up Gondorian noblewomen, it might. But you’re quite normal, within the bounds of your upbringing. People will soon realize that; the Rohirrim take people as they find them.’

A compliment of sorts. ‘What about your brother?’ Their dealings so far hadn’t been very amiable. So much for never setting eyes on him again!

‘Éomer?’ Éowyn frowned. ‘He won’t care. He’ll be so busy putting the whole of the Westfold to rights, he’ll just be grateful if someone sorts out Meduseld. I doubt you will see much of him.’

That suited her. ‘I’ll have to ask my parents and I have no idea what they will say.’ Would they want to send one of her brothers with her? Lothíriel hoped not, already the idea of a little independence had started to sound appealing.

ooo

Lothíriel found her mother and father sitting companionably under the tree in the courtyard. After her mother had poured out some juice, Lothíriel relayed her conversation with Éowyn. They both considered the matter carefully for a moment, as was their way, her mother offering her opinion first.

‘The Rohirrim will travel at a fair speed, Lothíriel.  That would mean you would have to go without a maid as none would take on a journey of such a length. That raises the possibility of all sorts of difficulties; you are not used to managing without one.’ Trust her mother to think of the conventions first, but then Lothíriel realized she was looking thoughtful with a soft smile lurking on her lips. Her father had not said anything and she waited for his reaction. He was still a handsome man with the dark looks and fine-boned features of their race, a consummate warrior, but also a deep thinker and the person whose opinion she valued above all others.

‘I have heard from Éomer about the unpleasant time Éowyn had during Théoden’s... sickness,’ her father said slowly, still obviously considering.  ‘He and Théodred could do little to help her, taken up as they were by defending their borders. I feel, Lothíriel, that if you are able to do anything to assist our new friends put their country back in order, you must do so. So I give you permission to go. I have no fears about your safety whilst you are under Éomer’s protection, the matter of maids I will leave to your mother, it seems of little importance to me.’ He shrugged. ‘Éowyn rode the distance here without any attendant; what’s more she was disguised as a man. I hope you won’t do that, but am sure you are not so helpless that you can’t dress yourself adequately.’

‘I think the war has changed you, Imrahil,’ her mother said with the smile still on her face. ‘At one time you would have been horrified that Lothíriel might appear in public other than perfectly groomed.’

He nodded, slipping his arm around her. ‘You are right, my love. Things like that do not seem so important now.’

‘Well, Lothíriel.’ Her mother’s smile had definitely widened. ‘Your father has no objections and I am sure you will benefit from the experience. It will also pass the time of your mourning. You are restricted with what you can do here; going to Rohan will keep you occupied until you can take your proper place at court again.’ She turned to her husband thoughtfully. ‘You know, Imrahil, if you do go to Rohan I think I shall come with you, I would enjoy seeing a different land. Elphir and Mildis intend to go home, which releases me.’

Visibly pleased, her husband gave her a squeeze. ‘That will be delightful, my love, as long as the journey will not be too much for you.’

She smiled up at him with an indulgent twinkle in her eye. ‘I am sure I can keep up with a cortege. And I won't have to ride all the time, as we will be bound to take some carriages for the servants and luggage.’

They wouldn’t be traveling light then!

ooo

Lothíriel left her parents still making plans, and started the walk back up to the Citadel to give Éowyn the news that she had permission to accompany her. She used the time to mentally go through the things she needed to take, as they would be leaving in a few days. Luckily she had brought a couple of riding dresses with her, and of course some of the gowns she had worn for the celebrations would be suitable. But she would be there for the whole summer and most of her lighter weight stuff was at home in Dol Amroth. The few simple linen dresses she kept in the house here would have to do. Besides, there had to be dressmakers in Edoras and she couldn’t take much on horseback anyway. That was when Lothíriel remembered she had forgotten to ask her father for the loan of a horse. She would have to speak to him again later.

Thoughts about how she would cope on the journey kept her occupied as she made her way through the marble passages. Lothíriel passed a laundry maid with a full basket which reminded her that she could hardly wash undergarments, so needed to pack enough for the week or more she estimated the journey would take them. So absorbed was she in the trivial problems of travelling with an army of men, that she hardly paused at Éowyn’s door, walking in after a quick knock. Bad thing to have done – she came face to face with King Éomer and from his thunderous look it seemed someone had upset him badly.

‘Oh, I am sorry, lord, I didn’t realize Éowyn wasn’t alone.’ Lothíriel started to back out the door.

‘No, Lothíriel, don’t go.’ Éowyn shot a resentful look at her brother. ‘We were just talking about you. Éomer is under a misapprehension, but I am sure you can put him right.’

‘Really?’ she looked between them; the air hung heavy with suppressed anger.

King Éomer let out a sharp exhale of breath. ‘Éowyn...’

Too late! Éowyn grinned wickedly.  ‘Éomer thinks that you are only coming home with us because you wish to be Queen of Rohan.’

‘What!’ Lothíriel glared at him. ‘I think you are under an illusion, my lord...I’

‘Lady Lothíriel.’ He put up his hand to stay her outburst, and flashed Éowyn a long suffering look. ‘My sister has embellished my words. I merely pointed out to her that I have no intention of ever marrying a gently bred Gondorian Lady. I assure you that I did not mention you in particular.’

No, but he must have been thinking about her, the arrogant pig! But his interruption had given her the chance to calm down. Lothíriel gave him her sweetest smile, one reserved to deal with the bumptious. ‘I totally agree with you, my lord. I imagine a gently bred Gondorian would not wish to live in Rohan, far too harsh a climate, I understand.’ Her hand went to her cheek protectively. ‘The wind would play havoc with one’s complexion when exposed to it for year upon year. Much better to take a little sea air occasionally, or perhaps sit in the shade whilst dabbling one’s fingers under a trickling fountain.’ Out of his sight Éowyn had her mouth open; she stuffed her hand in it to stifle her giggle. Long training ensured that Lothíriel kept a straight face. ‘But Éowyn has asked for my help, so I'm sure I can survive for one summer without too much harm being done.’ She turned to Éowyn, feigning doubt. ‘I won’t have to go outside too much, will I? ’

He looked as if he had swallowed a toad, but Éowyn squeaked. ‘Oh, does that mean you have permission to come, Lothíriel? I'm so pleased, we can start planning...’

‘Éowyn!’ King Éomer stopped her curtly. ‘My concern, if you remember, was how Lady Lothíriel would handle the journey. I am worried it will be too...’ he looked at her as if she had just crawled from under a stone, ‘...exhausting for her, and I am not sure we have a suitable mount. We have no palfreys, and warhorses do not make easy riding horses for ladies. We will not be galloping with all the wounded we are taking, but still...’

‘Oh, don’t worry about me, my lord,’ Lothíriel interrupted quickly before Éowyn could say anything.  ‘I shall make sure I am well protected from the weather and my father will find me a fitting mount.’ She tapped her lips in thought and then broke into a smile. ‘We have a placid old mare in the stables that has a bit of life left in her. I promise you will not be slowed down too much, as long as I get my rest, of course.’

His brows drew together as he scrutinized her. Kick him on the shins! She would have enjoyed doing more than that. Never before had she wanted to do harm to anyone, but he riled her beyond measure. ‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘Éowyn says she has need of you, so we will have to make sure you are comfortable. I give my permission for you to come.’

Lothíriel inclined her head, and simpered. ‘You are so gracious, my lord.’

Deep brown eyes fixed on her for a moment, and she thought he was going to make some comment back, but he merely nodded. ‘I have a meeting to attend; I will see you later, Éowyn.’ The door opened and closed with a rush of air and she and Éowyn were alone.

'I am so sorry, Lothíriel.’ The words belied her – Éowyn clutched at her stomach, hurting from trying to stop her laughter.

'You don’t look it,’ Lothíriel grumbled. ‘I don’t know how you put up with him.’

‘Poor Éomer, it’s not his fault.  He’s being unusually mulish. But we met a kinswoman today, one of Queen Morwen’s granddaughters, and she seemed to be no more than a frivolous pleasure seeker. And besides that he has been harried by beautiful ladies every time he steps foot outside his quarters. Unlike those at home they do not say what they mean and he doesn’t know how to deal with them.  So when I told him I had invited you...’

‘Well, if he wants to get rid of them he only has to continue the way he is, I can’t imagine many will put up with such rudeness.’

‘Oh he’s...’ Éowyn stopped as a thought struck her. ‘Well, that’s the funny part; he’s quite charming to them for the time it takes him to get out of their way. Its only you he’s rude to. You seem to spark each other off.’

Probably because no one else had pulled him up on his manners. But Lothíriel shrugged. ‘We must do our planning later, first I need to go and see about a horse.’

‘Ah,’ Éowyn giggled, ‘then I guess you’re not going to ride a placid old mare.’

No, she wasn’t. Lothíriel knew the horse she wanted; she just had to persuade her brother.

ooo

Luckily Erchirion was at home. Lothíriel found him sharing a jug of ale with Amrothos on the stone balcony that looked out over the Pelennor towards the Harlond.  All her brothers were very much alike in looks, if not in temperament, and much like her father: high cheekbones, dark complexions, long hair – her brothers’ black, her father’s touched with silver. These two of her siblings were lazing in chairs with their feet up on the balustrade, and looking as if they had been there a while. But they deserved some leisure after all the horrors of the war; both had fought valiantly to defend their land and people.  It might have been better if Amrothos hadn’t been there, but if she tried to get rid of him he would see through her immediately.

‘We haven’t seen much of you lately, little sister.’ Lothíriel took the mug that Erchirion offered her. All this rushing around in the unusually hot weather had made her thirsty. The ale was strong, and she sipped it cautiously. ‘I have been with Éowyn; she wants me to go Rohan with her.’

Two pairs of black eyebrows lifted and enquiring eyes fixed on her. Lothíriel explained quickly why Éowyn thought she needed her company.

‘So our little bird will get to stretch her wings,’ Amrothos mused. ‘A whole summer away from parental control. Perhaps I will come with you.’ That was the last thing she wanted, and her face must have shown it, because he grinned mischievously.

‘Don’t be so provoking,’ Erchirion chided him. ‘I am sure we can rely on our sister to conduct herself appropriately. But travelling with an army, the Rohirrim to boot, will be something entirely outside your experience, Lothíriel.’

‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I left Starburst at home and I need to borrow a horse.’

‘Starburst wouldn’t have coped anyway,’ Amrothos said immediately. ‘You can have one of my remounts if you wish.’

‘Thank you, Amrothos.’ A rush of affection shot warmth through her; he could be a total pain sometimes but she knew he loved her. Lothíriel reached across and squeezed his arm. ‘It’s kind of you, but I am hoping Erchirion will lend me Storm.’

‘Lothíriel...!’ Erchirion choked on a mouthful of ale. ‘Why would I do that?’

‘Well,’ she said, chin raised in challenge, ‘I did help you choose him and break him in.’

‘Very true,’ Amrothos added his pennyworth, ‘You could say he’s half our sister’s.’

‘I could not,’ Erchirion retorted, glaring at his younger brother. ‘If you think that then she owns half of Swordsman, why don’t you offer him.’

Lothíriel broke in before the indignant look on Amrothos’ face translated into words. ‘Erchirion, please, it’s not as if I am asking to borrow Warrior.’

‘Now look here, Lothíriel,’ Erchirion took on a hunted look. ‘There’s no way I would lend you Warrior: a battle-hardened stallion is not suitable for a lady, even you.’

‘I agree, but Storm isn’t a stallion and he only went to the Black Gates as your remount, you have not ridden him into battle.’

Erchirion sighed loudly, obviously fearful of losing the argument. ‘If you want a horse with fire in its belly why can’t you ask Éomer? He’s got plenty, and you are doing him a favour.’

Her nostrils flared as Lothíriel breathed out her anger. ‘King Éomer cannot help, he hasn’t a palfrey quiet enough for me to ride.’

‘What!’ It was Amrothos’ turn to choke on his ale. Her brothers looked askance at each other and then they both broke into laughter.

‘Now I know why you want Storm,’ Erchirion said through his chuckles. ‘Poor Éomer, he doesn’t know what he’s taken on.’

Lothíriel didn’t feel a bit sorry for the bumptious pig; he was well capable of looking after himself. ‘Your ‘poor Éomer’is an arrogant...’ she stopped, catching the amused looks. ‘Anyway, he has a very poor opinion of Gondorian womanhood. And he needs to learn we are not all useless ornaments.’

'Oh, you have to give him to her, Erchirion, it will be so amusing.’ Amrothos winked at her. ‘I can’t wait to see Éomer’s face... a palfrey...why, it’s an insult to Dol Amroth.’ Erchirion wavered, but Amrothos jumped in again. ‘Come on, Erchirion, family honour is at stake here. We don’t want those Horse-lords thinking we can’t teach a girl to ride properly.’

‘If you remember it was me who taught her,’ Erchirion groused. ‘You sat on the paddock rails and jeered most of the time.’

Amrothos grinned at her. ‘I was a mere boy then.’

‘Surely you wouldn’t want to admit to teaching me to ride, Erchirion, but be afraid to let me borrow your horse.’

‘My best riding horse!’ But his lips quirked, knowing he had been beaten. ‘Oh, very well, how can I resist? But if any harm comes to him...’

Lothíriel got up and flung her arms around him. ‘Thank you, brother dear. You know he will be safe with me, and will be well looked after.’

‘I just hope you are safe with him! Goodness knows what our father will say.’

Lothíriel shrugged, her father had never doubted her riding abilities, and Storm might be feisty and fast, but they had always got on well.

ooo

Over the next few days the city hummed with activity as the Rohirrim prepared to leave. Wagons packed with goods lined the streets, much of the food in the sacks would be loaded onto packhorses for the journey, the rest –donated by Gondor, and collected mostly from the Southern Fiefs – would follow behind, emergency provisions for a country and people devastated by war. After speaking to her father Lothíriel managed to pinch some space on one of theirs, loading it with not only spare clothes so she could travel relatively lightly, but a few luxuries she thought they could enjoy once they got to Edoras. The carter found room for a crate of lemons and some oranges, picked fresh just before fully ripened they would last many weeks. She also put in a large bag of dried fruit and persuaded the obliging carter to stuff some stone jars containing bottled peaches amongst the grain he carried. The vinegar casks he tied behind him, but the sacks of bran for cleaning the tapestries were tucked under thick canvas with the grain to keep it dry.  If Éowyn wanted Meduseld to gleam, they would need both.

The Eighth day of May, and Lothíriel was up before dawn for the biggest adventure of her relatively short life. She’d gone for a ride on Storm the day before, just to make sure she knew all his little idiosyncrasies. But these were mostly concerned with going as fast as he could when his rider would allow him, and if well controlled he had no real vices. She did have a moment’s doubt when she realized the opportunity for a good gallop might not come often enough, but surely the long journey would shake the fidgets out of him.

Lothíriel rode down to the Pelennor with Erchirion one side and Amrothos the other. Erchirion kept up a stream of advice about how to make sure Storm behaved himself, and gave careful instructions on how his piece of equine magnificence liked to be rubbed down at the end of each day.

‘Éomer will provide you with a groom, so all should be well,’ Erchirion said, ‘But make certain you check Storm’s eating well.’

Lothíriel nodded, but vowed to deal with the horse’s needs herself, no way would she ask King Éomer for anything. She pulled on Storm’s long black mane affectionately as they neared the gate, such a beautiful animal, his grey shaded coat glistened in the early sun, and muscles rippled under his taught skin. Storm tossed his proud head and let out a loud whinny as they came out onto the plain and he saw the warhorses lined up in ranks. An incredible sight, and suddenly she wished she’d been here to witness the Rohirrim storming onto the Pelennor. Excitement coursed through horse and rider; Storm didn’t seem daunted by the proximity of the finest of his kin, but Lothíriel realized belatedly that her enthusiasm was tinged with a little apprehension of how she would get on amongst all these expert horsemen.

Welcomes rang out from those near them and her brothers stopped to talk to some of the Rohirrim they had become friendly with. But she wanted the company of another woman so headed towards the front of the column where she could see Éowyn, Faramir, her father and King Elessar, fully aware of the hundreds of eyes on her, or maybe her horse. Hopefully she soon wouldn’t feel quite so out of place. However her attention was taken by seeing the hordes of people lining the road, as far as she could see. It looked as if the crowd went all the way to the North Gate, so many must be eager to wish the Rohirrim well and thank them for the huge contribution they had made, giving victory when hope had been lost. So engrossed was she in watching all that was going on that she didn’t realize a rider had come close to her.

‘Lady Lothíriel! What do you think you are doing?’

Lothíriel jumped, Storm skittered sideways at the sudden appearance of King Éomer’s stallion by his side, but thankfully she settled him easily: he was used to capricious warhorses and probably their loud-mouthed riders. ‘I am going to join Éowyn, lord.’

His gaze darkened; a thunder cloud ready to burst. ‘That’s Erchirion’s horse!’

Lothíriel kept her tone light. ‘Yes, its Storm, my brother was kind enough to lend him to me for the summer.’

King Éomer stared hard at her for a moment and then barked out. ‘Is he mad?’

‘Erchirion? No, I don’t think so. Now if you had asked that about Amrothos...’

‘Problem, Éomer?’ Her father smiled at her. ‘Lothíriel’s not late, is she?’ Her father could calm a tempest, she wondered if he could work his magic on this angry Horse-lord.

With a glare at her, the King of Rohan switched his attention to her father. ‘Imrahil, I do not think it sensible for your daughter to ride that horse all the way to Edoras!’

King Éomer looked as if he were about to explode, but her father smiled benignly and cast his eyes thoughtfully over both her and Storm. ‘I don’t think you need to worry, Éomer. I am sure Storm is well up for the journey, he’s been rested since the march to the Black Gate, and will be perfectly able to keep up with you.’

Oh dear, her father had not even tried. In fact he had deliberately stepped on the lion’s tail, and King Éomer’s eyes hardened dangerously. Lothíriel suspected a few of the enemy would have run without raising their weapons had they encountered that look on the battlefield. She squared her shoulders and sat straight in the saddle. After a moment he controlled his temper and nodded to her father.

‘Very well, I hope she knows how to look after him.’ He yanked his stallion round and headed off down the line.

Lothíriel looked at her father questioningly, but at that moment her brothers rode up with big grins on their faces.  They must have passed King Éomer and witnessed his fury. Saying nothing, her father winked at her.  Now what game was he playing?

To be continued

Chapter 4

What a host! Never before had Lothíriel ridden with so many. The noise was incredible; the rumble of thousands of horses echoed all around, tumbling down the cloud-capped towers of Mt. Mindolluin like rolls of thunder.

Éowyn told her that the whole army was divided into éoreds who were to eat and sleep as one, although many traditional companies were clumped together so decimated were they after the battles. The badly injured had been left behind until King Éomer returned for Théoden's body, but those fit enough to ride travelled with them and were looked after by their comrades, each commander responsible for ensuring his éored kept together and rode at the pace of the slowest. She and Éowyn travelled in the vanguard with the King's Guard and an éored commanded by Lord Elfhelm, who also had overall charge of those from the Eastmark. Luckily all of her immediate companions spoke Westron, but behind she could hear the guttural tones of Rohirric, and overshadowed as it was by the snorting of horses and striking of hooves on the stones, she could make out nothing.

For the first few leagues Lothíriel shunned conversation and concentrated on keeping her place, slightly fearful of making a fool of herself in the highly organised procession of men and horses. But by the time they neared the Drúadan forest she had relaxed, at least until the distant beat of drums disturbed her. Éowyn had moved a little away, too far to ask, but looking around and trying to pick up on any unease she saw King Éomer glance toward the forest before obviously discussing something with Lord Elfhelm. They didn't appear bothered, and nobody else took much notice so she put the menace of the drums from her mind, happy to get away from the restricting stone walls and out into the fresh air. But soon she found herself the only woman amongst a large group of men, Éowyn having gone ahead to talk to Lord Elfhelm.

It soon became obvious that she was an object of curiosity to these fierce warriors, not only for the reason of being Prince Imrahil's daughter, but because many recognised her brother's horse. The men around her commented on Storm's fine points, wanted to know if Erchirion had bred him, and speculated on how fast he might be if given his head. Lothíriel diplomatically said that he was probably the fastest horse in Dol Amroth, but of course was sure that there were many faster horses in Rohan. That sparked an argument between them on the speeds of various horses and an enquiry to her on her thoughts on seeing Shadowfax – wonderful, indescribable, and she looked forward to meeting some of his kin in Rohan. They genuinely took an interest in a Gondorian Princess who could ride well enough so as to not disgrace herself in their company, kept asking if she was comfortable and generally showed they were happy to look after her. Seeing that Storm was keeping her busy as he tried to outpace the horses in front she received sensible advice from a couple of King Éomer's Guard– given with no hint of condescension – about keeping him up together but not on too tight a rein so as not to agitate him. However much he might wish to stretch his legs, he would soon settle and his instinct would be to stay with the herd, they told her. Stuff she knew, and was trying to do, but she was happy to show she respected their advice, there might come a time when she really did need it. King Éomer, riding a few lines in front with Lord Éothain, totally ignored her. This was probably a good thing, she admitted ruefully to herself, as she was likely to do just the opposite of anything he suggested.

At the breaks her companions advised her not to dismount unless she had too, but to let Storm crop grass on a long, loose rein and ease herself in the saddle. Much better, they said, as one would be less likely to stiffen up. Fine for them –they moved with an easy grace on their steeds as if they were reclining in a cosy chair. The truth was she was tired and generally a bit sore, not that it would do to let on to these gifted horsemen. Well, she probably would have had a tall man with tawny hair and a handsome face not been close by. At noon, as she munched on an apple, she felt the King of Rohan's eyes on her, but he never said anything, and went off to check on some of the wounded. Not all bad, she acknowledged grudgingly, his men showed him total respect and his concern for his injured Riders was obviously genuine.

On the move again, they cantered and walked in turn, covering an incredible amount of ground. By late afternoon even Storm had no wish to do other than follow the horse in front. Thankfully, as they came to a place where a stream had cut a deep valley down the mountainside, King Éomer raised his hand. They had reached their first night's camp.

Lothíriel didn't get down straight away, allowing herself time to take her feet from the stirrups and stretch her legs out, not wanting to do anything stupid like stumbling once she hit the ground. She just considered it safe to dismount when she became aware of the horses around her parting. Coming through the gap was the King of Rohan, still on his stallion and looking like he had just been out for a morning trot about.

'Lady Lothíriel, this is Bealdric.' King Éomer indicated a young man riding a grey gelding behind him. 'He will be looking after your horse on the journey.'

'There is no need, Lord, I am quite capable...'

His stallion chomped on the bit and he checked him absentmindedly, eyes still on her. 'It's not a matter for discussion, my lady, it's an order.'

The patronizing...! Lothíriel clamped her lips together; no way could she or would she have an argument in front of his men. And she knew she should be thankful to be given a groom, considering how weary she felt, but his overbearing way incensed her. Her mouth smiled; her eyes flashed fury. 'Thank you, my lord.' She nodded to Bealdric and slid down from Storm's back, immediately starting to unfasten her saddle bags. Damn, the strap had tightened.

'Leave them. They will be brought to you. Your tent is already being erected. Come, I will show you.' King Éomer sprang down from his saddle, handing the reins to a lad who had jumped down from his own horse. Bealdric had also dismounted. He was tall with a promising beard, around eighteen, she guessed. Her new groom gave her a shy smile, took Storm's reins, and spoke softly into the horse's ear.

'He likes to be rubbed down with a leather rather than anything else,' she told him. 'There are some in the saddle pocket.'

'I'll do that, my lady.' Bealdric walked away, a horse on each side of him. She felt lost without Storm to cling to, but saw Éowyn supervising the placing of a tent which she assumed was theirs. Ignoring King Éomer, which was difficult considering the size of him and the fact he stood right next to her, she took a step towards it, but was stopped by a hand on her arm.

'I don't know whether to apologize for underestimating you, my lady, or berate you for making me look a fool.'

Apologize? Now that was unexpected, but she couldn't resist a dig. 'Perhaps you made yourself look a fool, my lord.'

He dropped her arm as if it had somehow bit him; his eyes bored into her. 'You certainly don't run from a fight, do you?'

Lothíriel's shoulders went back. He would not intimidate her! 'I may not be able to wield a sword, but I come from a long line of warriors. As far as I know none have ever turned tail.'

He stared hard for a moment, but just when she thought she was going to get some cutting remark thrown at her, he smiled. In fact it was more than a smile, his whole faced lit with amusement and for the first time she could see why the ladies of Minas Tirith might have targeted him remorselessly. No doubt he could be charming when he wanted to, but Lothíriel swore to herself that after witnessing his boorish behavior there was no way she would be caught like that.

'Rest assured, Lady Lothíriel.' He moved closer, towering over her. 'I shall not make the mistake of underestimating you again.'

Resisting the urge to take a step backward, which might have been considered a retreat, Lothíriel looked up at him boldly. 'Perhaps it is a lesson learned, my lord. One should be careful before making assumptions.'

'Perhaps.' He nodded, a definite quirk on his lips. 'I shall bear your advice in mind, my lady.'

Was he making fun of her? Time to make her escape. 'I see my tent going up. Thank you, my lord, I will join Éowyn.'

King Éomer flicked his eyes around the camp taking in the sight of the men hurrying to their duties and the preparations that had already started. 'A meal will be ready soon, and someone will cut bracken for you. The ground is hard and stony, you will sleep better with a mattress.'

Did he still think she was a nothing but a pampered pet? Her chin rose. 'I am sure that will not be necessary, my lord, your men have enough to do. I...'

'Don't be stupid.'

She glared, but met an uncompromising look that caused her cheeks to flush. He was most likely right, and that annoyed her more. It had been a silly remark to make, her only excuse that she found it exceedingly difficult to accept anything from him. With nothing else to say she turned to go. Once more a hand stayed her. 'Lothíriel let me give you some advice. Do not keep fighting me, you will not win!'

The pig! And an over-familiar pig at that. Not trusting herself to be polite, she shook off his hand and marched to her tent. Luckily the men had finished, and Éowyn had disappeared inside. 'If I reach Edoras without coming to blows with your brother it will be a miracle,' she said as she ducked through the doorway.

Éowyn looked up from where she was pulling out some bedrolls from a bag, a big grin on her face. 'He had ideas about Gondorian womanhood which you have turned on their head. And he does not like to find himself wrong, or not to be in control of something. If you were of lower rank he could just boss you about...'

'I haven't noticed anything stopping him bossing me,' Lothíriel interrupted. 'In fact every time he speaks to me it's some kind of order.'

'Which you immediately comply with, I imagine.' Éowyn's voice was edged with laughter. Lothíriel realized she needed to shut up.

'I am glad you find it funny,' she grumbled. 'Which reminds me, why did you disappear and leave me alone with scores of men?'

Éowyn shrugged, not looking at all apologetic. 'I thought it would be best if you got to know them, from what I could see they became very protective of you.'

They had been, but Lothíriel decided that Éowyn and her brother shared many traits and she needed to keep on top of them both. 'Everyone seems to think they know what is good for me better than myself.'

Ignoring that, Éowyn just grinned and passed her the bedrolls. 'Shake these out to make sure there are no spiders.'

The blankets were new, so she thought it pretty safe but took them to the door of the tent. Pausing for a moment she looked out at the camp which was being put together with well-practiced ease. Already fires had been lit and horses had their noses in feed bags. She couldn't see Storm, but it would be silly of her to worry, of course he would be well looked after. But still, she would make sure she checked on him before settling down for the night. She saw that only a few tents were being erected for the commanders, so most would be sleeping in the open. She involuntarily shivered – the sun had dipped behind the ridge – and went back inside, thankful for her tent.

Lothíriel handed one of the bedrolls back to Éowyn. 'Your brother says he will be sending bracken, which is bound to be full of insects.'

With a 'give me' gesture Éowyn took the other from her and dumped them both on top of her saddle bags to keep them off the floor. 'I can cope with squashing insects under me, but I am not very good about having them crawling in my bedding.' Éowyn pointed to a bundle in the corner. 'We can put the bracken under that sheet of canvas and our bedrolls can go on top of that. It will be luxury.'

Not her idea of luxury, but she had expected worse. 'What did you do on the way here?'

'The same as the men: I wrapped my cloak around me and slept on the ground. Not very pleasant, but Faramir has ensured we are more comfortable on the way home. And anyway, we rode so hard I could have fallen asleep anywhere.'

Lothíriel stretched, trying to ease some more aching muscles. 'I am sure I will sleep. Hard ground or not.'

But it wouldn't be so hard, because moments later armfuls of bracken were delivered along with her saddlebags. No changing for dinner tonight though, she didn't have enough clothes with her, but a young lad brought a canvas bucket of warm water and they were able to have a wash. Lothíriel left her hair in its plait, too much fuss to do anything else.

A bit later they wrapped themselves in their cloaks and sat around the fire, accepting plates of hot stew gratefully. Éowyn never made a move to help in any way, so Lothíriel followed her lead, letting herself be waited on. The men had everything organized and it seemed foolish to interfere. Those near to her politely made remarks in Westron, Lord Elfhelm telling her of the muster, the mad dash to get to Minas Tirith in time and the desperation they felt when they heard the city was in flames.

'Those were the drums I heard,' she remarked when he recounted the tale of the wild men of the forest.

He nodded. 'Help unlooked for is sometimes of the most use; we would have been hard put had it been otherwise.' A man came up and said something in Rohirric, and Lord Elfhelm excused himself, going off to sort out some problem. King Éomer was across the fire from her, talking intently with a few of his guard. Beside her, Éowyn looked to be in a dream, a soft smile on her face. Not hard to guess who she was thinking about.

Full, warm and sleepy, Lothíriel put her plate down, listening to the chatter around her. Already she could pick out a few words, and would probably learn a many more over the coming weeks. But she wouldn't be in Rohan long enough to master the language. She had just decided to check on Storm and then go to bed when a group of men started singing. The song – goodness knew what about, except the deep resonance of the tune reminded her of galloping horses – grew in volume as more and more joined in from all over the camp. Within moments she was the only one making no noise as Éowyn had awoken from her stupor and even her brother was lustily singing. The two elves were humming the tune and one of them – she'd no idea which – motioned with his hand for her to do likewise. Unable to resist she joined in, which earned her a smile and a dig in the ribs from Éowyn. When she looked King Éomer's way she faltered: he had his eyes fixed right on her. But Lothíriel carried on as best she could, determined he wouldn't put her off. Risking another surreptitious glance, her gaze was caught by those dark eyes. Annoyingly, heat flushed her cheeks, getting worse when she realized he was smiling at her. She certainly wouldn't be looking his way again.

'What was that song about?' she queried Éowyn when they got back to the tent.

'Eorl the Young, it's a favorite. I always think you can hear the horses galloping as he leads them to battle on the Field of Celebrant.'

'Oh definitely,' Lothíriel agreed. 'I heard the horses straight away, very clever with no music. And there was one horse faster than the rest, I could hear him snorting. Your people can certainly sing.'

'Mmm...' Éowyn said sleepily. 'Strange though, it's said only the Rohirrim can hear Felaróf.'

Well, Éowyn had gone straight to sleep, but although Lothíriel felt warm and reasonably comfortable she lay awake for some time listening to the sounds around her. A low murmur came from the men still around the fire, and the occasional stamp of boots from the guards as they made their rounds. Horses snuffled and coughed, and somewhere an owl hooted. Such a new experience, even though she had camped with her brothers as a child, she had never thought to be in the midst of an army. And soon she would be living in the King's Hall; how would she get on there, she wondered? Would she be able to put up with such a...domineering man until September? Then she remembered Arwen and her escort, if she couldn't stand it anymore she could travel back to Minas Tirith with them.

Happier now she had made some kind of plan, Lothíriel closed her eyes.

ooo

She needed a bath. She needed a soft bed, and a day when she didn't have to get out of it. Irritably Lothíriel swatted at some fly that had landed on her neck, fed up with providing a free meal for every insect in Anórien. And since they had entered these woods it had become worse. Besides the ugly lumps she had never felt so dirty, never worn the same dress for day after day, or travelled with smelly underclothing in her saddlebags. Why ever had she agreed to this? Pampered, gently bred Gondorian – King Éomer was probably right, and perhaps the worst was having to make her way to a convenient rock or bush with all his men trying to be polite and avert their eyes. But they were polite, and although the Rohirrim around her were undoubtedly fierce and hardy, they were not as barbaric as many Gondorians seemed to believe. Certainly the majority spoke Westron, and she had found no fault with their manners. True she was travelling mostly with Rohan's nobility, but even those of lesser rank she had come across were able to express themselves so that she could understand. And one could not help but admire the way they were able to set up a comfortable camp in a very short time, not with the luxuries expected in Gondor, but certainly suitable for so many travelling together over such a distance. However she had been told that many of the Rohirrim lived all year round on the plains, following the horses and living in tented towns. They were able to pack everything up and move to new grazing grounds, birth, death and marriages going on under canvas as they did under permanent roofs. An interesting people who she had discovered she rather liked.

Cross with herself for bemoaning her present— hopefully short lived –hardships, when in fact, all in all, she was enjoying the new experiences, Lothíriel concentrated on the scenery around her. For some hours they had been traveling through a forest of mixed birch, ash and oak, although above her on the higher ground she glimpsed tall pines. The side of the road was edged with small boulders over which grew cushions of different mosses; here and there water trickled between them, forming miniature ponds. Where the sun shafted down damsel flies flitted over the stones, and bees buzzed around bright yellow king-cups. Would Rohan have such pretty places she wondered, or was it all open plains and featureless? No, the maps she had studied showed the northern faces of the Ered Nimrais clothed in forest. Hopefully she would get to see more than the immediate vicinity of Edoras. Not for a while though, she needed a bit of easier living before making any other journeys.

Lothíriel wiped the sweat from her eyes and looked longingly down into the stream that foamed around Storm's hooves. The road ran over some large slabs of rock placed in the bed to form a shallow crossing, but to her right the water flowed in many channels, widening out into large pools edged with sedges and yellow iris. Oh, how wonderful it would be to plunge into their cool depths. Others must be thinking the same as she heard various shouts and increased conversation around her. Even a burst of song from someone. Perhaps they were thinking of taking a crafty dip when she was out of sight. Oh, if she could do the same. Her hair must be grey with dust, only once on the journey had she found the energy to brush it out. At that moment she'd have given anything to release it from its over-tight braid – Éowyn would make a lousy ladies-maid – and float in one of those pools. Briefly she wondered if she could do so, her clothes would get a wash and in this heat they would soon dry and... Errgh...the itching was driving her mad! She shouldn't do it but couldn't stop herself from scratching at one of the lumps on her arm. Maybe she ought to ask to stop for a moment: the phial of basil oil was wrapped in a cloth in her saddlebags. But she had used nearly all of it, and was unlikely to get any more until she returned home. The Rohirrim must use something for insect bites, witch hazel probably; hopefully there was a good herbalist in Edoras. So absorbed was she in her discomfort that Lothíriel took no notice when the horses around her shuffled positions, not until a deep voice interrupted her deliberations.

'Welcome to Rohan, Lothíriel. We will be in Aldburg in two days; you will be able to take a bath.'

A bath! Did the King of Rohan read minds as well? His words pleased her so much she ignored the rudeness of him using her name, and thought back to the map she had studied with her father. 'Are you saying that was the Mering Stream we have just crossed?' They must have made better progress than she'd thought.

He nodded. 'We are just coming out of the Firien Woods, and into the Eastfold of the Riddermark.'

'Firien, so the mountain above us is the Halifirien, the last of the Beacon Hills?' Her curiosity overcame her antagonism, until she fixed her eyes on him. Damn the man! With an angry stab of envy Lothíriel realized he must have been one of those who had been up at dawn that morning to take advantage of the stream flowing through the last campsite. She and Éowyn had heard the raucous shouts when still tucked under their blankets. He had to have joined in, the only way of accounting for the fact that his mane of hair flowed across his shoulders like thick golden honey. He had trimmed his beard too, or someone had done it for him. If this journey had done one thing, it had made her appreciate all that her maid normally did for her comfort. Lothíriel had never thought she was particularly vain, and although she had no interest in King Éomer as a man, it irked her beyond measure that having hardly passed more than a few words with her during the journey, now she looked her worst he had decided to talk to her.

King Éomer looked up to the rocky slopes that could now be seen through the thinning trees, 'Yes, it's Halifirien.'

'Where Elendil was buried before he was moved to the Hallows?'

'The very place.' He flashed her a wry look. 'If we had time I might have taken you to see where Eorl the Young swore eternal friendship to Gondor. The way goes up from that standing stone we just passed.'

Suspicious he was being facetious, Lothíriel said nothing for a moment but then she decided to take his words for what they were. 'I hope that I get chance to learn a bit more of Rohan's history during my visit and perhaps see more than just Edoras.'

'I am sure you will. That is if you do not mind leaving Meduseld and exposing your complexion to the harsh winds of the plains.' A brow rose, inviting her to retaliate, but Lothíriel laughed.

'You deserved to be mocked, my lord. But I will not antagonize you anymore; I would not like to be at odds with my host.'

'Very sensible.'

Immediately she bridled, he really was an infuriating man, but before she could snap a comment back he held up his hand.

'Truce! I should not have said that, but I cannot resist watching you fight with yourself. You would like to say something really cutting, but are too well brought up to do so.'

Lothíriel smiled her sweetest. 'Not just say, my lord. I have gone through kicking your shins to running a sword through you. My regret was that I was unable to dance in Minas Tirith, or I can assure you your toes would be black and blue.'

'One should never give away one's tactics, Lothíriel. I shall now be careful not to invite you to dance.'

'You have no need to worry, Lord: I would have to refuse anyway. My circumstances prevent me from dancing. I...'

His sardonic expression changed in an instant to one of compassion. 'I am sorry, I had forgotten Éowyn told me you lost your betrothed in the battles, please accept my sympathies.'

Lothíriel inclined her head, she knew he meant it. She couldn't like the man but appreciated the way he cared for his people, taking time each evening to make sure the wounded were managing, and Éowyn said he had been discussing endlessly with his commanders plans for feeding the populace through the coming year. He also kept total sway over everyone, whilst being on friendly terms with his men. And she had seen that he listened to others, allowing them to offer forthright opinions even if he overruled them. Definitely a leader, and as Prince Imrahil's daughter she could only respect that.

'Thank you, my lord. I am sad but not heartbroken. I can only say that there is no comparison with the ending of a betrothal that was arranged for me, to the anguish of those that have lost members of their families.'

His eyes on her speculatively, he nodded. 'There will be sadness when we get to Aldburg, it is always worse for the widows and mothers. But there will be many less than I once thought. In fact I don't suppose I expected any of us to return...'

At that moment a small flock of pigeons left a tree at the side of the road, the clapping of their wings rising above the rumble of hooves. Lothíriel instinctively checked Storm as he started slightly. The horse resumed its pace and she ran a gloved hand down his neck. 'No need for that, you must have faced worse than a few birds on your way to the Morannon.'

'He certainly did.' King Éomer smiled at her, his own stallion had not moved. 'But forget talking about the war; tell me how you persuaded Erchirion to lend his favored horse to you.'

How did he know it needed persuasion! But she might enjoy telling him. 'You really want to know, my lord?'

'I do, Lothíriel, and I would also like you to call me by my name, it might make for friendlier relations.'

Well, who was to blame for the unfriendliness! Tempted to stick her nose in the air and reprimand him for his informality with her, she suddenly decided against it. She did have to live under his roof for the next four months. But sure she could get her own back, Lothíriel smiled.

'I shall be glad to be on better terms...Éomer, after all my brothers count themselves amongst your friends. Which is one reason Erchirion decided to lend me Storm.'

He looked surprised. 'Because he thought he was doing me a favor?

'Oh no, Erchirion was not at all keen at first as you might have guessed, but he wavered when I reminded him I had helped him break in Storm. He didn't actually capitulate however until I told him you couldn't find a palfrey for me to ride. After all, Erchirion taught me to ride and as Amrothos said, the honor of Dol Amroth was at stake.'

Éomer frowned. 'So he didn't want me to think he had made a bad job of teaching you?'

'Yes, but more than that' – now for the good part— 'they both, but especially Amrothos, wanted to see your face when I turned up on Storm... after your rude assumptions, that is.' Lothíriel waited for the explosion, but instead the royal lips twitched.

'I imagine they were amply rewarded.'

'I think you acted as expected, Éomer.'

'I am making no excuses for my ill temper, but as I have said, I will not underestimate you again, Lothíriel. And I wish to congratulate you, the journey has been long and tiring and you have coped admirably, with the riding and with the conditions.'

Lothíriel scratched at her arm before swiftly pulling her hand away and using it to push back some escaped strands of damp hair from her face. 'I find the riding a lot easier than the conditions, Éomer. When you mentioned a bath I could almost have hugged you.'

'Almost?'

That mobile brow rose again, and heat rushed to her cheeks. Too handsome for any woman's peace of mind. But no, if he was expecting her to fawn over him like half the females in Gondor, he was mistaken. 'Be assured, I would hug a warg who offered me a bath at this moment.'

He let out a guffaw of laughter that had the guard in front turn around to look. 'Lothíriel I am sure that if you so much as looked at a warg it would run off with its tail between its legs.'

She couldn't help but laugh with him, and anyway he looked much younger and less a dour king when he laughed. Who'd have thought he possessed such a sense of humor.

To be continued

Chapter 5

Aldburg stood on a hill, looking out along The Great West Road, which meant its promised comforts tempted her for many miles. Lothíriel could hardly take her eyes from the fortress that grew larger and more discernible with every stride of her horse.

All her bones ached, and her legs felt like jelly, but luckily after the first couple of days when he had tried and tested her, Storm behaved himself perfectly. This, she acknowledged with some reluctance, was a good job because she would have found it difficult to summon the energy to deal with him. Even though she had been riding from childhood, and Storm had a wonderfully smooth gait, never had she endured such a long and relentless journey. Only stubborn pride stopped her complaining and she had learnt to plaster a smile on her face and keep it there, just in case Rohan's king glanced her way. She had no intention of admitting exactly how uncomfortable she felt, even if he probably suspected.

Soon she could see that a high palisade enclosed the whole township and outside this cultivated fields ran down to border the road, a spur of which headed directly for the gates. Why were they closed, wouldn't the sentries have see them coming? As she thought it, the call of a horn rose above the rumble of hooves and she realised that Éomer's standard bearer had announced their arrival. Immediately an answer came from one of the watchtowers, and after a few moments the big gates began to swing open.

Éowyn eased Windfola close to her. 'Now for the difficult part, joy will be tempered by sadness.'

'It was the same at home,' Lothíriel answered. 'We celebrated our triumph and mourned, all at the same time.' And here she was worrying about a few sore muscles and dirty clothes when others had lost their loved ones. But at the moment it seemed victory took precedence for she saw many folk pouring out of the gate to line the last few hundred yards of the road.

Word of the outcome of the battles, and unfortunately lists of the dead, would have long reached the people of Rohan, but the joy of seeing a triumphant army marching home had no equal. The men from Eastmark were riding in the van and a cheering crowd met them, the cry of 'Éomer Cyning' rising above the general racket. Lothíriel studied the populace avidly: blond children mostly tanned from a life outdoors, tall women with fair, braided hair dressed in serviceable clothes of green and brown. A lot of men of fighting age waved their swords in welcome, but nearly all looked to have an injury of some kind. The other men present were obviously not of warrior inclination, like the baker still in his apron. No doubt all those who could fight had thankfully gone with their king to the relief of Gondor. Most of the welcome party looked happy, often calling excitedly to those back in the line, but here and there Lothíriel saw strained faces and sad eyes. One young woman caught her attention, a baby in her arms she searched the lines of warriors apparently looking for someone, but then her shoulders slumped and she turned dispiritedly away. The hubbub continued, and Lothíriel became aware that a lot of interest focused on herself. She tried to give everyone a friendly smile, no way did she want to be seen as a haughty Gondorian. Not that she could possibly look like one. She must be the most wayworn of all the Royal Party. Éowyn certainly looked reasonably tidy and clean, but that due to the Shield-maiden's natural elegance rather than any extra effort on her part, Lothíriel decided. In fact when she thought about it most of her own family had that same elegance and certainly her mother and father were rarely seen at any disadvantage, even after a challenging sea journey. Somewhere along the line she had missed out acquiring that particular trait. Her self-depreciating thoughts were ended when suddenly all but a few excited children fell silent. A horseman rode out to meet the vanguard, obviously high ranking as he was dressed much like the members of Éomer's guard.

'Earnweald,' Éowyn whispered, 'one of my uncle's friends, injured at Helm's Deep. He was left in charge of Aldburg whilst Éomer and Théoden rode to war.' The man, who Lothíriel could now see had one arm missing and a livid scar down the side of his face, bowed to his king and uttered something in a loud voice. Lothíriel guessed it was a traditional welcome and perhaps a handover of power. Her deduction proved correct when Éomer beckoned Elfhelm forward.

'He's telling Earnweald that Elfhelm is going to be the new Marshal of the Eastmark.'

'But Aldburg itself still belongs to Éomer?' Lothíriel queried.

'Yes, the fortress is really in the king's lands, but the hall has been passed down in a direct line from King Brego to our family. Now of course Éomer has Meduseld as well.'

Lucky man, Lothíriel nearly said, but stopped herself as Éowyn carried on. 'A lot of responsibility, goodness knows what he will do about all the dependents in Edoras.'

'Dependents?'

Éowyn nodded. 'We lost virtually the whole of my uncle's guard on the Pelennor. Their families will have to be provided for, as will those here. Although Elfhelm will have to see to them, as he will be living in Aldburg.'

'We had a similar problem in Dol Amroth. There is a limit to how many maids and kitchen staff one can employ, although if you want Meduseld spruced up...'

'That will keep them busy for a short while, until they find new husbands. ' Éowyn agreed. 'And hard work is a good way to forget one's troubles.' She smiled wanly. 'Not all can ride to war.'

'No,' Lothíriel agreed. 'But will the women find new husbands when so many of your men have been lost?'

Éowyn shrugged. 'Unless they are lacking in some way, virtually all our grown women are married, whilst we have always had many warriors who cleave only to the sword. I am sure that with the new peace that will change. Eventually those women who have lost their husbands are bound to seek new ones.'

Thinking about it Lothíriel realised that Gondor was not much different, not all men choosing to marry. So hopefully the surfeit of servants would be short-term. At least it would mean plenty of help.

The formalities over, Éomer, Earnweald and Elfhelm led them through the gates into an open square of beaten dirt surrounded by wooden houses. Lothíriel looked around, fascinated by her first view of a Rohan settlement. There was much more wood and none of the statues or fountains that characterised Dol Amroth. Aldburg had been built right against the mountain, which she found slightly oppressive, even more than Minas Tirith. It was all so different than at home and about her she could hear nothing but Rohirric. A slight unease wormed its way into her consciousness: there had been a certain camaraderie travelling with the army, but now people would be getting on with their daily lives, and she would be very much an outsider. Still, she reminded herself, it needn't be for more than a few weeks. After all, getting Meduseld to rights couldn't take that long. And it was a great opportunity to see places she had only read about. Storm pulled on his bit, sidestepping into Windfola. The horse probably sensed that a stable and fodder were near and Lothíriel quickly turned her attention back to him as horses and townspeople crowded in behind them, the excitement and noise mounting as families greeted one another and dogs barked a welcome. Many of the Riders dismounted in the square which was becoming increasingly jam-packed, but Éowyn shook her head and Lothíriel thankfully followed her and Éomer up the road towards the large thatched hall. The dwellings continued up the hill and those she passed had steep roofs covered in wooden tiles or thatch and the overhanging eves were intricately carved, mostly in designs of horses, deer or boar, from what she could see. A fierce, stern people: no flowers and fruit here.

A further fortification protected the hall itself, behind which perched another much smaller area, levelled out of the hill and paved with slabs of stone. The hall was similarly decorated to the houses although the wood had darkened to black with age.

Éomer jumped down from his stallion as an old lady wearing a spotless apron came hurrying towards him. Lothíriel watched intrigued as the woman flung her arms around him before pushing him back and running her eyes up and down the King of Rohan as though to check he was still in one piece. But far from being offended by the inspection, Éomer said something soft and low and dropped his hands on her shoulders giving them a hearty squeeze

Beside her, Éowyn laughed, jumping quickly down from Windfola. It sounded as though she was asking about her own welcome. But Lothíriel could only pick out the woman's name – Mildryth. The apron marked her as a servant, but quite a senior one, Lothíriel surmised. And ancient: blue eyes were set in a deeply lined face and plaited hair formed a silver-grey cap around her head. Mildryth took a step towards Éowyn, raising an accusing finger. Talking too fast for Lothíriel to have any idea what she was on about, she administered an obvious scolding which made Éowyn drop her head with embarrassment. Éomer certainly didn't interfere, and in fact looked as if he agreed with whatever Mildryth was saying, but after she had finished the old lady hugged Éowyn to her anyway, like she was forgiving a naughty child.

Lothíriel deduced that she must have known Éomer and Éowyn from when they were very young, the only explanation for such a display of informality. Not wanting to intrude on an intimate moment she slid quietly off Storm's back, but bright, intelligent eyes instantly marked her.

'Hwa is þéos?' Mildryth cocked her head to one side awaiting an answer.

Éowyn grabbed Lothíriel's arm pulling her forward. 'This is Lady Lothíriel,' she said in Westron, 'a princess from Dol Amroth, and my friend. She needs some of your care and cosseting, Mildryth, it's been a tiring journey.'

Mildryth pursed her lips, intensifying the lines around her mouth when she subjected her to the same kind of scrutiny she had given Éomer. 'She doesn't look much like a princess.'

'I don't feel like one,' Lothíriel answered, laughing. 'In fact I don't feel much except one big all over ache.' At that moment she didn't even care what Éomer thought, all she wanted was rest and hot water. Her face must have shown her need because in a few short minutes Storm had been taken away with the men and she and Éowyn had been ushered inside, Éowyn whispering to her that Mildryth had been the housekeeper at Aldburg since she was a child. No problem with the upkeep of the hall here, Lothíriel noticed, as they entered the main area. Two rows of supporting wooden pillars ran down the side of the hall, beautifully carved and glowing from frequent polishing they held up massive beams that formed the roof, and between them were set many trestle tables laid for a meal. In spite of the warm weather a modest fire burned in the oblong pit in the middle of the large space, smoke rising to the roof where it was drawn out through open vents. The stone floor had been swept and washed clean and the tapestries on the walls glowed with muted colours, softening the whole effect. Lothíriel let out a deep inward sigh – simple but comfortable, the care given to the hall apparent, which gave her high hopes of receiving similar treatment herself. A bath first, and then it would be good to actually sit at a table to eat. Her stomach grumbled as the appetising smell of roasting meat reached her from an open doorway.

'Something smells good. What is it? ' Lothíriel asked.

'Boar,' Mildryth supplied the answer. 'Those able to hunt have been out all week knowing we had so many to feed.'

Lothíriel nodded and followed Mildryth and Éowyn to the back of the hall, across a raised dais and into a passageway, leading off from which were many doors. She guessed this was a wing added to the main hall later as the woodwork looked newer, and her deduction was confirmed when Mildryth opened the door into a room with a window that looked out over the town.

'Will you and Éowyn share, my lady? We are a bit short of space with everyone here.'

Lothíriel nodded. 'Of course.' The bed looked big enough for more than two and was temptingly covered in a richly embroidered quilt in red and green. A wooden screen stood in the corner of the room – there just had to be a bath behind it.

Éowyn followed the direction of her eyes. 'Don't worry, you can have it first.'

Mildryth huffed. 'No need for that, I'll send in another. We've enough water; the men will just have to wait a bit.' She bustled out muttering about sending their bags up, and Lothíriel went over and sank down on the bed rubbing her neck, which besides itching from the bites felt uncomfortably stiff.

'It sounded as if Mildryth was telling you off.'

A faint flush appeared on Éowyn's cheeks, so something had certainly discomfited her. Lothíriel thought she knew what. 'Was she scolding you for riding to war?'

Éowyn nodded, looking even more embarrassed. 'But worse, she reminded me that I had neglected my duty. Théoden King left me in a position of responsibility, in charge of the refuge at Dunharrow and I more or less abandoned my post.'

'I see.' Lothíriel had never really appreciated that, as understandably Éowyn had kept it quiet. 'But surely you appointed another in your stead.'

'Of course. Some of the warriors injured at Helm's Deep remained there with their families, so it was not so bad. But I had to be a bit devious and leave orders: they would have tried to stop me riding otherwise.'

Lothíriel opened her mouth to say that a commander who abandoned his post would be in serious trouble in Dol Amroth, but thought better of it. No point in making her feel worse. 'I imagine the outcome of you riding probably negates any misdeed. What does your brother say about it?'

'He said just that, albeit reluctantly. Luckily I was too ill for him to lecture me overmuch before he went to the Black Gate, and when he came back his worry about my relationship with Faramir took precedence. Probably our victory will put my misdemeanour from people's minds, but although none are likely to openly criticize me, there may be a few who will look askance.'

Éowyn came close to the bed, her eyes seeking reassurance; Lothíriel reached up and took hold of her hand. 'Then they must look into their own hearts, for who has not made any mistakes during their life.'

'Thank you. I am not overly bothered by any whispers there may be, but it is good to know I have your support.'

The conversation ended abruptly as a knock on the door heralded the arrival of the second tub and buckets and buckets of hot water. A line of tall blond women trooped in to fill the baths, supervised by Mildryth. Another maid carried their bags and following her, clutching towels and a stone jar in her arms, was the young women Lothíriel had noticed outside, easily recognisable because of her curly hair.

'This is Hungife, my lady.' Mildryth introduced her once the towels had been draped over the screen and the jar put down on a stool near the baths. 'She speaks good Westron, so if you are agreeable she will attend you for tonight.'

Lothíriel smiled. 'You had a baby with you outside.'

Hungife dipped her head. 'Yes, my lady, someone is minding him.' Her voice was pleasant, although the Westron heavily accented, and she made an effort to smile. But the emptiness in her eyes tore at Lothíriel's heart. Without saying any more Hungife went over and checked the temperature of the nearest bath, swishing her hand into water and saying something to one of the women still holding a bucket. A little more hot went in.

'It will be just right in a moment, my lady; I'll help you with your clothes.'

One of the other women already had Éowyn's riding dress half off and Lothíriel willingly handed herself over to Hungife. Not as expert as a Dol Amroth trained handmaiden, but she wasn't complaining as very soon she was wallowing in hot water laced with sage oil and rosemary whilst a sweet smelling soap was being lathered into her hair. Lothíriel hesitated as whether to say anything about Hungife's obvious grief, but then remembered the careful way she had been treated after Berenor's death when she really would have found it easier if people had talked openly. It would be cowardly of her not to say anything, but she waited until she got out of the bath and Hungife had started to brush her hair dry.

'Who were you looking for outside, Hungife?'

The brush stopped, and Lothíriel heard a loud swallow before Hungife answered. 'My husband, he has not come home.'

'You were expecting him?'

'They told me...'her voice broke and it was a moment before she carried on. 'They told me he had fallen, but I thought...hoped...' the rest came out in a rush. 'He never saw his son.'

Lothíriel looked round to see tears streaming down Hungife's cheeks. She could understand the false hope, many in Dol Amroth had been the same – meeting every ship even though they had been told their loved one's fate.

'I am sorry, Hungife, I understand how awful it must be for you.' She put her hand on Hungife's arm, but the young women shook it off angrily.

'How can you understand?' Hungife snapped back. 'My son has no father I have no-one to support me. My husband worked with the horses and was well thought off, but he wasn't a proper warrior and should not have been put in such danger. Now I will be living on hand-outs whilst the nobles of Gondor... '

'Hungife!' Éowyn's icy voice cut through the tirade. She said something fast in Rohirric and Hungife dropped her head, wiping the tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her dress.

She sniffed. 'I apologise, my lady, I spoke out of turn.'

Well, she had heard the people of Rohan spoke their mind, was this her first taste of it? Should she let grief excuse such rudeness? Éowyn had her eyes fixed on the Rohirric woman, ready to say something else, but Lothíriel caught her gaze and shook her head, deciding that nothing would be achieved by admonishing her further. There had been anger in Dol Amroth, and one could not deny that the rank and file with their jerkins and limited chainmail had suffered more than those able to clothe themselves in superior armour.

'It is difficult for many, Hungife. But I am sure you will be looked after.' Lothíriel gave her a sympathetic smile. 'Perhaps you could braid my hair so it will be easier in the morning, and then go and care for your son.'

After another sniff Hungife nodded and took up a comb to section Lothíriel's long hair. She tried to ease the situation by getting Hungife to talk about her baby, born just after her husband had ridden to war.

Later, wearing a clean dress that had more or less survived being rolled up in her saddlebags and feeling fresh and tidy for the first time in days, Lothíriel followed Éowyn onto the dais. The hall was crammed full with the families of the Eastmark and Éomer and other lords already sat at the board. Seeing the only two empty places were one each side of the King of Rohan, she hesitated, but Éomer stood up and beckoned her forward.

He stretched out and pulled out the two chairs at once. 'Lothíriel, you sit this side.' He indicated the seat between him and one of the Peredhil twins.

Now that was awkward as she still found it difficult to tell them apart, possibly because she'd had very little conversation with either, both appearing a little reserved with her and Éowyn. But it looked as if she would have to talk to one of them at least, but which one? If she didn't pick up a clue, she would have to admit defeat and ask. Luckily rescue came before she sat down, as she heard Éomer say.

'You sit here, Éowyn, between Elrohir and me.' Éomer spoke to Éowyn, but flashed her a look that told her he'd been totally alert to her predicament and had chosen to help her out. But one friendly overture didn't mean she would drop her guard as far as the King of Rohan was concerned, that would be extremely foolish. However she smiled at him, extremely aware that if she had thought him good to look at before, then tanned from the journey, his hair bleached by the sun and dressed in a dark green tunic, he was any woman's dream. Not her's though, she told herself firmly. She would not give him the satisfaction of any conquest. Arms length and studiously polite would be the way to deal with such a threat to her equanimity.

Having decided that, Lothíriel settled in her seat and turned to the twin beside her, Elladan she now knew, but before she could say more than a polite greeting Éomer spoke again.

'That's better, a woman each side of me, and I am sure we will be able to converse on something interesting tonight, Lothíriel, I need a change from talking about field beans and cabbages.'

She imagined he might, but looked suspiciously at him, wondering if he was being serious or in some way trying to make fun of her. However, Éowyn immediately pulled a sympathetic face. 'Comes with the new role, Éomer, you would be surprised how much our uncle knew about farming, or at least feeding our people.'

A spasm crossed Éomer's face and somehow Lothíriel knew that it was not his uncle's death that was causing him anguish, but more the feeding of his people, and she felt instant concern. Was it that bad? She knew that the beans would feed animals as well as people, and there was still time to sow cabbages and kale. Grain was on the way from Gondor, but the Rohirrim would have to plant rye and wheat in the autumn to ensure a good early crop next year, and probably do quite a lot of hunting to see them through. However, boar did not keep well, it would have to be heavily salted. She mused on whether Rohan had plenty of salt, not sure if any had been loaded onto the supply wagons. Éomer interrupted her deliberations.

'I am sure we can find something to say to one another, Lothíriel. And not about horses, either.' His eyebrows shot up and his lips twitched. Obviously he had decided to make an effort to get on with her, possibly only to make things easier for his sister.

But she gave a laugh and held out her cup for him to fill, happy to think that he really just wanted some light conversation to take his mind from the consequences of a vicious and destructive war. She could deal with that. As well as a good knowledge of how to make sure enough food was produced for the populace, she'd had plenty of practice at making polite chit-chat to entertain and put folks at ease, and usually succeeded, but diverting the King of Rohan from thinking of his problems without falling into an argument promised to be a lot harder.

No conversation yet though, because first Éomer stood to honour those that had died during the battles. The whole hall rose, raising their drinking cups to the 'glorious dead.' She felt dwarfed by the two warriors flanking her, both powerful presences, albeit very different. Risking a glance towards Elladan, Lothíriel encountered enigmatic grey eyes studying her thoughtfully. She found difficulty in pulling her gaze away from that striking face, which appeared to her as being both fair and fell. Her brothers had almost salivated when describing the prowess of Elrond's sons, so she knew her dinner companion to be a fierce warrior, but then he smiled, his eyes softened, and it was like looking into an ancient book brimming with undiscovered knowledge.

'Lothíriel.'

She swung her head around quickly and met a very different look. Éomer raked dark eyes up and down her lingering momentarily on her neckline, before he fixed them on her face. 'Sit down and tell me about the sea, I know nothing about it except what I have heard from your brothers. I am sure you will be able to give me a much more eloquent description.'

Had she imagined that extremely masculine appraisal? Conscious of him very close to her, so close that she could see a thin white scar that disappeared under his beard, she tried hard not to show any reaction. She sat down with a start and put her cup to her lips, mostly to hide the flush of colour to her face. It was not as if her dress was over-revealing, true it was cut lower than her riding dresses, but not...

'Is it right what I have heard, that the water can expand, at times being far from the land but at others it batters the very foot of the cliffs?' Éomer asked as he sat down himself, only a slight glint in his eyes giving strength to her suspicion of male interest.

'Éomer, we have spent numerous nights around the campfires and you have not asked me a thing about the sea. Is it that you prefer to talk to this lovely lady, or do you doubt my knowledge on such matters?'

Éomer frowned. 'It never occurred to me.' But then a roughish grin broke over his face. 'But you are right, Elladan, given choice I would favour hearing such things from a lady's lips, and I am sure Lothíriel is very knowledgeable.'

But before answering she turned impulsively to Elladan, sure that he knew much more than her about tides and how they appeared to be linked to the moon. However, he gestured for her to carry on and taking a deep breath she started to explain, all the while acutely aware of Éomer's intense concentration on her. But he seemed to be genuinely interested, asking intelligent questions about their ships using the tides to travel along the coast.

'Do you swim, Lothíriel?' Elladan had kept quiet during her explanation and the sound of his voice made her jump.

'Yes, I used to a lot when I was a child. And still do when I get the opportunity.'

'I remember that the waters around Dol Amroth are very enticing, so warm one could be in a bath.'

'You have been to Dol Amroth,' she exclaimed.

'A few times, the last was to visit with Galador...'

Lothíriel gasped. 'That was a thousand years ago.'

'Hmm...I've been rather busy since then. But perhaps now I will have time to travel again.'

She hadn't meant that he should have visited more often, but didn't bother to say so, realising he could tell her all sorts of things about some hazy ancestors. 'Can you...' But Éomer interrupted her.

'What about sailing? Your brothers told me they go out on small boats for fun. Do you do that?'

Lothíriel quickly brought her mind back from thinking of the origins of the Princes of Dol Amroth and tried to concentrate on her host. Should she tell him about the time she had marooned Amrothos on the island and the way they used to race across the bay before the threat of Corsairs became too much, or should she just say she liked sailing and leave it at that? Luckily food was put on the table at that moment which gave her chance think about her answer

'I think we're lucky and have bream,' Éomer remarked as a whole fish was put in front of him. 'I'm sure I saw a pike pass the table.' He started to portion the fish, neatly removing a piece of flesh from the bone and putting it on her plate, before doing the same for Éowyn. 'It's anything they can catch, I'm afraid.'

Lothíriel poured the offered creamy sauce over her bream. 'You eat a lot of fish?'

'What we can, whether it be fish, eels or crayfish, but I have to admit that the seafood I enjoyed in Gondor was generally superior in flavour.'

The bream did taste a bit earthy but the sauce improved it somewhat. 'Do you go fishing yourself?'

Éomer laughed a little hollowly. 'Not since I was a boy, no time to sit around on a river bank. And I am afraid to tell you that they probably netted the river to feed us tonight.'

Who could blame them with an army coming home? She smiled. 'I see no difference to our fishermen staking nets out to catch the fish coming in with the tide.'

'A very crude way of doing things,' Elladan remarked. 'A fish will swim into your hand if you call it in the right way.'

Lothíriel stared at him wondering if the slight upturn of lips on an otherwise emotionless face meant he was ribbing them. Éomer openly laughed.

'And I suppose deer run into your arrows and boar jump on the end of your spear. It's a good job you will be around for a while, we will not go hungry.'

Elladan ignored him. 'You were going to tell us if you can sail, Lothíriel.'

'No, she was going to tell me. You were going to give her a history lesson, which can wait.' Éomer treated her to a lazy smile. 'I imagine getting wet and salty in a small boat wouldn't bother you too much.'

Lothíriel wasn't sure if that was some kind of compliment or he was amused by her dishevelled appearance the last few days. Best to take no notice. 'I don't mind getting a bit wet because, as Elladan has said, the water is warm, in the summer anyway. Elphir taught me to sail, and Erchirion to ride.' A wicked thought came into her head and she let it come straight out. 'Amrothos taught me that I always need to hold my own against overbearing men.'

Elladan actually laughed, which made Éowyn and his brother look up. Éomer leaned towards her and dropped his voice. 'I am not sure which I enjoy more, the truce or the hostilities.'

'Oh,' she shot back, 'a truce has to be negotiated. And the terms are stringent.'

He leaned even closer so that she could feel his breath whispering across her cheek. 'I shall look forward to discussing your terms another time, Lothíriel; I do not think this the place.'

His eyes caught hers and she saw them darken with barely concealed desire. Heat rushed to her cheeks but she daren't turn her face away or someone else would see, so stared down into her lap wondering how things had changed so quickly. Vaguely she became aware of clapping, and the smell of roast boar filled the hall.

Looking up she saw a haunch being brought their way. Éomer stood up to welcome it, saying something to Éowyn in Rohirric. He took a knife from his belt and started to carve off pieces of meat, looking totally relaxed. Perhaps she had dreamed that whole episode, but feeing a tingle on the back of her neck she turned around to face Elladan. She had no doubt those eyes of his saw everything, real and imagined.

'We too must talk, Lothíriel, I am sure there is much I can tell you. 'A look of fun came on his face that she had totally not expected to see. 'Besides, it will annoy Éomer.'

Still astounded by what Elladan had said, she jumped when Éomer spoke to her. He had a piece of meat speared on the end of his knife, which he carefully loaded onto her plate. 'The best should be given to the Lady from Dol Amroth, I think.' His face remained impassive, but his dark brown eyes flung out a challenge.

Caught between the Lord of the Mark's raw power and Elladan's hidden depths she felt like a helpless jellyfish that had lost its sting, with no real idea how to get away.

To be continued.

Chapter 6

Thankful that the evening had ended, Lothíriel pulled the covers over herself and sank down into the comfort of feathers and horsehair. Such a cosy bed, but with the unsettling events of the last few hours still niggling away she wondered if she'd be able to sleep. The only hope was to ruthlessly force all thought of Éomer's behaviour from her mind, after all what had he actually done except look at her a little improperly? Most likely he had been amusing himself, seeking no more than light relief after the responsibilities of the journey and before he actually took up the reins, or perhaps the chains, of kingship. His remarks, although provoking, had not actually said anything significant, and once the boar had arrived conversation had become general around the table. Which had certainly suited her, she told herself quickly. So she would do best to forget the whole episode and concentrate on why she was in Rohan at all, which was to help prepare Meduseld to receive numerous guests over the coming months. However, she had come to realise it might not be a straightforward assignment. They could scour and polish for weeks but proper hospitality meant offering plenty of good, tasty food, and from what Éowyn had said appetising fare had been sadly lacking in the months before the war. And there was the winter to consider, pride wouldn't let her go back to Gondor leaving a poorly stocked larder behind her... salt, she needed to ask about salt.

'Éowyn.' Lothíriel tapped her bed companion on the shoulder, she couldn't be asleep already.

A drowsy voice mumbled from under the covers. 'What is it?'

'Where does Rohan get its salt?'

'Salt? What do you want with salt?' Éowyn sounded as if she'd been asked for some exotic spice, and must have been right when she'd described herself as a poor housekeeper. Shield-maidens obviously left such mundane things to others.

'Salt will be needed to preserve boar. We can dry venison, but boar's trickier, it goes off very easily. You will need meat over the winter and I understand that most of the cattle have been slaughtered by Saruman's armies. It will be a while until your herds recover.'

'Lothíriel!' Éowyn sat straight up staring at her incredulously. 'What a time to pick to discuss cattle, I was nearly asleep.'

Lothíriel laughed. 'Well you're awake now, so you might as well tell me where your salt comes from. Then we can both sleep. Do you get it from Gondor?'

Exasperated, Éowyn shook her head. 'I don't believe this.'

'Well you asked me to sort out Meduseld, there's a lot to think about. I've got vinegar and bran coming for the cleaning, but I forgot about salt. Maybe we could send a messenger...'

'No need.' Éowyn let out a groan and wriggled back under her quilt. 'We have our own salt supply. In fact we have two.'

'Really? You have access to the sea?' That was a surprise.

'No, most comes from brine springs.'

Lothírielfrowned. 'Salt springs? Inland?'

'Yes, somewhere on the edge of the Downs, there's a small community there. They dig shallow pans and run the salty water into them, the sun does the rest. However the best salt comes from a mine near Helm's Deep, but it's dangerous work so is only used at table.' She waited but Lothíriel was digesting the unexpected information. Sighing, Éowyn pulled the covers back over her. 'Now can I go to sleep?'

How strange, and how intriguing, Rohan had salt pans as they did in Belfalas. Lothíriel opened her mouth to ask why there was salt water so far from the sea, and thought better of it. Éowyn probably had no more idea than herself. Maybe Elladan would know. Anyway, she should be able to sleep now that one of her main concerns had been answered. A few minutes later she turned onto her side and settled down, using her knee to prevent herself from rolling into Éowyn.

ooo

Lothíriel rubbed her eyes, light poured through the window. The room looked to the east and they had both thought it a good idea to pull the curtains back to ensure an early wakening. But Éowyn still slept even though a shaft of sunlight streaked across the bed. Lothíriel chuckled to herself—probably the ale she had drunk. She had persuaded the shield-maiden to sip her drinks in the upper halls of Minas Tirith, but here in her own land Éowyn had drunk deep.

She was just thinking of waking her friend when a knock came on the door. The call to enter let in three women, Mildryth, Hungife and the girl who had attended Éowyn the night before.

'Sorry to get you up early, my lady,' Mildryth said, 'but I think everyone is eager to get away and back to their homes. Some of the farmers going to the Wold have already left, and Erkenbrand is ready to depart with those for the Westfold.'

And she'd thought they were up early!

Éowyn pushed herself up, grumbling under her breath. 'It's only half a day's ride to Edoras, we've plenty of time.'

'No sense in putting things off,' Mildryth said sharply. 'Both of you will have to get used to it.'

Lothíriel looked up wondering what she meant, but Mildryth shook her head. 'I was talking of Éomer, my lady. It's going to be difficult for both of them going back to that hall. It will feel empty without Théoden King, but things have to be faced and its best to do it sooner rather than later.'

Lothíriel nodded, and swung her legs out of the bed and onto to the floor. She could agree with that, there was no use putting it off – however difficult the next few months might be, she had consented to come here so had better put her heart into it.

'Hungife,' Mildryth said to young woman, 'just pop to the kitchen and get some sage tea, would you. Lady Lothíriel looks a bit stiff. '

Lothíriel opened her mouth to protest, but Mildryth caught her eye and she shut it again.

'There's a favour I wanted to ask you my lady, it concerns Hungife,' she said as soon as the door closed.

'A favour, Mistress Mildryth?'

'I want to ask you to take Hungife with you to Edoras to act as your handmaiden whilst you are in the Riddermark...'

'But there are plenty there that need employment,' Éowyn butted in.

'I know that.' Mildryth scowled at her. 'But Hungife has family there; she's been unhappy here since Alred died and doesn't get on with his mother. Éowyn is right, my lady, with so many dependants at Meduseld she's not much chance of being taken back unless she goes with you. She's a good girl, and her mother will look after the bairn while she sees to her duties.'

'She was rude to Lothíriel,' Éowyn said folding her arms.

'I know, she told me. But grief does funny things and everyone deserves a second chance.' Mildryth and Éowyn both turned to Lothíriel waiting for her decision. Not an easy one to make, the girl had been rude, but on the other hand she had been reasonably efficient. Maybe she would try and make up for her rudeness and be a supportive ally, after all Lothíriel had no idea what she was walking into. Talk had led her to believe that Meduseld might be quite grim. But she did not want to upset any of the servants there, not if she was supposed to be gaining their cooperation.

'Is anyone likely to object?' she asked Mildryth.

The housekeeper shrugged. 'They will understand that Hungife wants to be near her mother and grandmother. In fact she has her grandmother to thank for the good Westron and her manners, old Algiue used to wait on Queen Morwen.'

Lothíriel looked to Éowyn for help. The shield-maiden didn't sound very interested. 'It's up to you; one more servant won't make much difference.'

'Very well,' Lothíriel said after a moment, 'tell Hungife she can come as my maid.'

ooo

Halfway through her breakfast of bread, soft cheese and honey, Lothíriel suddenly thought about how Hungife would travel. She had no idea if it was her responsibility to find the girl a spare horse. And the baby, she now had doubts about a maid with a young baby. Mildryth's forceful personality had overwhelmed her a bit. Normally she would exert herself more, but not knowing the customs made it difficult. She consoled herself with the thought that Éowyn always spoke her mind and had not put forward any real objections.

And she supposed the smile on Hungife's face had pushed away any further doubts: the young woman's eyes had been alight for the first time since Lothíriel had met her. And anyway she did not need a full- time maid, there would be plenty of time for Hungife to spend with her baby. It was not as if she needed to get dressed up two or three times a day. Éowyn had told her they lived a relaxed life, mostly dressing for riding in the day and then tidying themselves up for the sunset meal. Lothíriel thought she'd rather have someone around her who could translate her wishes to others and perhaps teach her a bit of the language, than an expert handmaiden. Yes, it would probably turn out well and on the whole she was glad she had agreed to Mildryth's request.

Her worry about the way Hungife would travel was resolved immediately she went out into the courtyard. Hungife, together with her baby, was perched on top of one of the pack horses, the weight of both of them unlikely to trouble the big gelding who looked like he could carry a dozen maids.

No chance to speak to the maid as Bealdric brought Storm straight up to her – the horse taking her attention when he whinnied a greeting and nuzzled for a titbit. They had formed a good partnership during the long ride and more than a bit of her felt sorry she would have to return him to Erchirion at the end of the summer.

She was just preparing to mount when the clip of hooves made her swing round. Éomer and his immediate guards trotted out from the stables that attached to the hall. The courtyard filled with men and horses. Éomer rode into the only open space and cast his eyes over the line of packhorses, stopping his inspection abruptly when he became aware of Hungife. His eyes flicked to the steps in front of the hall where Mildryth was standing, waiting for Éowyn to come out.

'Why are we taking extra servants with us?'

'Lady Lothíriel needs a personal handmaiden; she is not used to seeing to herself,' the housekeeper answered. 'Hungife speaks good Westron and has proved herself capable.'

Lothíriel couldn't see his face, but his back stiffened. He spun Firefoot around none too gently, forcing one of his guard to side-step his horse. The King of Rohan's great charger bore down on her, his master's face a hard mask. Now what was the matter with him? Except for the impertinence of weighing up her assets the night before, she'd found him much more likeable and easy going than she'd originally thought. How wrong could she be – he towered over her menacingly.

'You must know there are plenty of servants in Meduseld, Lothíriel. Are you trying to ensure that your needs are looked after immediately you walk through the door?'

His undeserved accusation made her gasp. But he carried on before she could defend herself.

'Fed up with washing your own feet, are you? And I thought...' Éomer shook his head as if he didn't want to voice those thoughts, but anyway Lothíriel didn't wait. She grabbed the reins from Bealdric and virtually pulled Storm over to a convenient mounting block.

The arrogant blockhead! He only saw what was in front of him! Well he could think what he liked; no way would she try and appease him with an explanation. With any luck he was so disgusted he would keep well away from her. Good!

Storm fidgeted and fussed, picking up on her agitation. Lothíriel dropped him back in the line, well out of Éomer's way as everyone took their places. When Éowyn finally appeared, she looked surprised at Lothíriel riding so far back but brought Windfola alongside her anyway.

'What's the matter, Lothíriel? You look like you're chewing on one of those lemons of yours.'

'Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I'll just be glad to get to Edoras.' Not true, she'd like to go home, smell the tang of salt on the air, look out onto a blood-red sky and waves crested with fire as the sun sank into the sea. She wanted to gallop along the flat sands racing her brothers, laughing and joking, not spend her precious time housekeeping for a bad-tempered hulk of a man whose scowl was as permanent and dark as the mountain that loomed over them.

'Well, we're moving,' Éowyn pointed out. 'If you want to get to Edoras, I suggest you stop frowning and catch up with the line in front.'

Storm clattered forward, hating to be left behind. On the way down the hill the horses ahead of her parted slightly and Lothíriel found herself looking straight at a long mane of tawny hair. Irritatingly she couldn't stop thinking about their latest spat – the unjustness of it. So quick to condemn her, as if he wanted her to fall short. But with a sharp jolt she realised it was not anger she had seen in his eyes, it had been disappointment.

ooo

Still seething, Lothíriel managed the first part of the journey without having to make conversation. Éowyn looked to be brooding on her own troubles, doubtful of what they would find when they eventually got to Edoras. The township had evidently been left empty when Théoden had led his Riders to war. Éowyn said that the people would have gradually returned from Dunharrow but whether anyone felt able to take charge of Meduseld she was unsure. Gríma had steadily got rid of those who would once have taken responsibility, leaving the hall staffed by the old and the few prepared to lick the hated counsellor's boots. Reports had given some hope though – no orc or evil being had been near and Éowyn thought that with a bit of luck it would just be a case of organisation and appointing the right people to serve the new king. Lothíriel hoped it would be that easy, Éomer didn't seem the type to put up with a sloppily run household, especially having been used to the efficiency at Aldburg.

Cross for concerning herself with something that she couldn't alter and would be revealed to her soon enough anyway, Lothíriel concentrated on looking at the changing landscape. The road had moved farther away from the mountain face and to her right the boggy marshes they had passed the previous day had given way to tall grass thick with flowers. Oxeyes daisy turned eggy faces to the sun and cornflowers were just breaking from their buds, preparing to fill the meadows with the bright blue of summer. The grassland stretched for as far as she could see, all the way to the Wall of Rohan and only broken by the waters of the Entwash, Éowyn told her. No wonder they could breed so many horses here.

Half a day to reach Edoras turned out to be an optimistic estimate, Éowyn no doubt being used to a faster pace than that achieved by a large group containing wounded riders. They stopped after a few hours and slices of oatbread were passed around, washed down by small ale dispensed from wicker-covered flagons that had been loaded onto the packhorses. When the journey resumed Éowyn went to the front to ride with her brother and Elladan dropped back to take her place.

Lothíriel could recognise him now and wondered why it had taken her so long – there was definitely a greater tilt to the older twin's eyebrows. Perhaps because he had proved the more humorous of the two. She was pleased to have his companionship and it must have shown on her face, for he smiled.

'You look as though you wish for my company.'

Laughing, Lothíriel pushed back some of her escaped hair; it was too nice a day to remain cross. 'I did want to call on your three thousand years of knowledge,' she said with a cheeky grin.

'I am not sure whether I should be pleased or not, if the only thing you require of me is information.' One mobile eyebrow tilted suggestively, but that just made Lothíriel grin more. She was under no illusion that Elladan was doing anything more than amusing himself. And probably trying to annoy Éomer. If her brothers were anything to go by, then taunting friends was a favourite male occupation.

'The best thing to do with a resource is to make use of it,' she said breaking into laughter. 'I thought you might be able to tell me why the Rohirrim are able to harvest salt so far from the sea. Éowyn says salt water issues from beneath the ground and salt can also be extracted from the mountain rocks.'

Elladan looked surprised. 'And I thought you would want to know about your ancestors.'

'Oh, I do. But salt is of more immediate interest as the people of Rohan need food to last them through the winter.' She had just realised they could salt some of the beans.

'A more pressing problem than the doings of long-dead princes, I agree. And a thirst for knowledge must always be admired. Although you might be better off asking Elrohir, he's the scholarly one.'

Lothíriel flicked her eyes to where the other twin was riding with some of Éomer's guard. She had barely spoken to him. Elladan flashed her a wry smile. 'No, perhaps not, my brother finds dealing with mortals more difficult than I, and female mortals tend to flummox him.'

Lothíriel frowned. 'Why would that be?'

'I think he finds them so...immediate, when there is so much time. But forget that,' Elladan said quickly when he saw her puzzled look, 'talking about salt will be less contentious and probably more instructive. Do you know nothing of the making of the landscape around you, Lothíriel?'

'Of course,' she said a bit stung. 'I know of the Music of the Ainur and the Children of Ilúvatar, I know when the Elves were created and when men first walked the earth...'

'Ah...' he interrupted, 'but we are talking about the bones of Middle-earth here, the foundation that holds the earth beneath our feet. Arda has changed many times since the beginning, Lothíriel. Mountains have risen and fallen and seas advanced and retreated, rivers changed their course. Difficult to imagine, I know, but once fish swam over these plains where horses now graze, and as the water drew back it left behind its salt for the Rohirrim to harvest ages later.'

'You know this?'

'My father knows this, and I have seen the shells of sea creatures embedded in rock leagues from where Belegar now washes against the shores.'

Lothíriel sighed; there was so much she did not know. 'I wanted salt to preserve boar and it has led me into a history lesson. There is so much to learn other than housekeeping.'

'But you can do both,' Elladan said with a sympathetic smile on his face. 'Just because you are a woman it does not mean you cannot study the tomes that collect dust in your father's library.'

'No, and it is one of the things I am looking forward to doing. There has been so little time until now: when I was young I was taught the responsibilities of my position and the womanly skills expected of me. Every free moment I could glean I escaped from my teachers to ride and swim, having enough of being confined in stone walls. Since I felt the need to know more of our history and the world in general we have been under the threat of war, of possible annihilation. It seemed important to make preparations to succour our people through the dark times. I learnt about farming and livestock, how to preserve food and how to ration it in case of siege.' Her earlier irritation returned. 'And when I thought to go home, read of other things than war and housekeeping, I was persuaded to come here to housekeep.'

'You regret agreeing?'

Lothíriel couldn't help her eyes straying to Éomer: he rode a few lines in front of them, back straight as a ramrod. She sighed. 'I suppose not, if I can help. At least not for Éowyn's sake, I don't. It will only be till the autumn and then I will have months to do as I like at home.'

Elladan had not missed the direction of her glance. 'You seem at odds with Éomer today, yet last night I thought you positively friendly.'

Her face flushed. 'He...he makes instant assessments as far as I am concerned. In his eyes I have done something wrong, but only because he has jumped to false conclusions. However, I will not defend myself from his censure; he must learn to think before he shouts at me.'

Elladan's eyes lit with amusement. 'Are you going to tell me what he thinks you have done that should upset him?'

Why not? Her fury at the King of Rohan's high-handed ways made her bold. No reason to keep it to herself. 'Éomer thinks I organised Hungife to travel with us as my maid because I was fed up with attending to myself and wanted to ensure I had help immediately we arrived in Meduseld. But Mildryth the housekeeper at Aldburg asked me to take her on as a favour so she could return to her family. Éomer did not give me time to explain that.'

'Ah, but you said you would not defend yourself anyway, Lothíriel. You are angry he thinks that about you, but too proud to tell him otherwise.'

'I do not understand why a little thing like one extra servant bitters him so much. But...,' she hesitated, still wondering if she had been wrong. 'I am sure he was more disappointed in me rather than angry. Which seems strange.'

'Hmm...' Elladan considered the matter for a moment. 'His reaction is obvious to me; I am not sure why it is not to you.'

Lothíriel waited, her eyes on the elf expectantly. A slow smile softened his sharp features.

'I am sure you will work it out eventually.'

Lothíriel opened her mouth to protest, but a shout stopped her. One of the guards pointed ahead. The road had curved around to the left and rising above a low foothill, Lothíriel could see the roof of a great building. It shone gold in the afternoon sun.

Not all gold, mostly thatch Elladan told her. The gold restricted to the eaves, ridges and the pillars that supported the massive doors. They must renew the thatch every autumn to keep it so bright, Lothíriel decided. But there was no time for any more intimate conversation as riders pressed around them, keen to see firsthand how their homes had fared. Lothíriel felt eyes on her and looked up to see Éomer frowning at her and Elladan. Let him frown all he liked, she would converse with whom she wished. Turning her face away she gazed at the hall atop the hill which was becoming clearer every moment – she wanted to see all she could too, after all this was to be her home for the next few months.

Not a very joyous entrance to the Royal Courts of Edoras, the road ran straight through the barrows of Rohan's past kings. Again no statues, she noticed as they gained the gates, it seemed that in Rohan heroes were remembered in song rather than stone. No bad thing perhaps as stone crumbled but song lived on in the hearts and minds of the people. Still, this was a young place, fashioned mostly from wood, the stone they had used too new to crumble yet.

The ride up the hill passed in a blur as women and children crowded around the returning Riders. Strangely there was none of the formality here that she had seen in Aldburg, but then the place had been all but empty for the duration of the war with no-one left in charge. With a wave of his hand Éomer dismissed his guards to let them be greeted by family members, the simple action confirming what Lothíriel had already suspected – underneath the stern king lurked a caring man. As in Aldburg there were many wounded warriors and these formed themselves into an informal honour guard to line the steps up to the doors of Meduseld. Bealdric having taken Storm away, Lothíriel followed Éowyn up to the high platform, taking a moment to cast her eyes over the many wooden houses that covered the hill below her. Some were simple but those nearer the hall quite large and elaborately carved. A bright spring gushed from a stone sculpted in the likeness of a horse's head; beneath was a wide basin from which the water spilled and fed a stream that chattered its way down the main street – a real boon for the inhabitants to have such cleansing water.

'Osythe!' Éowyn's excited shout broke into Lothíriel's reverie. A tall, fair faced woman who must be nearing her sixtieth year had stepped forward and clasped Éowyn on the arm. Osythe's blue eyes held no bright sparkle, but she welcomed Éowyn warmly, bowing her head slightly when Éomer reached her. He muttered something Lothíriel could not hear and squeezed the woman's shoulder sympathetically.

'I thought I ought to come,' Osythe said when Éowyn gave her chance, 'or you would have had a very cold homecoming. No one knew quite what to do so I pushed myself forward and took charge. At least the beds are aired and there will be food on the board tonight.'

'Oh, I am so glad.' Éowyn sighed deeply, a relieved smile suffusing her face. 'There is much to do, but between the three of us I am sure we will soon have Meduseld to rights.' She turned impulsively, stretching out her hand. 'I told you about Osythe, Lothíriel. Her husband Háma was my uncle's Door-warden.' Lothíriel found herself pulled forward. 'This is Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, Osythe. She came all this way to help me.'

'My lady,' Osythe nodded a respectful greeting, but looked steadfastly into Lothíriel's eyes with the openness Lothíriel had come to expect from the Rohirrim. Lothíriel liked that, and immediately felt that the task before them would not be so difficult with this woman at their side. She murmured her condolences as she had remembered that Háma had been killed at Helm's Deep. Her words were met with a sad smile before Osythe said. 'I will organise a room for you, my lady. Éowyn is in her old one...'

'Oh, we can share for tonight,' Éowyn butted in, 'and all can be sorted tomorrow. Our things will be along later. Where's Hungife, Lothíriel? I bet you want to change, I certainly do.'

Lothíriel looked back down the hill. 'I think she has gone to take the baby to her mother's.'

'Well,' Éowyn said bristling, 'I hope she does not neglect her duties, after you were kind enough to agree to bring her here. A maid with a young baby is not ideal, but it's difficult to refuse Mildryth.'

The conversation going on to the side of her abruptly stopped as Éomer broke off the exchange of words he was having with one of the wounded warriors. Lothíriel didn't move as Éomer looked straight at her. His eyes bored into her, suspicion turning into a question when she held his gaze. But she wasn't going to explain, let him work out that he owed her another apology. She would enjoy that.

To be continued.

Chapter 7

Lothíriel took down a large stoneware jar, glad there was an assortment of provisions left in the kitchen storerooms. Quite a lot of jars of various sizes lined the sturdy shelves, many with the same squiggle etched into them. No recognisable writing, probably someone's unique way of labelling the contents. 'A kind of fungi,' she announced after a moment. 'Golden cups, by the look of them.'

'Are you sure?' Osythe peered over her shoulder. 'Then they would have been there for quite a time, I suppose they have not gone mouldy?'

'No,' Lothíriel confirmed, sniffing at one of the deep orange pieces. 'Whoever dried them knew what they were doing.'

Osythe nodded. 'That would have been the old cook.' She took the stopper from another jar with a different squiggle etched into it.

'What's in there?' Lothíriel asked, putting the golden cups back on the shelf.

'They look like and smell like horse mushrooms.' Osythe held out a handful.

Lothíriel took one from her. 'Yes, but they are bigger than those we get at home.' She laughed as she checked a few for mould. 'Not surprising with all the horses you have to manure the fields.'

'We always have a good crop,' Osythe agreed. 'Perhaps we ought to save these until those elves get here, they will add flavour to the meat. We can make do with plainer things.'

'Good idea. We ought to make a list of things that might be suitable to serve and put anything we need away so it isn't used. It's going to be a while before they get here, but if we don't plan things like these will probably disappear.' Lothíriel looked for an empty shelf, spotting one almost out of reach that would be perfect. Already ideas for tempting dishes were floating through her mind.

Osythe found a cloth to dust it off. 'Hodrwyn and Burghild are willing to continue to cook and have plenty of help, but I think the planning for so many will be beyond them. Although they are prepared to learn. Cooking suits them better than cleaning.'

Lothíriel sniffed, laughing as she smelt an appetising aroma of stew coming from the kitchens. 'I am glad because I don't actually like the thought of doing the cooking, even though I am happy to plan the meals and organise supplies. It's what I have been helping to do for quite some time at home.' Although in Dol Amroth, with much more variety of ingredients on offer and expert cooks, producing interesting meals had been a lot easier.

'I am certainly glad you came, Lothíriel. I am confident I can supervise the servants but am no expert at providing for a hall full of people.' Osythe smiled, but couldn't hide her sadness. 'When times were better I used to earn my keep here by repairing the embroideries. I enjoyed that and could do it with children playing around my feet or when talking to Háma during his off-duty times. I came as a young girl when Queen Morwen still lived here; the hall sparkled and the food served would have graced any table. But the years grew grimmer and everything was neglected. I didn't want to leave the hall but Háma insisted. I miss him terribly, but I know what he would have wanted – for me to do anything I could to help Éomer King. He loved Théoden as a brother, but if he had still been alive he would have served his nephew just as faithfully.'

Lothíriel wasn't sure she was quite so keen to serve the King of Rohan, but she nodded with a sympathetic twitch of her lips seeing the wetness in the older lady's eyes. So much sorrow, all they could do was to get on with life and make things easier for the living. 'Well, the next job will be cleaning the tapestries, the bran should be here in a few days and we can get on with it.'

'We can find plenty to help with that, and repairing the hangings. My eyes are not good enough now, but I know what needs to be done...' Osythe stopped as the door opened with a bang.

Éowyn burst through. 'There you are, I knew I'd find you around the kitchen somewhere. The new mattress for the king's bed has been made; I thought you could help me sort out the room, Lothíriel. Éomer ought to be sleeping there, not on the floor of his study. If we change the wall hangings, the rugs and curtains it won't look like our uncle had just stepped out of it and he should feel happy to move in.

Lothíriel wrinkled her nose disparagingly. He could sleep in the stables for all she cared: not only had she got no apology for his mistake about Hungife, but he had hardly exchanged a word with her during the first week of her stay, entrenched in deep conversation with his advisors most of the time, even at meals. In fact the only attention she'd got was the odd frown when he saw her laughing with Elladan. Now Éomer and the twins had gone off to the Westfold, admittedly so Éomer could see firsthand the state of the damage to the farmsteads, but she still didn't feel like refurbishing his rooms. She bit back an irritable retort, managing not to sound too grumpy. 'Do you need me for that, Éowyn?'

'You have such good taste; look what you and your mother did in Minas Tirith. I'll organise all the moving about if you choose what to use. The linen-room is full of stuff my grandmother ordered, she must have lived rather grandly.'

Reluctantly Lothíriel nodded, finding it difficult to refuse the pleading look thrown her way. 'It's getting late, but we can decide what needs to be done now and get on with it tomorrow.' She followed Éowyn along the passage that led to the main hall, hearing the happy sound of chatter as the door opened. A couple of the women looked around, smiling when they saw who had entered. Progress in itself, as some had been a little reluctant to follow her orders until they realised she was prepared to get her own hands dirty. Lothíriel glanced guiltily down at her nails, if she wasn't careful they'd never look good again.

'The leather's coming up really well, my lady.' A freckled young woman called her over, proudly indicating the pillar she had been polishing. The hall had pillars running down each side similar to Aldburg, but here they were much more lavishly embellished, wrapped with tooled leather in red and green and inlaid with gold decorations.

Lothíriel went to look. The beeswax was bringing the colour back, but the gold would shine more when they could clean it with vinegar, as would the bronze candle sconces. She had been right to arrange for plenty to come on the wagons, as there would not have been enough here for all the jobs to be done. They still had to tackle the beautifully tiled floor; in places grease had blackened it.

Knowing the wagons would be here soon, and so that the walls could be washed down, all the hangings had been removed and stacked ready for cleaning. Lothíriel knew from seeing it done over many years that a gentle bran-rub would freshen the colours without damaging the fabric. With valuable pieces, such as the tapestry depicting Eorl the Young on Felaróf, the cleaning had to be very carefully carried out.

'Come on, Lothíriel. I want to get everything finished before Éomer returns.' Always impatient, Éowyn was holding open the door to the West Tower that housed the royal apartments.

Lothíriel hadn't been in there before, and immediately saw that they would have to get the buckets out – the passage looked decidedly grimy and the window at the end would let in more light after a good wash. Like Aldburg, Meduseld had been extended over the years and the corner towers added to give more privacy and space. 'Queen's solar,' Éowyn indicated the first door they came to. 'It's been closed for years so there will be a lot to be done, but it can wait. It's the bedchamber that needs sorting first; nothing's been changed in there since I can remember.'

There weren't many rooms and only one bedchamber. Lothíriel hoped the kings and queens of the Mark had got on or Éomer wouldn't have been the only king to sleep in his study. But from what Éowyn had told her most royal marriages had been for love rather than for political reasons. It seemed the Rohirrim had got a lot of things right. But she couldn't imagine who Éomer might choose, no one likely had showed themselves yet. But perhaps there was another reason for him to disappear to the Westfold, one besides surveying the aftermath of the war. The thought that he might be visiting a lover made her strangely uneasy.

'Here we are.' Éowyn pushed open a heavily carved door and Lothíriel followed her in. So dim, and it smelt musty. But there were two big windows so she went straight across to one and pulled back the heavy curtains. What a difference: the window must face west as the setting sun splashed colour across the floor. When she looked out she could see right over the tops of the houses to the plain beyond.'

'This one looks towards the mountains,' Éowyn said as she opened up the other.

Turning away from the view, Lothíriel looked around the room, seeing past the dust and the faded fabrics. 'It's a beautiful room, and we can make it look really lovely.' In spite of the dark panelling the room had an airy feel with the curtains back. It just needed cleaning, and perhaps changing around, she thought. Especially if Éomer found it difficult to sleep here because it was full of memories of the last king. 'We ought to move the bed to a different place,' she mused, going to stand with her back against the panelling. 'If we put it against this wall the view would be better – the mountains from one window and the plain from another. That's certainly how I'd like it if it were mine.'

'Then that's what we will do,' Éowyn said with a slight twitch of her lips that Lothíriel couldn't quite understand. 'I will get some men to move the bed first thing in the morning and we can raid the linen-room. There's a pile of wall hangings in there, you will have fun picking some out.'

Lothíriel agreed with that, the ones on the walls now were a bit grim – the kings of the Mark might be warriors, but surely they did not need to sleep with all that blood and gore depicted around them. 'It will need a thorough clean first; I am surprised it got so dirty in a few short months.'

Éowyn grimaced. 'Don't think we are such terrible housekeepers, at the end Gríma wouldn't let anyone in to clean it. He wanted control of my uncle in every way.'

ooo

She had never worked so hard. Just over a week since Éowyn had asked her to help refurbish the king's bedchamber and during that time they had also managed to finish cleaning the hall. Everyone worked frantically once the wagons with the cleaning materials arrived. No one had actually said, but it became obvious they wanted the hall to look its finest by the time Éomer returned. The man might not show his best face to her, but the people certainly loved him.

Nevertheless, however irritable he made her, Lothíriel couldn't help but let out a deep sigh of satisfaction. She had not wanted to take on the task of providing Éomer with a bedchamber worthy of the king of the Mark, but could not help being pleased at a job well done. Wishing everything to be perfect she pulled the quilt strait, before running her hand over the beautiful embroidery. Éowyn had been right when she'd said there was plenty of linen to choose from and someone had stored it well, interspersing the folds with lavender and rosemary. The whole room smelt fresh now. She ran her hand down one of the bedposts, the wood glowed with a deep shine. It had taken hours of work to brush the dust from the intricate carving, but then there were plenty ready to help. She reached out a hand to smooth down the head-sheet but instead swung round as she heard a noise behind her... 'Oh...we weren't expecting you until later.'

'Obviously.' Éomer filled the doorway. He still had on his outer clothes, looking travel worn and tired, but he fixed his dark eyes on her accusingly. 'And what do you think you are doing in this room?'

Why did he always stare at her in that way, like he was about to chastise a naughty child. 'It has been refurbished; I was just checking that everything was in order for your return.'

His whole body stiffened. 'I never asked for it to be done, you have exceeded your authority. I...'

Something snapped and Lothíriel glared at him, her heart thumping wildly. 'You are an ungrateful pig. I did not want to come here and only did as a favour to Éowyn. And I certainly did not want to have anything to do with this.' She swished her hand round angrily. 'But your sister thought you should have quarters befitting your station and pleaded with me to help. For all I care you can sleep...in...the midden. The stables are too good for you!'

His face paled and he took a step towards her. Involuntarily Lothíriel took one of her own backwards until she felt the knurled bedpost dig into her back. Her lips trembled with the enormity of what she had said, but she wouldn't apologise and lifted her chin, blinking back a tear.

Éomer stopped abruptly. 'Lothíriel, I'm sorry. And I didn't mean to frighten you.' He looked distraught, as if he had run a cart over a favourite dog.

'You didn't,' she snapped crossly. 'But your manners are appalling.'

'I know, and you're right; the – stables are too good for me.'

What! Had she heard that correctly? A look up into his contrite face told her she had. Nevertheless, she wanted to get out of there. Determinedly she tossed her head ready to sweep out past him. 'I will relieve you of my presence, my lord.' She expected him to move but instead of getting out of the way he caught her by the arm. She didn't look up, only tried to shake off his grip. He hung on; she might as well try to rid herself of a hunting lion.

'Let me go!'

He dropped her arm instantly. 'Don't leave, I need to explain. I should never have reacted like that when I found you here.' His mouth curved into a hesitant grin. 'Only please, not the midden.'

'It's what you deserve,' she retorted, but her anger faded as Éomer ran his fingers through his long hair dispiritedly and flashed her apologetic smile.

'My only excuse is that I now know the full extent of the damage to the farms in the Westfold and will have to beg more from Gondor. I am finding the necessity of that a little difficult, but I shouldn't take out my discomfiture on you when you are doing your best to help.'

'No, you shouldn't. You have thought ill of me from the beginning...why I don't know.' He still blocked her way but as she took a step to the side he grabbed her arm again and pulled her towards the bed.

'Lothíriel look, sit down a moment.'

'Stop doing that!' She flung his hand away irritably. 'I will not be moved about.'

He stepped away from her, holding both hands up to show he would not touch her. 'Sorry, but I didn't want you to rush off. My cursed temper gets the better of me, I'm afraid, and you have every right to walk out.' He let out a strained chuckle. 'But I should know by now that it would take more than a belligerent Horse-lord to face you down.' Éomer took an audible breath and gave a small bow. 'Will you please sit and converse with me, my lady.' He waved his hand to indicate the bed.

With a slight huff – she didn't know why she was bothering to talk to him – Lothíriel sat herself down on the edge of it, which brought her eyes level with the ornate silver buckle on his sword belt. 'If you want to talk, then please sit down yourself, I will not have you towering over me like that.'

Éomer raised one of his provocative eyebrows and started to sit down beside her, but when she glared he thought better of it and looked around for a chair. There was only one that could be easily shifted and he stretched out an arm and grasped the back of it. Turning it round in one movement he sat down the wrong way, wrapping his long legs around it. With an impatient motion he unclasped his cloak, dragged it from his shoulders and threw it onto the bed a few feet away from her, before resting his arms and chin on the chair's high back.

Lothíriel just stopped herself from saying that there was a large wardrobe behind the panelling for his clothes, deciding that someone would be happy to clear up after their king. She waited for him to speak but when he said nothing she let out a resigned sigh. 'You were going to explain why you are so rude and discourteous to me when I have only been trying to help.'

Éomer twisted his lips, looking unusually embarrassed. 'The truth of it,' he said at last, 'is that I thought such a grand lady as you would look down on us.' Lothíriel gasped, but he held up his hand. 'The last Gondorian noblewoman to come here was my grandmother. I was only a child when she returned to Gondor but she ruled Meduseld with Thengel for twenty-seven years. Thengel tried to be a good king, and Morwen meant well, but she did a lot of harm which is still talked about today. Trying to make us more like Gondor she altered many things, not for the good. The Mark doesn't need that kind of change; it needs its traditions and its beliefs. That's what holds us together and makes us strong.'

Lothíriel shook her head; surely that was years ago and she had no real authority here anyway. 'I understand that, Éomer, and have no wish to impinge on the way the Rohirrim do things. Éowyn wanted me to help supervise the cleaning and refurbishment of Meduseld and to ensure that there would be enough food for your guests, that's all. And all I have done I hope is in keeping. I have no more influence on life here than that, and any I might have will soon wane when I go home at the end of the summer. But if you do not want me here I can return to Gondor with Master Elrond's party. In fact,' she said standing up, 'perhaps that would be best. I hope you use this room, Éomer, because I do not think the king of Rohan should be sleeping on the floor.'

'No, Lothíriel please don't go.' Éomer tried to rise but tangled his legs in the chair. Lothíriel stopped, finding it hard not to laugh as he tried to extricate himself. She had never seen him otherwise than in command and perfect control, and she rather enjoyed his discomposure. In fairness he saw the funny side and started to chuckle. The chair got banged down on the tiled floor and he stood facing her with one hand on its back. 'I don't want you to go early. After all the work you have done it would be a shame for you to leave before Théoden's funeral. I will be officially taking up my crown and also I hope to announce Éowyn's betrothal. You will not want to miss that.'

She didn't. But she also did not wish to stay where she was not wanted. 'Maybe, but I am a bit fed up with you berating me for no reason other than your imaginings. This is not the first time you have mistaken my motives.'

'I never apologised for my wrong thinking about Hungife, did I? If I do so unreservedly will you stay and carry on with what you have been doing?'

Lothíriel shrugged. That was probably all the apology she was going to get.

He must have taken that as agreement for he smiled. 'I have never seen the hall look so well, you must have worked extremely hard in so short a time to make it gleam as it does.'

'I only supervised, Éomer. Others have done all the hard work...'

He laughed. 'I wouldn't expect you to scrub the floors, Lothíriel. But it takes a certain skill to get others to do such a good job. And this' – he swung his gaze around the room. 'It is difficult to believe it's the same place that Théoden slept.' But then he frowned as he studied the changes she had made. 'You have replaced the wall-hangings.'

'I can put the old ones back if you wish,' she said quickly. 'They can be easily cleaned.'

'No, I like the new ones,' Éomer said with a reassuring smile. 'What made you choose these in particular?'

He seemed genuinely interested in her reasons, so she pointed to the tapestry depicting Eorl the Young's charge onto the Field of Celebrant which showed more of the men and horses than the one in the hall. 'That one must be obvious: it's so like I imagine the Rohirrim charging onto the Pelennor. I am sure there will soon be many portraying the battles of the Ring-war, but I thought this the nearest without being too bloody.'

'The old ones were a bit dour,' he conceded with a smile. 'But that one certainly lightens the atmosphere in here.'

Lothíriel swung round to look at the large embroidery that he could see over her shoulder. It took up a good bit of one wall and she didn't really know why she had chosen it, probably only because she liked the open vista – a view of Rohan's White Mountains, snowy tops reaching up into a cloudless sky, and in the foreground the vast spread of the grasslands, dotted with the flowers of summer. But perhaps not quite right for a man.

However Éomer nodded his approval as he perused the scene thoughtfully for a moment, before turning to look at the third hanging. 'And who's that?'

'Éowyn says it's Brytta distributing largesse during a hard winter. Evidently he was a good king, loved by all.'

His expression inscrutable, Éomer let his eyes wander over her. 'And you thought that having such a good example to follow would spur me to be a better ruler, did you?'

Now she had upset him again, he always misunderstood her intentions. She had meant quite the opposite. 'Strange as it may seem, Éomer, I have no doubts that you will serve your people well.' His gaze never wavered and honesty made her say more. 'You are generally held in high regard by everyone...'

'Except you?' he butted in.

'And whose fault is that?' she shot back. 'As I said before, you set out to be antagonistic to me, judging me harshly with no evidence.'

'And I realised my mistake... and then repeated it again. I should have learnt,' he shook his head slowly as if trying to reason his behaviour, 'but somehow... I can't seem to help myself as far as you are concerned.'

The perplexed look on his face made her smile. To some extent she could understand, as her responses to him had often been laced with unexplained spleen. 'It might be best to resume the truce, although I do remember you saying you enjoyed our spats.'

'I did, didn't I?' One of his infectious grins crossed his face, banishing the stern king and revealing a more boyish demeanour. Which was the real Éomer, Lothíriel wondered. Perhaps both as responsibility tended to chase away youth.

'Well, I prefer the truce,' she said with a glimmer of a smile, 'so would you mind settling for one. After all it will only be for another couple of months, you should be able to manage that.'

'Oh... I think I could.'

Lothíriel swallowed as he drew out the words and took a slow step towards her, his expression changing again, from boyishness to something else. Something altogether more disturbing. She wanted to escape but mesmerised by the way his brown eyes ranged over her – just like the night at Aldburg – found that her legs would not obey her. No! She would not fall for him; she would not join those simpering women who had followed him around in Minas Tirith, for that would surely lead to heartache. What had he said – that he had no intention of marrying a Gondorian. But she still could not move, even when telling herself she was mad even to be thinking that way.

'The more I get to know you, Lothíriel, the more I like the sound of a truce.' One large hand reached out and rough fingers gently stroked down her cheek. 'Perhaps we could...'

'Oh, there you are.' Éowyn flew into the room, a smile from ear to ear. 'They said you were back, Éomer. Do you like it? You can't refuse to sleep here now, Lothíriel has done so well.'

Feeling her cheeks ablaze, Lothíriel took a deep breath to try and calm herself. Luckily Éomer's bulk shielded her for the first few moments of Éowyn's abrupt entrance, and anyway her attention was fixed on her brother. He caught hold of Éowyn as she surged towards him, pulling her into a hug.

'Don't worry, little sister. I like it, you have both done well. With such lavish quarters I might even start to feel like a king.'

Éowyn linked her arm in his, eyes alight with happiness. 'You'll make a great king. That's why Lothíriel chose that tapestry of Brytta. She said she could forgive you many things because of the way you treated your people.'

'Oh, did she?' Éomer turned around, eyes dancing with laughter. 'So you don't think I'm all bad?'

Lothíriel gave him one of her sweetest smiles, now she'd had a moment her wits had returned. 'No one can possibly be all bad, my lord. Not even you.'

Éowyn opened her eyes wide in astonishment, but Éomer guffawed. Lothíriel took the opportunity to make a hasty exit. She would be very careful not to be alone with him again.

To be continued.

Chapter 8

Éomer frowned as he poked his spoon into the piece of fruit in his dish. 'This looks like a peach. Where did that come from?'

'Lothíriel had them sent; they come all the way from Dol Amroth. Eat it, Éomer, they are delicious, bottled in wine and honey.' Éowyn put a piece in her mouth and sighed with satisfaction.

Lothíriel paused, her own first mouthful still on the spoon as Éomer's eyes swivelled her way. He didn't look too happy, perhaps not liking peaches, and made no attempt to eat the fruit. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, goblet in one hand, a look of resignation on his face. Don't say she had upset him again!

'I appreciate the gesture, Lothíriel, but space on the wagons would be better taken up with staple foods.'

He had spoken reasonably, and had not jumped down her throat since the last quarrel in the bedchamber, so she answered lightly, with uncharacteristic patience where he was concerned. 'The wagon was already loaded when I put them on, Éomer, so nothing got left behind. Besides, the jars they came in are going to be used to store herbs for the winter months; packed in salted butter and kept cool they will last a fair time. Herbs will enhance your winter meals and bring sunshine into the dark months.' One good thing Queen Morwen had done was to make sure aromatic southern plants grew in the Meduseld gardens, and some might have been neglected and gone a bit wild, but they still flourished in a sunny corner and would add to the wild ones which were plentiful around Edoras.

He smiled, but still didn't seem completely won over. 'I see I was wrong, your housekeeping and organisation cannot be faulted. But if there are luxuries like this around perhaps they should be saved for when the future Queen of Gondor gets here.'

Wrong? Lothíriel had to stifle a grin. Was he mellowing, or perhaps coming to terms with the realisation that he had no choice but to accept help? Even hers. Hopefully he could stop himself reacting when she argued against him. Which she fully intended to do. 'I don't agree that the peaches should have been saved for your guests, Éomer. We have devised a welcome feast consisting of traditional Rohirric dishes, which I am sure is what they would prefer, and anyway peaches will be plentiful when they get to Gondor. But fruit like this is unusual in Rohan and as there was enough for the entire household to have a taste, I thought it would be a well deserved treat after the hard work of the past few weeks.' She looked around the great hall taking in the massive improvements made – with long summer days light still streamed through the high louvers and the fresh colours of the pillars, tapestries and floor blended in pleasing harmony.

'Well, I agree with that,' Éothain's voice came from farther down the table. 'These are lip-smackingly good, why waste them on elves.'

A bit shocked Lothíriel swung her gaze to the twins, but to her surprise both were chuckling. Now she could see from the grin on Éothain's face that he had only been trying to get a rise out of them. Men, would she ever understand them – it seemed that the friendlier they were, the ruder they thought they could be to each other.

'Well, I for one am glad we are not leaving to meet my sister until tomorrow, these are delicious, Lothíriel. Well worth the small space they took up on the supply wagons.' Elladan smiled at her sympathetically. 'But from what I have seen of your capabilities so far I am sure no one will be disappointed in the food served to Éomer's guests. You have a knack of producing elegance from common ingredients.'

'Honey-tongued flatterer,' Éomer muttered quietly so that just those nearby could hear.

Elladan laughed. 'Ladies like to be praised for their accomplishments, Éomer. You should try it.'

'I am very grateful for all Lothíriel is doing, and I stand corrected on the peaches. Does that cover it?' Éomer stared hard at the elf, a twisted grin on his lips.

'Well, no one could ever accuse you of being sweet-talking, my friend.' Elladan turned his head away from Éomer, giving her a surreptitious wink. 'I suppose that's all you're going to get, Lothíriel.'

'We have a saying in the Mark that under the noise of speech there is a silence that speaks more.' Éomer put a piece of peach in his mouth, chewed a moment and swallowed, a look of pleasure crossing his face. 'The peach is lovely but I shall look forward to tasting the Rohirric food you have arranged for our guests, Lothíriel. I am sure they will be happy with the welcome accorded them.' His dark eyes met hers and arched brows winged upward, his intense look bringing colour to her cheeks. She had no words to say, but luckily Éowyn jumped in.

'I am sure they will be happy; after all they will have been sleeping under canvas since Lothlórien and will still have a fair journey to go.' Éowyn hesitated a moment and then said to Elladan, 'What is your sister like?'

'You will find out in two days, Éowyn,' Éomer said with a laugh. 'Better that you form your own opinion as siblings can sometimes be pretty scathing of one another.'

Éowyn made a humph... sound, looking a little irritated with her brother. Elladan didn't bother to respond, but a knowing smile quirked his lips.

Lothíriel finished her peach, tempted to ask Elladan herself. But decided she too could wait. For a man like Elessar to risk so much, Arwen Undómiel had to be something special.

Two days later Lothíriel didn't need to witness Éomer's reaction to his first sight of Arwen to confirm that she was indeed special – coming to a halt at the top of the steps, the King of Rohan's eyes widened and his mouth opened and shut. A bit like a floundering haddock, Lothíriel reflected irritably. But to be fair she had never thought a woman could be so beautiful; actually an elf, of course, but it amounted to the same thing. For once Éowyn remained speechless, offering the welcome cup with the appropriate words but leaving it to her brother to make conversation.

Once over his initial shock, Éomer greeted Arwen and her father with confidence and Lothíriel could not fault his manners. Perhaps it really was only herself who brought out the worst in him. Watching the scene from a few feet away, her eyes met with those of the elf-woman who came up behind Master Elrond, also stunningly beautiful, but in a much more ethereal way, and as fair as Arwen was dark. Lothíriel shivered, it was as if her whole mind had been opened up, on show to this unearthly creature. But then Lady Galadriel smiled and the shivering was replaced by warmth that spread through her body like heady wine.

'A flower far from its native soil sometimes has to struggle to flourish and show its beauty, but if lovingly nurtured, will grow all the stronger.' Lothíriel stared into Lady Galadriel's serene face, what a strange thing to say on a first introduction. But before she could comment or ask what she meant the Lady moved on, speaking quietly to Osythe for a few moments.

With the introductions over, and after time given for their guests to refresh themselves, the bell rang for the sunset meal. Lothíriel sat at the end of the top table, she didn't have to actually serve or do anything as Éowyn was officially the Hlafdige, responsible for seeing that the guests had filled plates, but she wanted to be on hand in case there were any problems in the kitchen and Osythe needed her help. She took a moment to look down the table – what a gathering; nothing had convinced her more that they were indeed moving into a new age than being seated amongst such a mixture of Rohirrim nobility and legendary elves. A glance at Arwen, who met her interest with a smile and a nod of the head, made her sigh inwardly – even wearing one of her loveliest dresses, and with her hair washed and brushed by Hungife till it shone like polished jet, she felt like a straggly wayside flower pushed into the same vase as a faultless rose.

Éowyn had felt it too, whispering to her earlier that no wonder she had stood no chance with Aragorn, but she had laughed as she said it, secure and happy now in Faramir's love. Well, never mind Arwen, Lothíriel didn't think she could compete with Rohan's White Lady either. Éowyn looked striking tonight, with her skin glowing from the summer sun and her golden hair shimmering in the fading light. But at least Lothíriel knew she could be proud of the meal and sure that the elves appreciated it too – they certainly seemed to be tucking into the wide variety of foods on offer. Venison provided the centre of the feast, killed just before the closed month for hunting and hung until tender and flavoursome. Served with a sauce made from the golden cups, it made a dish to remember. But there were also many side dishes: eel from the Snowbourne smoked over oak and garnished with cress harvested from the fast-flowing streams; crayfish swimming in butter flavoured with ransoms; freshwater mussels stuffed with horse-mushrooms and leeks and baked with cheese. Besides fresh, crusty bread, great bowls of salad gathered from the woods and fields around Edoras were placed between the meat and fish to lighten the fare – fat hen, jack-the-hedge, chickweed, bittercress plus a mixture of pot-herbs and greens found in the garden, all drizzled with a dressing of walnut oil, wine and honey. Sharp, soft cheeses cleansed the mouth and puddings like honeyed milk set with rennet, wild strawberries and thick cream provided a sweet ending.

All worth the effort involved when Éomer passed his congratulations and his thanks down the table. Lothíriel looked up to seek him out as the server gave her the message; the jolt of pleasure when he raised his goblet to her brought on another embarrassing blush.

ooo

A few days later, when the elves were well on their way to Gondor, Lothíriel knocked on the door of Éomer's study a little tentatively. She had sworn she wouldn't be alone with him again, but straightening her shoulders she told herself that was stupid – surely, if he felt so ill, his mind would not be on flirtation. Anyway it would have looked odd had she asked someone to accompany her. And sending a servant would have been cowardly, he might refuse to drink the tisane and a servant would not dare argue. She had no qualms about encountering his wrath – it was his other moods that bothered her.

A muffled call to enter made her smile – no risk today. Poor Éomer was not himself, but if he behaved sensibly then the summer fever would not last long.

The Lord of Meduseld was sitting at his desk, head in hands, not looking as if he had any interest in the pile of documents in front of him. Lothíriel marched over and put the tray down on the desk with a slight bang. 'I've brought something to help.' She poured some of the hot liquid from the jug into a pottery mug and held it out. But all he did was screw up his nose.

'What is it?' The scowl on his face told her he would not be an easy patient.

'A tisane made from lemons, honey and willow-bark. Luckily I had a load of lemons sent; they have proved useful with many having the same illness as you. Drink this and you will feel much better, the fever only lasts for about two days.'

'Lemons?' he queried, frowning even more.

'Yes,' she said, immediately bristling, 'and don't go on about the space they took up, there was plenty of room, and anyway it was a good job I thought to pack them – nothing is more soothing to a raw throat than honey and lemon.'

Éomer sighed suddenly, and reached for the mug. 'I am not going to berate you for providing lemons, Lothíriel, but please sit down. I need to talk to you about something else.' He took a big gulp of the tisane, and then another. The frosty look was replaced by something approaching a smile. 'I hope we haven't sent our elven friends on their way to Gondor with this malady. Aragorn will not be pleased if his beautiful bride arrives with a headache and a dripping nose.'

Lothíriel's lips trembled as she tried not to laugh, imagining the incomparable Arwen sneezing through her wedding ceremony. The twinkle of mirth in Éomer's red-rimmed eyes told her he'd had the same thought and then a chuckle escaped from his normally firm mouth. That did it – she started giggling. She laughed so much she had to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. 'Perhaps elves don't suffer from such common ailments,' she stuttered out when she could get a breath.

Éomer groped for a handkerchief, his mirth had started his eyes running even more. 'No, difficult to imagine, I agree. I think Lord Celeborn would look down his nose and totally deny anything was wrong and Master Elrond would just wave his hand imperiously and no contagion would dare go near.'

Their eyes met and shared a moment of understanding – wonderful though it had been to be amongst so many high beings, they were rather overpowering.

'I mustn't jest anymore,' Éomer said after a moment, 'for they bleed like the rest of us. And fight better than most.'

Of course that would earn respect from this esteemed warrior. Lothíriel nodded. 'I agree, no more joking.' She settled in the chair. 'What did you want to talk to me about?'

Éomer took another swig of the tisane, smiled and then emptied the mug. He put it back on the tray. 'Thank you, it feels easier already.' He drummed his fingers on the desk, looking a little uncertain. 'I need to talk to you about Hungife.'

'Hungife?'

He nodded. 'I don't think you quite understand our way of doing things here; I am told you gave her silver pennies.'

'I did,' Lothíriel confirmed wondering what she had done wrong. 'She needed a dress fit to wear in the hall so I advanced some of her wages.'

'But we don't pay servants with silver, it's far too much.'

Lothíriel stared at him dumbstruck; the amount was nothing like her maid earned in Dol Amroth.

He gave her a smile, his expression understanding rather than critical. 'Our culture is unlike that in Gondor. It's difficult to explain, but we have less difference between people, which is one of our strengths. Of course the lords in their halls live more lavishly than those on the farms or in the camps of the Eastemnet. But we try to make sure that those we are responsible for live as equally as possible. Just because Hungife is your maid, or if she were Éowyn's, she would not get paid more than any other servant in the hall. Yes, true, she would get benefits like finer hand-me-down dresses and perhaps a little extra for some special service, but nothing much else.'

'But I haven't got any dresses to hand down,' Lothíriel said mortified – how could she have been so stupid, she had seen herself how everyone was looked after. 'I've barely enough everyday ones for myself. I can hardly give her any of my court dresses, they would be totally unsuitable for a maid.' She let out a frustrated sigh. 'I am sorry, I should have asked Éowyn.' A reluctant grin crossed her face. 'Hungife did seem rather pleased. Have I caused a lot of trouble?'

Éomer chuckled. 'A bit of envy and a few grumbles, but most accept that Hungife is lucky and anyway Gondorians are known to be much more affluent than us.'

'Oh...' Lothíriel closed her eyes with embarrassment; that was the last thing she wanted to flaunt. 'I never meant to imply that.' Who had he got his information about the silver pennies from, she wondered? Éowyn had her head in the clouds most of the time and anyway would think it beneath her to take notice of mutterings. Osythe would surely have spoken directly to her. She sighed to herself; there were probably many more who would have enjoyed the tittle-tattle. Only to be expected, she supposed, but it would have been better if Éomer hadn't had to take her to task. Although to be fair, he had done it in a very kindhearted way.

'I know you never meant to show off your wealth,' Éomer said, his voice more mild than she expected or perhaps deserved. 'But consider that Hungife has now been paid for the length of your stay here and then the mishap will be put right. Lothíriel,' he said, raising a brow at her anxious frown, 'don't look so downcast, the matter is closed. But there is something else I wish to discuss.'

Oh no, what had she done now. She waited in trepidation.

'Presuming that your lemons work, I intend leaving for the Westfold in two days' time. I shall be staying with Erkenbrand, and I wondered if you would like to come. Éowyn can manage here and I know you were keen to see more of the Riddermark. It's a good opportunity and I think you deserve a respite from all the work you are doing.'

Pleased beyond measure that he had recognized her contribution, Lothíriel took an excited breath, hardly believing it. 'Go to Helm's Deep?'

'Yes, I have some things to discuss with my marshal and want to fit in another visit before I ride to Gondor to collect Uncle's body.'

'There is time for you to go the Westfold and still get to Minas Tirith on the agreed day?

He laughed. ' We don't hang about when we journey, and I'm sure that horse of yours will keep up with us for our ride west, and the trip to Gondor will be fast as I shall take only my finest. So we shall be able to spend a week or more in the Westfold.'

She had intended to start planning and preparing for the winter months now the elves had gone, and there was still the provisioning needed to feed the guests at the funeral, but all that could be done when Éomer was in Gondor. 'I would love to,' Lothíriel hesitated as a thought hit her. 'But Hungife could not come with the baby and I cannot go without another woman. Not because I cannot manage on my own,' she added quickly, keen not to worsen Éomer's opinion of her after the silver incident, 'but because...'

'Oh, I know that, Lothíriel,' Éomer interrupted, giving her a sideways grin. 'I do not suspect you of needing pampering anymore. Of course you need a companion.' He thought for a moment. 'How about Osythe, I think she might accompany you, I remember she mentioned that she would like to visit Háma's grave.'

'Oh, what a good idea. Then yes, if Osythe is willing I would like to come very much.' She stood up to go, picking up the tray from the desk. 'Thank you, I appreciate you asking me as I know it will mean more organization and trouble for your men.'

'Lothíriel.' Éomer rubbed his hands across his eyes and sniffed, giving her a weak smile. 'I have not shown how much I value your contribution here.' He sighed. 'I have never found it easy to accept help. But in spite of what you may think, I very much appreciate what you have done. It was good of you to listen to Éowyn's plea for help...' he hesitated, lips twitching, 'especially as you had to ignore my crass rudeness. So let me say now that I am very grateful for how you have helped us. Showing you a bit more of the Riddermark is a meager repayment.'

Her color rising, more discomfited by his praise than she ever had been by his scorn, Lothíriel gave him a quick nod. 'Thank you for saying that. It means a lot.' She took herself out of the door before he could say anything else.

ooo

They left before first light, hooves kicking up the dry dust as they thundered along the West Road, dawn splashing the sky with colour behind them. Despite the trepidation she had felt about coming to Rohan Lothíriel had enjoyed the journey, finding travelling with an army a unique adventure. However, a fast ride with the cream of Éomer's guard was already proving to be a much more awe-inspiring experience. She could not help being thrilled at finding herself amongst so many expert warriors and relished the magnificent sight they made – the gold on their cloaks glinting in the brightening sun, long braids flying behind them as their splendid horses stretched out, enjoying the cool of the morning.

As the day heated the pace slowed, Éomer choosing to spend some time at her side. He proved a pleasant companion telling her the names of the villages, the peaks above them and pointing out various landmarks like the place high in the mountains where Walda had met his untimely end. He had been slain by orcs with all his companions, after only being king for nine years. Fascinated by him recounting some of the Mark's great events, she listened avidly when he described the battle of Helm's Deep and told her the history of the Hornburg. Then, to her surprise, he described his first meeting with Aragorn. She had come to appreciate Éomer's strengths over the past weeks – always the consummate warrior and leader, but now she discovered he had made decisions that had contributed to their final triumph over evil.

They made camp where a fast stream dropped down from a high escarpment, spreading out over the plain in a silver sheet. It had been a wonderful but tiring day, and with her muscles aching, Lothíriel crawled happily into her cot, feeling herself quite the expert at living under canvas. She must have fallen asleep before Osythe, but the next morning got up as soon as she woke leaving the older woman still softly snoring.

But in no time, after a bowl of porridge and some dried fruit, they were on the road again, Éomer determined to reach their destination that day.

An hour later, cantering along a wide swath of sheep-mown grass, he signalled for a full gallop and Lothíriel willingly dropped her hands, allowing Storm to surge forward. The horse picked up on his rider's excitement, streaking past a couple of heavier war-horses in his eagerness to get in front. Laughing with the joy of the morning, Lothíriel pulled him up a bit, not thinking it judicious to out-run the Lord of the Mark, especially as Éomer had been good enough to bring her. She had got to know him better during this journey, enjoying listening to his tales and seeing first-hand the interaction and comradeship he shared with his men, but what still impressed her most was the caring side she had discovered. It showed in the way he considered his people, slowing everyone down when they met a cart or a flock of sheep on the road instead of flying by covering all with dust. And the enquiries he made as to health and welfare were obviously genuine, as he listened intently to the answers. More than anything that had pushed aside her irritation with his sometimes high-handed ways – he was a king, after all.

Her attention taken with thought for a moment, Storm suddenly veered to the right, convinced it was a good time to try and pass the frontrunners, but Lothíriel curbed his eagerness with a sharp word and firm hands. Her time at Edoras had strengthened the bond she had with her brother's matchless gelding, as she had ridden out most days. But the rides had been short and confined to the immediate surroundings of Edoras. Here was real freedom – the road still tracked the foothills of the Ered Nimrais, crossing wide streams that tumbled down from the high valleys, but away to the right the great plain of the West Emmet stretched out under a vast open sky, still tinged with the pink of dawn. She loved it, and the experience made her think longingly of riding on the beach at home, racing along the flat sands with the waves pounding the shore. The immensity of the sea always made her feel like a speck on the surface of the world. She had that feeling now and drew rein a bit reluctantly when Éomer put up his hand – a wagon in sight farther along the road.

Slowing down, Lothíriel shaded her eyes and looked ahead, seeing a smudge of purple on the horizon. The Misty Mountains, Osythe told her, and carved into the southern tip, not discernible in the haze, would be Nan Curunír, the Wizard's Vale. So close, and as it turned out, so deadly for Rohan.

The first day they had passed villages tucked into the folds of the land, the surrounds highly cultivated, untouched by war. But on this second day, as they progressed towards Helm's Deep, they saw the burnt out ruins of cottages and crops flattened into the ground. Rebuilding had started though, many wagons on the road carried wooden roofing tiles cut from the forest that clothed the valley sides. Occasionally Éomer called a halt, spending a little time talking to the farmers who were struggling to replant and restore their homes at the same time.

By late afternoon, with the sun sinking towards the top of the mountains they reached the fork where the way led up to the Hornburg. They rode up and up, following the course of a fast stream until they entered, what Osythe said, was the Deeping Coomb. It looked like a great green chunk had been bitten right out of the mountainside. The noise of the water became more intense as they neared the far end of the coomb where the stream issued from a gorge and rushed downwards, eager to reach the plain. It seemed that they were entering the very mountain itself as huge cliffs towered either side of them, and then they reached the dike, the first defence of this ancient fortress. Beyond the dike they came to a triangular patch of greensward that spanned the distance to the Wall.

The road climbed gradually up across this high-meadow and they passed between two huge burial mounds, new grass already greening them. But on its own, in front of the gate, was one solitary mound. A spear and a standard marked the grave of Háma: King's friend; King's protector; Osythe's beloved husband.

Lothíriel knew that Osythe had tokens from her daughters to bury in the earth along with their father, but that would be a private moment. Now, only a tear in her eye betrayed the emotion she must be feeling. Éomer dropped his horse back and rode alongside Osythe for a few moments, and together they rode through the gate and over the long causeway.

Lothíriel came on behind, looking around her with deep interest – walls hewn from great blocks of stone, and everywhere was so dark. High summer it might be but only a few rays of the remaining sunlight peered their way through the chinks in the rock. She had wanted to come, but shivered at the stern face of this awesome fortress.

Lord Erkenbrand, however, met them with anything but a stern face. Visibly pleased to see his king again so soon, his goodwill extended to Lothíriel, and he welcomed her enthusiastically with a few inquiries about how she had settled in to Meduseld, even before she had dismounted.

But as she slid from her horse, passing the reins to Bealdric, Éomer surprised her by taking her arm. 'Come, I want you to meet Brythwyn, I think you will like her.' Pleased he was making sure she would be instantly accepted, she went with him without argument. But his long strides caused her to almost have to run to keep up as he marched her across the inner court and towards the huge carved doors that led to the keep. 'Slow down,' she murmured irritably.

'Sorry, I forgot you are a woman for a moment.' A humorous twinkle accompanied that remark – if there hadn't been so many around she would have kicked him.

'Westu Éomer hál.' A tall, fair lady, dressed in traditional green, walked forward bearing the customary mead cup. She would have been lovely in her youth as although her skin showed signs of age it hugged fine bones that shaped a proud face.

'Brythwyn.' Éomer smiled warmly at the lady, who Lothíriel assumed was Erkenbrand's wife. Without letting go of her arm he tossed the drink back in one gulp. 'Let me introduce Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. I imagine Erkenbrand must have told you she came with us all the way from Gondor. You will be pleased when you come to Edoras for Théoden's funeral,' he went on as Brythwyn nodded her respect, 'I cannot remember when Meduseld looked so fine. Lothíriel took the refurbishment in hand and the change is staggering. The hall looks better than I have ever seen it and the King's Bedchamber is almost unrecognisable.'

A gasp came from behind Brythwyn and she turned quickly. 'Alwunn come and pay your respects to Éomer King and Lady Lothíriel.

Lothíriel smiled as a pretty girl a couple of years younger than herself moved into the light, she had been holding the tray of cups.

'This is my daughter, Alwunn, my lady.' The girl bobbed her head and Brythwyn took a cup from the tray. 'Welcome to my house, my lady.' She passed the cup, and finally shaking off Éomer's arm Lothíriel murmured the appropriate response and put it to her lips. Over the rim she caught Alwunn's eyes fixed on her, cold blue orbs that somehow spat fire. In her direction.

Reeling from the barbs of hostility flying her way, Lothíriel swivelled her gaze to Éomer. Had he brought her here to shield him from unwanted attention, or to make sure she realised his interest lay elsewhere than a princess from Dol Amroth? Either way, she didn't like it. But to be fair Éomer looked totally oblivious to any tense atmosphere, already talking happily to Brythwyn and Erkenbrand about the progress made with the planting during the previous weeks. Did he really not comprehend what he had just done?

No time to find out now, as except from the open hostility shown by the daughter of the house, their welcome proved warm and generous: a cup of wine and honey cake provided to see them through to the evening meal; a quick explanation of the layout of the Burg so that they wouldn't get lost and promises of a tour of the entire fortress on the morrow. Brythwyn suggested a maid to wait on her, but Lothíriel, feeling Éomer's eyes straying in her direction, refused the offer, merely asking that someone press the couple of dresses she had brought with her.

The welcome over, Lothíriel and Osythe followed their hostess through stone passages and up a wide flight of stairs. Lothíriel could only be thankful it was well into summer, she didn't want to think how cold all this stone would be in the depths of winter. And dark; she imagined little sunlight would penetrate the narrow windows when the days shortened.

Having agreed to share, the two women were shown into a small room that contained not much more than a bed and a wash-screen. At least there was a rug each side of the bed and much of the stone walls were covered with hangings, mostly depicting scenes of battles or horses. Her bags were waiting but before she had time unpack a girl arrived with two jugs of washing water. A cheerful smile on her face, she chatted on to Osythe whilst waiting for the creased dresses to be produced. From what she could gather Lothíriel understood her to be asking about various people she knew at Edoras.

'It doesn't seem to have bothered them that we arrived without notice,' Lothíriel remarked when the girl had gone.

'Not Brythwyn, no,' Osythe agreed with a twinkle in her eyes, 'but Alwunn was certainly bothered.'

Lothíriel felt heat rise in her cheeks. 'Oh, you noticed?'

Osythe outright laughed. 'I imagine everyone did, except Éomer, he focuses on the job in hand and things like that tend to pass him by.'

Osythe turned her back to shake out her nightgown. Going round to one side of the bed, she pulled back the bedcovers and tucked it under. Lothíriel, her own gown in her hand, hesitated, fingering the ribbon around the neck uncertainly as she wondered whether to speak her thoughts. But satisfied that she had prepared her sleeping place Osythe forestalled her.

'He's known Alwunn since she was knee-high; she's just a child to him. I doubt he's noticed she's grown up.'

Lothíriel let the ribbon slide out of her hand. 'Oh...I did wonder.'

Osythe shook her head. 'No doubt she's got a crush on him, but then so have half the young lasses in the Riddermark. What they don't realize is that if they want to gain his attention they should be more like you.'

'More like me,' Lothíriel croaked, her throat tightening.

Osythe's eyes gleamed with unmistakeable merriment. 'They should stand up to him and pretend no interest, rather than make sheep's eyes at him the whole time. It usually works with strong-minded men. It certainly worked for me, Háma enjoyed the chase.'

It was only after Osythe had disappeared behind the screen that Lothíriel grasped that she had been accused of pretending no interest. Of course that wasn't true, was it? And surely Éomer escorting her into the Hornburg had only been to make sure she was accepted here, and show that he approved of her. It couldn't be anything else.

Luckily, at dinner he sat between his hosts and she was given a place between Erkenbrand and his widowed sister, Elswite, a pleasant lady who she found out kept herself busy helping Brythwyn with the management of such a challenging fortress. But Lothíriel excused herself early, the ride and fresh air had made her tired, and anyway it seemed better to avoid Éomer for a while.

To be continued

Chapter 9

The rain eventually stopped in the late afternoon. Waking up that morning to a steady downpour and a leaden sky had been a disappointment, even though the tour of the fortress and the explanations of the battle were made all the more poignant when she'd been told how a heavy storm had swept in as Saruman's army battered the walls.

Now though, the sky had cleared. Changed into dry clothes, Lothíriel decided on a last walk along the outer wall, mostly to enjoy a few moments alone before the evening meal. Keen to get as good a view as possible, she climbed to the top of the gate. A warm breeze lifted her hair and already was drying the stone beneath her feet. From her high vantage point she could see right down the valley, even glimpse the southern spur of the Misty Mountains through a gap in the cliffs. She felt much better with an open vista. Used to it at home, she supposed, where she could look out over the sea from just about every window. And of course at Meduseld one only had to walk to the door and out onto the high platform to see the plain spreading out for league upon league, leading the eye and the heart far into the distance. Being stuck behind thick, high walls where casements opened onto stone courts did not suit her, and she would not have liked to live at the Hornburg for any length of time. But the high crags, still glistening wet, held an odd beauty, especially when the rays of the dropping sun sparkled on the streams of water trickling down fissures in the rock.

'They say it will be fine tomorrow.'

Lothíriel jumped: she had not heard him on the steps. She nodded. 'The sky is painted with the blue of summer again and the clouds chased away over the plain. I know you need rain for the crops, but I am glad to see them go.'

Éomer came to stand next to her, leaning over the wall. He looked out in the same direction she had been gazing, taking a moment before he spoke again. Lothíriel used the time to study his hands which rested on the stone parapet beside her own. Strong hands, warrior hands, chaffed and scarred by the life he led. Like those of her father and brothers, hands that could be relied on. She stepped back as he spoke; unwilling to follow her thoughts on that, and cross that she found him so attractive.

'It rained all last night and all day today, we have enough for the moment. I'd rather you enjoyed your time here.'

'Thank you,' she said with a genuine smile, finding she meant it. There was no doubt he had come to better appreciate her presence in the Riddermark. 'I have enjoyed my day in spite of the rain. Gamling has been instructive in telling me of the battle, and Brythwyn and Elswite hospitable.'

'Good'. Éomer answered politely enough, but his eyes were distant, fixed on some inner thought.

'Are you reflecting on the battle?' she probed. 'It must have been horrifying, even for seasoned warriors.'

'Nothing can prepare you...' His face whitened and Lothíriel thought he was not going to say anything else, but then he seemed to collect himself enough to say in a strained voice. 'Like the Pelennor and the Black Gate, it was something I never wish to experience again. But somehow thoughts like that get pushed aside when you're actually in the middle of it. One's survival becomes the only reality.'

Lothíriel was not sure about that, not his personal survival anyway from what she'd heard. 'You mean Rohan's survival, not your own.'

A wry smile lightened his brooding look. 'Both, I suppose.' He went quiet again and then an eyebrow quirked. 'I did not want to die, you know, but it had to be a possibility and dwelling on it served no purpose.'

Lothíriel nodded. 'Gamling said neither you nor Aragorn wavered in spite of the horrendous odds. That in itself gives heart to others.'

Éomer moved away slightly, staring out over the field towards the dike. 'It's the role of a leader to inspire. Just before dawn, at the darkest hour, Aragorn stood here and taunted them. I missed his defiant speech, but the men were full of it and his courage seemed to herald our deliverance. '

'Where were you at that moment?' she queried, wondering if he had been injured.

'I was in the caves with a few others, fighting for our lives to stop the filth getting to the women and children.'

Lothíriel shuddered; she could believe Éomer would have done anything to protect the vulnerable. 'I would have hated to have been sent to the caves to hide. The thought of being surrounded by all that stone with orcs battling to get in would have undone me.'

Éomer turned to look straight at her. 'You would have preferred to have fought, like my sister?'

'Not really, but I do not like caves. I am not overly frightened of being underground but prefer to be in the open. I am no shield-maiden but have skill with a bow and think that I would not have hesitated to use it in defence if my home had been attacked. Mind you;' she said with a soft chuckle, 'if the enemy had actually scaled the walls I would probably have just run as far away as I could.' She sighed, glad she had never been put to the test and Dol Amroth had been left alone.

Éomer ran his eyes over her thoughtfully. 'I wonder...' He stopped in mid sentence, changing whatever he was going to say. 'I am sorry that I will have to neglect you again tomorrow but I will be tied up in meetings with village elders. However, the next day I will be visiting some of the smaller hamlets to inspect the re-building. I think you would enjoy that, if you care to come.' His voice held an expectant note to which Lothíriel was happy to acquiesce.

'I would like that, Éomer. The more I see of your beautiful country the better. And don't worry about tomorrow; Elswite thinks that the rain following on from such warm weather will encourage mushrooms to sprout. The first of the golden-horns are likely to emerge, and even some milkcaps. She asked me if I would like to accompany her up into a nearby forest to see what we can collect. It should be a pleasant way to spend a day.'

Obviously relieved by the change of subject, Éomer grinned boyishly. 'Still thinking of our stomachs, are you? I can't fault that.'

ooo

As expected there was no sign of rain the next morning, and it looked set to be another warm day. Lothíriel covered herself liberally in a mixture of cider vinegar and garlic, given to her by Brythwyn. The potent smell might be good at keeping biting insects away, but it likely meant no one else would come near either. Still, except for the guard detailed to look after the horses while they combed the woods for mushrooms, the rest of the small party consisted only of Elswite and two other women of the household. She doubted any of them would get close. But as she took Storm to a mounting block, the clatter of hooves made her turn round.

'I thought we'd come with you, Aunt Elswite. It's too nice a day to stay in.'

Elswite didn't look too pleased for a moment, but she responded pleasantly enough. Lothíriel nodded good morning to Alwunn and her friend, recognising the other girl as the daughter of one of Erkenbrand's Riders. Both were astride choice examples of Rohan's horse-breeding expertise, but two pairs of eyes fixed on Storm.

'That's a lovely horse, my lady. I saw him in the stables and couldn't believe he was yours.' Elswite immediately turned round, glaring at her niece. 'Oh!' Alwunn's hand flew to her mouth. 'I didn't mean to imply that you wouldn't be able to ride him, but he's a bit on the big side for a lady.'

Alwunn's cheeks had turned bright pink. She mouthed an appropriate apology, but her eyes held a definite challenge. Lothíriel inwardly sighed, wondering if her day was to be spoiled by antagonism. Nevertheless she tried to answer agreeably. 'Storm belongs to my brother. And you are forgiven, not many Gondorian ladies are able to ride, but my father runs mounted troops so I was brought up with horses.'

Alwunn nodded and immediately began questioning her on Dol Amroth; she seemed to be making an attempt to get over her hostility, although Lothíriel sensed that her effort was somewhat forced. But she did feel rather sorry for the girl if she had a real crush on Éomer and he treated her as nothing but a child; obviously he had not been looking closely. Sitting straight and tall on the back of her grey mare, Alwunn was everything one expected a Rohirrim maiden to be – fair skin, long blond hair tied in a tail and deep blue eyes. Erkenbrand's daughter was certainly a pretty girl, and presumably eligible in every way as a bride for Rohan's new king. Lothíriel couldn't imagine that someone would not point this out to him anytime soon. None of her business, she told herself sternly when she found the thought rather disturbing.

Once everyone was ready they headed out, cantering across the greensward between the gate and the dike, to turn towards the north and the next valley. The area they were heading for remained uninhabited, Elswite explained, the steep slopes not suitable for dwellings or crops, but they were clothed by a mix of beech, and ash with pines higher up. It was a favoured hunting spot, yielding both boar and deer. Evidently the forest was also bountiful with its offering of mushrooms during summer and autumn and other wild food at various times during the year. Elswite had been foraging there all her life.

Immediately they reached the trees Lothíriel was reminded of home, gasping inwardly as the familiar smell of the forest brought on a wave of homesickness. She couldn't remember when last they'd had real peace in Dol Amroth and she could ride far from the castle without fear of Corsairs, and swim without a guard watching her every move. By the time she got home, the best of the warm weather would be over and winter hiding around the corner. She'd still be able to ride of course, but swimming wouldn't be quite so pleasant.

Deep in her thoughts Lothíriel started when Elswite spoke to her. 'We'll leave the horses here; the tracks are too narrow and steep where we're going.'

A good choice: they were in a grassy clearing through which a small stream wound between banks of ferns. Not much grazing but enough to keep the horses occupied. And somewhere pleasant to come back to when it was time to eat the bread and cheese they had brought with them.

Elswite passed her a basket and they set off up the steep hillside, spreading out to search amongst the trees. Fallen leaves made a soft carpet beneath her feet and the drone of insects had a soporific effect on her; it would have been nice to just sit down with a book where she could see through the trees to the plain below and take in the peace of it all. But she didn't have a book with her and anyway there was work to do. She knew how depleted the food stocks were in this land, all help was needed. Lothíriel soon saw that Elswite had been right about the rain encouraging growth: toadstools grew in drifts all around her. She straightaway picked out a few kinds necessary to avoid – fibercaps, which would make one very ill indeed, and could possibly be fatal. There were even some death-caps, definitely lethal but luckily easy to recognise. Then she spotted a sprinkling of gold amongst the leaf-mould and moss. Hurrying over she found a large cluster of mushrooms growing around a tree, no doubt as to their identity: their shape, egg-yellow colour and the fruity aroma marking them as golden-horns, one of the most favoured mushrooms to eat. And they were just big enough to harvest. Having picked all she could of her first find, she moved further up the slope, careful to keep Elswite in sight as there were no marked paths and all the trees looked much the same.

'I've found some milkcaps,' Elswite called out a while later. 'There's not many and they're spread around. A little early for them, I suppose. But they're worth picking to add a bit of variety to our meals.'

Lothíriel went over and helped her search a wider area, pushing aside the forest litter to expose the orange caps of the golden-horns. Bending over for too long was hard on the back and after they had picked all they could see, Elswite suggested a break for the midday meal. She called to the other two women, who slowly stood up, stretching out their stiffness thankfully, but the girls were nowhere in sight. Elswite huffed. 'Given up already, I expect.'

They appeared in the clearing, however, just as the food was being unpacked. Both had a very small offering of golden-horns, and looked suitably chastened when Elswite suggested that they didn't deserve anything to eat. 'Lady Lothíriel has been working hard,' Elswite told them with a scowl. 'Which is kind of her, considering she's a guest. She certainly deserves her lunch.' She passed Lothíriel a pack of food and a mug of cordial first, but seeing the contrite faces relented and passed the girls a drink and a package wrapped in a cloth. Laughing under her breath and not without sympathy for the miscreants – she would have preferred to just walk in the forest herself – Lothíriel took her meal to the edge of the clearing and sat down with her back to a tree. Bread, hard cheese and some dried pieces of pear and apple from the previous harvest made her realise how lucky she was at home with juicy, fresh fruit always available. Perhaps when things got better in Rohan and they'd recovered from the war they would be able to trade more. The diet could certainly do with improving. But the bread was fresh, and she was hungry, so it got wolfed down gratefully, as did another mug of cordial. The sun shone from high in the sky, shafting down into the clearing and making her dozy. In fact she would probably have fallen asleep had she not been waging a constant battle with the biters. Didn't they know she was covered in foul lotion, or had it worn off already? She sniffed her arm, still a smell of garlic.

'Persistent, aren't they,' Elswite remarked as she slapped her own arm and flicked a dead insect onto the ground. With a sigh, she stood up, brushing down her skirt. 'I'd like to do at least another hour, if you don't mind. Now we are here, it seems a pity to leave so many.'

Lothíriel pushed herself to her feet, not keen as it was now hot and humid, but understanding Elswite's need to stock her larder. 'Of course, it's not worth going back yet.' She followed Elswite out of the clearing in a different direction than they had gone in the morning, climbing higher up through the forest. The change of location proved to be productive and very soon she and Elswite were kneeling amongst the leaves plucking mushrooms one after another.

'Aunt Elswite.'

Absorbed in her task, Alwunn's voice made Lothíriel jump. These Rohirrim could certainly move silently when they wanted to.

'Goodness, child, you startled me,' Elswite admonished. 'Don't creep up like that.'

'Sorry, but I wanted you to come and look at what I have found. I think they are the edible milkcaps, but if I pick them and they're not I will be in trouble.'

'Well,' Elswite answered, 'if they're not the right ones they won't poison you but they don't taste very nice. You can easily tell: if it's one of those we can eat, and the mushroom is fresh, then when it's squeezed orange-red milk comes out.'

'Yes, that's why we call them saffron milkcaps at home,' Lothíriel added.

Elswite nodded. 'That's right. And if there's no milk they're not fresh, but you wouldn't want to eat them then anyway, more chance of maggots.'

'I know, but I'm not sure. Can you come and see?' Alwunn tried to persuade her aunt with a beseeching smile.

Elswite wiped a hand across her face, not looking too keen. She heaved herself to her feet wearily. 'Where are they?'

Alwunn pointed upward. 'Quite a way, but there's plenty.'

Elswite hesitated. Lothíriel could understand that, a trek upwards in the heat would be better avoided, but Alwunn looked so disappointed. 'I'll come if you like to save your aunt the effort, Alwunn.'

'Oh,' the girl shrugged as if she did not care, 'I suppose so.'

'Don't be so rude when Lady Lothíriel has kindly offered,' Elswite snapped crossly.

'I just didn't think she'd want to, that's all,' Alwunn excused herself.

Lothíriel didn't, but her legs were younger than Elswite's, and no way would she let Alwunn's petulance stop her doing what was right. Without answering she put the mushroom she was clutching into the basket and got up to tip the contents of her basket into Elswite's – no point in carrying them higher.

Alwunn gestured to her friend to come, but the young woman shook her head, flopping down on a piece of grass.

Lothíriel shrugged; they were a lazy pair. However, she followed Alwunn upwards, in truth quite thankful for a break from being on her knees. That didn't last long however when she found herself climbing up a steep bank. 'How far is it?' she queried when the girl led her into an area where the trees grew thicker.

'Not far now.' They seemed to be weaving in and out of the trees, but all the time going higher. Alwunn had longer legs and Lothíriel found it difficult to keep up. The girl probably wanted her help, and the praise for finding the milkcaps, but didn't actually want her company.

Lothíriel was getting a bit fed up. Why had the girl come this far? There was no need, as plenty of mushrooms were growing lower down. 'You do know where you are going don't you, Alwunn? And I hope what we find is worth all this effort.'

Alwunn turned and gave her what Lothíriel considered to be a rather superior smile. 'It will be, you'll see, my lady. Nearly there.'

A few minutes later they reached a place where some trees had fallen, forming a small circular glade flooded with light. Sure enough Lothíriel immediately saw some golden-horns and a dozen or so milkcaps scattered amongst the little saplings which were taking advantage of the open area. But there were not many and she stood looking around the glade getting crosser and crosser, not managing to keep her irritation to herself.

'Have you brought me all the way up here for these few, Alwunn?'

'Well, it's the most I've found myself,' the girl flung back angrily. 'We can't all be as proficient as you at feeding everyone.'

Except for shooting her a dark look, Lothíriel ignored the remark. Someone had obviously been praising her housekeeping and annoyed Alwunn even more. Maybe Osythe, or even Éothain as he was always quick to applaud her efforts. Wanting to get back to more congenial company, Lothíriel knelt down to examine the milkcap in front of her. 'They are certainly the edible ones,' she said trying to keep her voice even, 'but we could probably have picked as many without coming all this way.' Lothíriel took the lid off her basket; they might as well take the lot now they were here, as there were quite a few golden-horns. 'Let's pick all we can and return to the others. Elswite will want to leave soon.'

Lothíriel had plucked a few more from the ground before she realised that Alwunn hadn't answered her. She sat back on her heels and looked around. Now where had the girl got to? Shrugging to herself she carried on picking – what a lazy little toad Alwunn was. The girl had probably brought her all the way up here to save herself the bother of kneeling in the dirt. Well, there was no sympathy now, and if she didn't come back and help she might even suggest a bread and water supper.

But by the time Lothíriel had gathered all worth picking there was still no sign of her. She got up and stretched. Tired now, she just wanted to go back and clean up before a restful evening sitting in the hall listening to the minstrels strumming and the Rohirrim singing. Something she enjoyed very much. Where was that dratted girl!

It took her a few minutes of calling to realise that Alwunn was nowhere around. For a moment Lothíriel couldn't believe it – surely she hadn't left her here deliberately? What would that achieve other than to bring down condemnation on herself? She must have done it out of sheer spite. Well, Alwunn would get a piece of her mind when they met up again. Resigned to a lonely walk back to the meeting point, she tied the lid down on her basket, and hefted it up.

Lothíriel took a few steps and then stopped; which way had they entered the glade? She studied the trees that edged the open space – they were dark and close together with animal tracks running between them, no well marked path. Obviously she had to go down as they had climbed a fair way to get here. But which track should she take? She walked a little way along one track and then turned to look back at the glade. Was that what she had first seen when she got here – a big fallen tree on the left? She wasn't sure because her eyes had been searching out mushrooms. Feeling it best to make certain she returned to the glade, but whilst she had been picking the sun had sunk down and the clearing now looked dark and very different from when she had first arrived. Undaunted, she tried the next track, turning after a few yards to make the same assessment. Yes, she thought that was it, and the path went steeply downwards which fitted with what she remembered.

Confidently she set off, promising retribution to one irritating Rohirrim maiden. Alwunn probably had wanted to give her a bit of a fright and make her hot, tired and irritable. Well, she had succeeded with the latter, but Lothíriel was not frightened – knowing others were nearby and anyway used to the forest at home. She amused herself by wondering what excuse Alwunn would come up with to explain her childish behaviour. Perhaps Éomer had the right of it seeing her as no more than a child and if he found out about this was unlikely to think of her any differently.

At first Lothíriel was sure she was following the right track, she could certainly remember stepping over a large moss-covered log that sprawled across the path, but as she went further she became unsure and stopped by a cluster of boulders. She had passed some on the way up, but thought they were on the other side of the path. And had it been this steep? Well, there was nothing to do but carry on, the track was taking her downhill so she should be able to get her bearings when she could see through the trees. Her legs were aching now with all the downhill walking. And she seemed to have been going for ages with no glimpse of the plain. Starting to get a little worried for the first time, Lothíriel came to a halt near a rocky escarpment. She certainly didn't remember that. Just then she heard the sound of a horn and her heart took a leap – she must have been missed and Aldred was guiding her in. Another blast, but unfortunately the sound came from way to the right. She had obviously taken the wrong path and needed to get around the other side of the escarpment. Relieved that she should be able to find her way now, she started to follow a small track that wound its way beneath the rock. But she hadn't gone more than a few yards when she heard the sound of stones falling. Spinning around she just caught the sight of a dark shape before a hand clasped over her mouth and someone grabbed her free arm. Lothíriel instinctively kicked backward, connecting with her assailant's leg.

She tried to bite on the fingers, at the same time swinging the basket round behind her. She kicked back frantically again, but he had warning this time and she couldn't connect.

'Grab her, Aglon, you useless sod. I can't keep her quiet and hold 'er at the same time.'

The basket flew out of her hands as her other arm was grasped painfully, but in the melee she managed to bite down hard on the fingers across her mouth.

'Ow..., you bitch! You'll pay for that.' He cuffed her across her the side of her face, the blow making her eyes water. A piece of smelly material was shoved between her teeth – no she couldn't breathe! Her cheek stinging from the slap, Lothíriel shook her head violently in panic. Bitten -finger shoved his face close to hers, foul-smelling breath making her retch. 'You'll have to be really nice to me after that.' He had a ghastly scar down the side of his face that made him look frighteningly evil; she froze in horror, not even struggling for a moment.

The man holding her laughed. 'That's right, cooperate and we won't be too rough.'

Bitten-finger sniggered. 'We might not, but Gorth there won't know what he's doing, he's never done it to a woman.' A gurgle from a few yards away made her eyes fly to a revolting looking specimen who was grinning at her salaciously, dribble running down his chin.

Terrified beyond measure, her mind jumbled by panic, Lothíriel fought hard to stop herself shaking. Where were her companions? Surely they were looking for her. And why was she here anyway, what idiot thought these mountains safe? Just then a horn sounded, closer than it had before. Lothíriel's heart thumped loud with hope. They might only have brought one elderly guard, but one Rohirrim warrior, however old, would see these two off in a flash. She discounted the dolt who was watching the whole scenario with an insane expression of expectation. She'd kick him in the teeth herself. But her face must have betrayed her hope as a wicked looking knife got held to her neck.

'Don't even think of trying to break free, I'll bleed you dry before they can get within shouting distance,' Bitten-finger growled.

'Better get out of here.' Aglon jerked his head towards one of the upward tracks. 'By the time they find her, we'll have had our fun and be long gone.'

Bitten-finger laughed, pushing her ahead of him. 'Won't be much left to find after the others have had a go.'

Others! Insides cramped with fear and legs turned to jelly, Lothíriel stumbled. Her arm was grabbed roughly and Bitten -finger hauled her upright. 'No tricks, just keep walking or I'll slit you open and leave you for the wolves.'

She'd wake up! She had to. But it was no dream, the punishing upward pace leaving her gasping for air through the gag. The horn sounded again, but it was fainter, farther off. She dug her heels in, not wanting to move, but a hand shoved her from behind, and a cruel laugh echoed in her ear.

'Looks like yer friends have given up.'

To be continued.

Chapter 10

They wouldn’t give up on her. Éomer never would. Pig-headed and arrogant he might be, but steadfast and unswerving in his duty, he would comb these mountains till he found her. 

But the thought of what he might find caused her to shake uncontrollably. Her legs gave way again and she stumbled over a root. Bitten -finger dragged her to her feet, painfully squeezing her breast in the process.

‘Don’t lie down yet girl, you’ll be spending long enough on yer back.’

‘Yeh,’ Aglon tweaked her other breast with unconcealed lust. ‘As soon as we get back to camp.’ Horror-struck, Lothíriel tried to pull away from her captor, but he held on. The half-wit made an obscene gesture, and Aglon brayed a laugh, adding his own vile sign.

Bile rose in her throat – no don’t be sick! She would choke on her own vomit! Die! But wouldn’t she rather die than be so violated! 

‘Walk properly or I knock ee out for a bit,’ Bitten-finger threatened.  Lothíriel steadied herself and tried to take regular breaths through her nose; the loathsome gag made it difficult to breathe. Willing herself to keep calm she tried forcibly to stop her mind from imagining what was going to happen to her.  But the shaking started again. She wasn’t going to survive this, and she so wanted to live! Éomer would have to tell her father...return her body...a great upwelling of anguish reached her throat— hard and bitter, blocking her airway.  She might never see her family again! Never see Éomer again! For some reason that thought brought more anguish than anything else. No, he would come; she knew that with total certainty. But he might be too late!

Lothíriel gulped for breath, struggling against the gag. How would her parents bear it? Her father would be devastated...but...but...she steadied herself, and her mind cleared for a moment – he would expect her to fight, not to give up. Anger raged at the predicament she was in – she had no weapon, no means of defending herself...nothing to fight with except her wits. But right now her brain felt like mush. So did her legs. They were hardly able to support her as she was half dragged, half pushed, along a narrow track that went gradually upward. Suddenly Aglon let out a long whistle. Moments later it was answered by someone ahead. Her insides turned to water – this was it. She had to do something! But what? How could she convince them to let her go?  Think Lothíriel. Think!  What did she have on her side? Her rank and her nobility, nothing more. That thought gave her an idea and a rough plan started to form, but it would only work if she got the chance to speak. She had to get rid of the gag.

They had reached a clearing backed by a cliff face of weathered rocks and stunted ash trees. A trickle of water dripped over a ledge and at the bottom a shallow cave gave shelter to a group of three men sitting around a meagre fire and a cooking pot. All looked at her with some astonishment. Bitten-finger gave her a shove, and she stumbled forward, landing on her knees.

‘Look what we’ve found. Something to warm us all up tonight!’

Leering grins appeared on two of the ruffians’ faces, but the other – a tall black-haired man with a ring through his ear – scowled, got to his feet and stalked towards them.  ‘Are you mad, Carch? We were supposed to get through this dung-ridden land quietly, not set off a man-hunt with us as the prey.’

‘Keep yer ‘air on, Thanger.’ Bitten-finger – Carch – wrenched Lothíriel to her feet holding her arms behind her back. ‘Looks like she’s a Dunlending bitch they use as a skivvy. Those horse-boys aren’t going to waste any time looking for ‘er.’ 

Thanger’s eyes travelled up and down her, studying her thoughtfully. His attention flicked to Carch as he focused on her bruised cheek. ‘Put up bit of a fight, did she?’

Carch shrugged, but said nothing; Thanger continued to stare at her. He was the leader, she could sense that, and probably had a modicum of intelligence. Her only chance was to play the outraged noblewoman. Lothíriel lifted her chin. Pushing her fear aside, she managed to stare defiantly back at him.  He looked discomfited for a moment and she knew she was doing right. Then his eyes narrowed as he focused on her neckline and without warning he lunged forward, his hand delving into the top of her dress. Thanger had spotted her chain; he yanked hard. The momentary pain caused her to gasp through the gag. His hand came away holding a glitter of gold. He held it up, the swan-ship pendant dangling from his fingers, and thrust it towards Bitten-finger. The swan’s diamond eye sparkled a bright challenge.

‘A skivvy, is she,’ he snarled. ‘You bloody idiot, Carch.’

‘So what!’  Carch shot back, defensively. ‘Who cares who she is? She’s a woman, strip em and they’re all the same.’

‘Yeh, and perhaps she pinched the necklace,’ Aglon blustered his excuse.

Thanger looked angrily between Carch and Aglon. ‘I ought to bang your stupid heads together.’ The others gathered around, all waiting for whatever was going to happen. Lothíriel felt like a tethered goat surrounded by wolves.  Thanger raised his hand and she shrank away, but with an abrupt movement he wrenched the gag from her mouth.

Oh, the relief. Lothíriel sucked in air greedily. But her whole mouth had dried and knowing she only had one chance to get out of this, she tried to moisten her lips with her tongue. Not wanting to show fear, she twisted around furiously, trying to break Carch’s hold.

 ‘Take your hands from me,’ she commanded in a tone gleaned from years of being a princess. ‘If any more harm comes to me then all the wrath of Gondor and Rohan will come down upon you.’

Carch let out a breath, but still held on, Thanger swore loudly and the grins left the faces of the other men when they heard her highborn accent.

‘Let her go, you cretin,’ Thanger ordered as she continued to fight against Carch’s hold. ‘She ain’t going nowhere, not till we say so anyway.’

‘I didn’t go to all this trouble to have her...’

‘Shut up!’ Thanger glared at Carch, his fingers curling into a fist. Carch eased the pressure on her arms and Lothíriel shook him off, stepping away and fixing her eyes on Thanger.

‘Very soon these mountains will be crawling with Rohirrim warriors looking for me. I demand you let me go now. It will only get worse for you.’

‘High and mighty, eh!’ His lips twisted into a sneer and she guessed he didn’t want to lose face, or his right to lead. ‘You’re in no position to demand anything, remember that!  And Carch might be spot on: maybe we can have a bit of fun and be long gone. Horses ain’t no use up ‘ere.’

‘That’s right,’ Carch leered at her. ‘You’re seeing sense now, Thanger. No point in wasting a bit of skirt.’

‘I am worth much more to you alive and untouched,’ Lothíriel blurted out trying to keep the panic out of her voice. ‘All the gold you can carry if you let me be. Enough to buy you women for the rest of your lives.’

‘Gold...we could do with some gold.’ One of the other men moved a bit nearer, his eyes already alight with greed.

‘Yes,’ she said eagerly, nodding towards him. ‘You can have gold.’ She only had to hold them off for a while, sure that a proper search had already started.

Thanger held up his hand, motioning the gang to keep back. ‘Don’t get carried away, let’s think this through.’  He fixed his penetrating gaze on her. ‘You’d better tell us who you are. Convince us like, that someone will pay for you.’

Would it be better to tell the truth, or pretend to be some other noble lady? Lothíriel hesitated for just a moment and then stood up straight, deciding the truth held more weight. ‘I am Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. My father is Imrahil, Prince of Belfalas.’

That caused a shock. All of them stared at her, Aglon let out a low whistle between his teeth taking a step towards her. ‘Let’s do the business and get out of here sharpish.’

‘No, you silly twat!’ Carch shoved him aside and grinned maliciously at Lothíriel, his scar puckering hideously. ‘She’s worth a fortune to us, ain’t that right, Thanger?’

Thanger nodded. ‘Maybe, if she’s who she says she is.’  He stared at the pendant still in his hand, frowning.

‘You are holding the proof,’ Lothíriel said, stone-faced.  Surely he would believe her. They all hailed from Gondor, Thanger from the backstreets of Pelargir judging by his accent.  Would he recognise the device?  She tossed her head contemptuously. ‘It’s the Swan-ship of Dol Amroth.’

‘I ain’t stupid,’ Thanger sneered. ‘But perhaps you did pinch it. Otherwise what are ee doing tramping about the forests in Rohan on yer own?’

‘I was not alone...’

‘Her friends weren’t far away,’ Carch interrupted. ‘But she was picking mushrooms, does seem a bit strange for a princess.’

 ‘I am a guest of Éomer, King of Rohan,’ Lothíriel responded coldly. ‘And I was picking mushrooms to help because the Rohirrim are short of food.’

‘I still think we ought to shaft ‘er and move on fast,’ Aglon bleated. ‘Even if she is that prince’s daughter, how would we get her to Dol Amroth to collect a ransom? Those dung-shovellers would ride us down once we were back over the mountains.’ He lunged towards her, but Lothíriel twisted herself out of the way. 

‘The King of Rohan will pay.’ She aimed her plea at Thanger, frightened they would not take the lure of gold. ‘He will pay a good sum for me; you just have to get word to him.’ If she could only persuade them, it would give Éomer time to find her. Frantically she tried to work out how long it would take him to arrange a search of the woods. When she hadn’t returned to the glade surely they would have sent someone back to Helm’s Deep to get help.  He should be there, having his meetings. Would he ride out straightaway? Of course he would, and the long summer days meant there was hours of daylight left. She just had to stall them.

‘Rohan might not have food, but they have gold. You’ve heard of the Golden Hall of Meduseld, haven’t you?’

The others mumbled together, but Thanger was collecting his thoughts. ‘Are you important to him? Is that why the horse-king will pay for you?’

‘I’m a guest,’ she answered.  ‘Under his protection. He’ll pay a ransom, all you can carry, because the weregild he’d have to pay to my father would be much, much more. If I am killed or ravished, my father will expect hefty recompense. King Éomer will be happy to pay you to get me back unharmed.’

‘It’s a chance, Thanger,’ one of the other men put in. ‘We got no hope of getting gold otherwise. Even where we’re going I bet we’ll just get paid in a bit of common coin.’

Lothíriel held her breath as Thanger looked doubtfully at her. ‘It’s how we do it that’s the problem. Got a make sure the sods don’t jump us when we collect the money.’

‘If the King of Rohan gives his word he will keep it,’ Lothíriel countered.

‘We can have a knife at her throat when we meet with him,’ Carch suggested.

‘We got t’ get a message to him first,’ Aglon added his pennyworth. ‘Let him know we got her and what we want. And we don’t know where he is.’

They all started talking at once, arguing about the best way to get a message to the King of Rohan.  All except the idiot who continued to stare at her whilst running his tongue around his lips. Lothíriel shuddered. She had to get out of here! Éomer would come for her, she knew that, but she needed to gain time.

Lothíriel glanced towards the edge of the clearing, wondering if she could make a run for it. If she was going to try, now was the only chance – when they had taken their attention from her. But the idiot was still watching; how far would she get? And a chase might inflame them.  She hesitated and it was too late. The moment passed as Thanger lost patience.

‘Shut up and let me think,’ Thanger ordered when they all continued to talk over each other. The others stopped, waiting for him to speak. Definitely the leader. ‘Right,’ he said after a few moments. ‘First we need some information.’ He stood over her menacingly.  ‘Where will that horse-king be now?’

Lothíriel tried not to shake, she had to sound a lot more confident than she felt. Keep them thinking rescue was imminent.  ‘The King of Rohan is at Helm’s Deep,’ she said in an almost steady voice. ‘In fact it wouldn’t surprise me if he wasn’t already on his way here, someone would have ridden back to tell him I’m missing.’

‘How many were with you? The truth, or we’ll do what Aglon wants: have some fun and move on.’

‘There were five other women and a guard. I am sure that some of them will still be at our meeting place waiting to see if I return.’ Lothíriel glared at him. ‘They won’t leave me here, you know.’

‘Think yourself mighty important, don’t you,’ Aglon scoffed.

Lothíriel swung her eyes towards him scornfully.  ‘I know I’m important, I am a Gondorian princess. My value on the marriage market is great indeed, which is why I’m worth more to you alive and untouched!’

A couple of them shuffled their feet uncomfortably. They could probably be persuaded to let her go, but Thanger twisted his lips into a nasty grin.

‘Maybe, but we have to work out how to get paid without putting ourselves in danger.’

Lothíriel said nothing; he was an idiot if he thought Éomer would pay a ransom and then allow them to get clean away, he was much too clever for that. And if they thought they could hold a knife to her throat and not get an arrow through their own necks they really were fools. None of them would stand a chance against Éomer’s men.

‘Where’s this meeting place, that the next thing I need to know?’ Thanger scowled at her.

Lothíriel looked up through the trees; the sun was westering, but far from setting. She pointed into the darkened forest. ‘That way, towards Helm’s Deep. It was a glade with a stream running through it not far off the plain, but I am not sure exactly where.’ It didn’t matter anyway, the Rohirrim would find them.  Keeping that thought to herself, she nodded her head towards Carch and Aglon. ‘I was a bit lost when they captured me.’

‘I know more or less, won’t take long to get down there,’ Carch put in.

‘Yeh, well you’re the one to go, Carch,’ Thanger said. ‘If that horse-king isn’t there one of them can get a message to him. A sack of gold divided into six bags...’

‘One sack between us! That’s not much for a blooming princess,’ Aglon muttered angrily.

‘We got t’ carry it, haven’t we?’ Thanger said, throwing him a disdainful look.

‘Well, what about a few ponies. Save our feet and we could carry more.’ One of the others suggested.

‘You blockhead!’ Thanger spat out. ‘I’m surrounded by numskulls. We have to get away without them following us, anywhere that ponies can go those horsemen can follow. On our feet they have no advantage.’

Just highly trained trackers and battle-hardened warriors! But Lothíriel looked down at the ground not wanting to give anything away. They were all a bunch of halfwits, even Thanger, though he thought himself so clever. She listened to them discussing where the ransom was to be passed over – a ravine they’d travelled through where they could look down on the Rohirrim. She gathered they had been keeping to the mountain tracks, heading for the Gap of Rohan. Somewhere up north good pay was being offered to those with strong arms and prepared not to ask questions.  But from a few remarks made she judged that with their hands on such loot they might change their minds and head back over the mountains to Gondor.

A bit more furtive conversation and Carch tucked her necklace into his pocket. He headed off into the forest, mouthing a coarse suggestion towards her as he went. Aglon laughed, grabbing hold of her arm. ‘Better hope you’re worth what you think, sweetheart.  I’m still wondering if pleasuring you ain’t preferable to the gold.’

Angrily Lothíriel shook off his arm,invoking more ribald laughter as she dodged out of his way. Sweet Elberth, let Éomer be there!

‘Stop that,’ Thanger ordered. ‘Keep an eye on her, but don’t touch the goods.’ He threw Aglon a malicious grin. ‘Not yet anyway. Maybe we can get the gold and the woman if we’re clever.’

Lothíriel froze, but before she could retaliate Thanger dished out more orders. ‘You, Dairon, get after Carch. Don’t let him or those sodding dung-shifters, see you. If they play foul get back here fast.’ His lips twisted into a sneer. ’And if our friend Carch thinks he can start his own game and leave us out, use yer knife.’

Not such a fool then! Lothíriel watched helplessly as Dairon slipped into the trees. Four of them left: Thanger, Aglon, the idiot and one whose name she did not know. Still enough to keep a close eye on her, but somehow she had to find a way to get away and not wait for Éomer to rescue her. With the last remarks she knew she couldn’t trust them to let her go unharmed. They weren’t going to take their eyes off her though, because when she went to sit down on the edge of the clearing Thanger shoved her over towards the fire.

‘We got a bit of a while to wait; you might as well make yourself useful, the stew needs stirring.’ Lothíriel glared at him, perhaps she should throw the pot of hot liquid over them, but she couldn’t hope to get all four. Reluctantly she sat down on the log near the fire, immediately wrinkling her nose. ‘Whatever’s in there, it smells awful.’

‘Badger, does stink a bit, but its meat. You wouldn’t be fussy if you’d been travelling for days.’

Lothíriel poked at the stew with a crudely carved wooden spoon, bits of grisly looking meat floated in a grey broth. She’d have to be starving to eat that. ‘It’s nowhere near cooked yet.’

‘Don’t worry, likely it will be an hour or more before Carch gets back. Time to eat... ‘Aglon smirked suggestively at her, ‘...and maybe check out if a noblewoman’s got the same bits as a slut.’

Lothíriel stared hard at him, the spoon in her hand. She would have liked to stuff it in his filthy mouth, grind it down his throat. ‘The King of Rohan will want to know I am safe and well before he hands over any ransom. Remember that!’

‘Keep it in yer pants, Aglon,’ Thanger warned. ‘Gold comes first, then the woman if we get a chance.’

Lothíriel went cold, her stomach cramping, No, she told herself sternly, Éomer would be prepared for any trickery. But just in case she must keep her fright down and be alert for any opportunity to escape. 

Oh no, now she needed to relieve herself. No way did she want to inflame them any more so she sat quietly, occasionally poking at the stew and adding a log to the fire whilst they muttered to each other. She looked up at the smoke, the wood was dry and only a few wisps snaked towards the top of the tall trees, drawn through a crack in the rock. They had chosen a good place, so would the Rohirrim spot it, she wondered. Hopefully yes. How long before she could expect rescue?  A good hour must have passed and nothing had happened except the ruffians were getting edgy. The pressure in her bladder was worse now, but still she hesitated to do anything about it. Then she heard Thanger say—

‘If Carch isn’t back soon we’ll eat and move on. I don’t trust those dung-shifters.’

Looking up quickly she saw Aglon’s eyes on her. Immediately Lothíriel stood up; whatever was coming she couldn’t deal with it when she was bursting.

‘I need to go into the forest for a moment,’ she said as haughtily as she could. Her rank was the only weapon she had.

Aglon grinned and started to get to his feet, but Thanger impatiently pushed him down. ‘Not you. She needs to be able to tell the horse-king we didn’t touch her, and I don’t trust you. Garter, you go with her.’

Aglon muttered to himself but didn’t argue. Garter, who was the quietest of the bunch and the one Lothíriel thought might be persuaded to let her go, nodded compliantly. With a swish of her skirts Lothíriel headed for the trees.

‘Don’t let her out of yer sight,’ Aglon called after them. ‘I ain’t losing her now.’

‘No,’ Thanger muttered his reply quietly, but she caught his words. ‘If Carch ain’t back soon, the deal’s off and we can have her.’

Sweet Elberth help! What could she do? She couldn’t wait for Éomer to rescue her, somehow she had to escape. Lothíriel hesitated, looking around for somewhere to run. But Garter was right next to her. Ugh, he stank!

‘That way!’ Garter pointed ahead to where she saw another clearing dotted with some beech saplings and a few small rowans. No way could she escape easily though, as the trees closed dark around the open space. Her eyes fixed on a drift of golden horns, irrelevantly she remembered she had lost all the ones she’d picked earlier.

‘I’m going behind that bush.’ He didn’t move until she spoke again, her voice as sharp as flint. ‘Look the other way!’

A lifetime of obeying his ‘betters’ had their effect. Obediently he turned round. ‘Don’t you run off mind; I’ll hear you in the undergrowth. And I’d soon catch ye anyway, a fair runner I am.’

She said nothing, desperate to get this over with, but as she readjusted her clothes she noticed something that made her heart beat faster. More mushrooms, but these were not the tasty golden horns, they were fibrecaps. An idea buzzed through her mind. Quickly she picked those she could reach, stuffing them up one of her wide sleeves and pulling the laces at the wrist tight.

‘Finished?’ Garter turned round when he heard her pushing around the bush.

‘Yes, but I thought I’d take a moment to pick those.’ She pointed to the golden horns. ‘They won’t take more than a few minutes to cook and might make your stew more palatable.’

He looked suspiciously at the fungi. ‘They’re all right to eat, are they? I don’t want no stomach ache.’

‘Of course.’ She scowled, deliberately sounding offended. ‘I know what I am doing. If you remember I was picking mushrooms for the pot when your friends captured me.’

‘Go on then.’

With a little hidden smile of triumph she knelt down to pluck the orange mushrooms from the ground. ‘Here, you take these.’ Lothíriel passed a handful up to him.

‘Hang on, I’ve got this.’ Garter took the large kerchief from around his neck and put the mushrooms in it. He passed the whole thing back. Lothíriel inwardly recoiled at the sight of the filthy piece of cloth, but she wouldn’t be eating them anyway. She quickly picked some more, as many as would fit in the makeshift bag.

‘That’s it,’ she said standing up. ‘I just need to make sure they are clean.’

‘Not here you don’t. Get back to the others.’ Garter gave her a small push. She glared at him, but said nothing. Her mind was in turmoil, dreading that she would not get the chance to use her new found weapon. She had to get them in the pot undetected.  

 ‘What’s that?’ Thanger said immediately she entered the camp. He nodded towards the kerchief she was carrying, his eyes narrowing.

‘She’s picked some of them mushrooms,’ Garter answered. ‘Reckons they’ll improve our stew.’

‘As long as they don’t kill us,’ Thanger growled, looking at her distrustfully.

She stared fixedly at him, trying not to give away her guilt.  ‘I am not known for killing people with mushrooms. I know what I am doing. These are golden horns, they are extremely good to eat.’  Lothíriel untied the bundle and showed him her bounty. Thanger shrugged, obviously having no idea, but Aglon nodded.

‘She’s right, very tasty. Might even make old brock go down a bit better.’

Ignoring Thanger, Lothíriel went over to the cooking pot. The stew was bubbling away, a totally unappetising smell rising from it. She sat down and laid the golden horns out, inspecting each one for maggots. But they were new and clean and didn’t really need a wash off either. She started to tear them into pieces, popping them into the pot as she did so. Now she just had to make sure they weren’t watching her and then empty the contents of her sleeve in as well. If there were a few maggots they couldn’t be worse to eat than the badger meat.  Aglon was watching her closely, though. He’d had his eyes on her ever since she’d been captured, and when she looked up she didn’t like the lecherous expression she saw on his face.  She needed to get him out the way for a moment so she could put her plan into action before his patience ran out.

Lothíriel gestured towards the other side of the clearing. ‘Why don’t you pull up a few of those ramsons, the bulbs will make the stew taste better still.’

But Aglon sneered angrily. ‘I’m not yer servant.’

Lothíriel shrugged as if she did not care. ‘Please yourself, it’s your meal.’

He glowered for a moment longer and then stalked over to where she had spotted a few yellowing ramson leaves. The others watched him as he pulled at the leaves, swearing when the decaying top foliage broke off. But he got out his knife and started to dig; the idiot knelt down too, grubbing in the soil with already filthy fingers.

This was her only chance; Thanger and Garter were intent on what Aglon was doing. It seemed that neither was that used to foraging for food, so would probably not notice the difference in the mushrooms. It was Aglon she had to fear. But with no more thought Lothíriel fumbled at the laces of her sleeve, tipping the fibrecaps into the pot and poking them down into the liquid with the spoon.

Just in time, as Aglon stood up clutching a few meagre bulbs in his fingers. He threw them down onto the ground beside her. Lothíriel stared at him haughtily. ‘I’ll need your knife to take off the skins.’

‘No,’ Thanger’s sharp voice cut in. ‘You do it, Aglon. I ain’t trusting her with a knife.’

Aglon curled his lip, anger and lust just a breath away. ‘You better hope Carch comes back soon, lady, or those high-handed ways of yours will count for nothing.’

Lothíriel shivered but kept silent, not meeting his eyes and concentrating on the stew. She’d had a moment’s unease when she’d tipped the fibrecaps in, not really knowing how many it would take to kill a man. Now she didn’t care; the only worry was how long they took to act.

Aglon finished the bulbs and tipped them into the pot, studying the contents intently as he did so. Lothíriel tried to show no reaction to his scrutiny, she had been endeavouring to keep the mushrooms under the surface of the bubbling mess and break up the fibrecaps to make them look like the pieces of badger meat. Would he notice?  With her heart thumping she carefully lifted out one of the golden horns to take his attention.

‘Nearly cooked. We just have to wait for the ramsons to soften. That won’t take long.’ The thought of imminent food brought the others round.

‘Good, I’m starving.’ Garter punched Aglon on the arm. ‘Didn’t know you knew about mushrooms and things. Why didn’t you get us some stuff before?’

‘Cause he’s a lazy sod, that’s why.’ Thanger said, scowling at Aglon.

‘Kept going didn’t we, needed to get on, you said,’ Aglon replied, his face slightly red. ‘Anyway, if we get the gold we’ll be able to eat like kings...’ His voice tailed off under Thanger’s scorn.

‘If we get the gold.’ Thanger turned his attention to Lothíriel, his face set in a dark grimace. ‘The light’ll start to go soon; Carch or Dairon should be back by now. Unless your friends have played foul...’

‘I imagine a message has had to go King Éomer at Helm’s Deep,’ Lothíriel interrupted, not being able to stop her voice quivering ever so slightly. ‘That will take time.’ Surely Éomer had ridden out as soon as he heard she was missing. Her fingers were trembling on the spoon – he should have been here by now.

‘Well, I’m not happy. We’ll eat and move on if no word comes. You,’ Thanger said pointing at her, ‘will be coming with us.’

‘The food’s ready.’ She couldn’t wilt now. Please let this work!

The four had bowls and spoons ready and in moments they were stuffing the vile looking concoction down as if it was the best venison stew.  Apart from knowing what she’d put in it, the smell alone made Lothíriel gag. But that came from the badger, not the mushrooms, and they made no comment, eating gustily.

‘You eat some,’ Thanger ordered after he had gulped down half of his portion. ‘If we have to move you will need it.’

‘I’d rather not. I don’t think I can face that badger,’ Lothíriel answered, revolted by the sight of dribbles of stew running down his chin.

Scowling, he poked his spoon at her. ‘Eat something.’

Sure she’d be sick, whether she ate the fibrecaps or not, Lothíriel gingerly fished around in the pot. Luckily the golden horns were still intact and their colour made them easy to pick out. She trapped one on the spoon, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the smell.

‘Watch I don’t force it down your throat,’ Thanger muttered. But he didn’t move, continuing to shove the stuff down his own throat.

‘The mushrooms taste alright.’ Aglon ladled in another mouthful.

Yes, eat plenty, she silently prayed. Her own mushroom hadn’t got near her mouth yet but steeling herself she made sure to shake off as much juice as possible, before finally putting the spoon to her lips. Ugh, the badger had taken away any mushroom flavour. With grim determination she managed to chew and swallow without retching, and with Thanger watching her, another went the same way. Hopefully she wouldn’t be ill unless she actually ate the fibrecaps. Then a thought came to her – if they were ill and she wasn’t, would they catch on to what she had done? She would have to pretend. Knowing that she put the empty spoon to her lips again, managing to give the impression she was eating.

‘Right,’ said Thanger as he got up to rinse his bowl under the trickle of water. ‘There’s no sign of Carch, we need to decide what to do. Keep an eye on her,’ he ordered the idiot.

Keeping an eye on her meant that the idiot sat down crossed legged on the ground a few yards away, his brainless gaze fixed on her. The other three went into a huddle, whispering quietly together.

She could hear them arguing, but they were speaking too low for her to catch anything much, except that she gathered that Garter didn’t want to leave Dairon behind. It was probably already too late – with any luck a Rohirrim warrior had stuck a spear right through the crud. But then why weren’t her rescuers here?

Lothíriel’s attention was suddenly taken by a spasm of pain crossing the idiot’s face. Intrigued and a little excited, she watched as he became increasingly agitated. Suddenly he lurched to his feet. Doubled up and grasping his stomach, he stumbled towards the trees.

‘Where’s he going?’ Aglon looked up surprised, but at that moment Thanger staggered to his feet, clutching his stomach.

‘What have you done, you bitch? You’ve poisoned us.’ Sweat was pouring off him and saliva dripped from his mouth.

‘I’ve done nothing,’ Lothíriel retaliated, quickly standing up to get out of his way. She rubbed a hand over her own stomach and put a hand to her mouth as though she was going to be sick. ‘It’s you that’s done any poisoning, I feel terrible; that badger must have been off. How long since you killed it?’

‘We didn’t kill it, we found it dead.’ Aglon had now gone grey.

Then they would have probably been ill even without her mushrooms!  She stepped back, as retching violently Aglon vomited onto the ground.

Thanger pointed his finger, his face a mask of anger. But before he could do anything more he fell on his knees, groaning. Garter just headed for the trees, following the idiot.

Aglon vomited for a second time, and fell down. He tried to get up but couldn’t stand, swayed, and fell again.

Now she had her chance. Holding her stomach as though she were in terrible pain, Lothíriel made her way unsteadily towards the path Carch and Dairon had taken.

‘You stay ‘ere!’ Thanger shouted.

No chance! Picking up her skirts, Lothíriel ran.

To be continued.

Chapter 11

Heart banging against her chest, Lothíriel ran for all she was worth. Behind her she heard shouts and crashing of the vegetation as whoever was following her must have stumbled into the undergrowth. She heard another shout and thought it was Aglon’s voice. Maybe because he had vomited first, he was in a better state than his friends. Would she be strong enough to fight him off if he caught up with her? She couldn’t take the chance. Making a quick decision she dived off the path onto a small animal track that went steeply upwards. Darn! Her skirt caught on a thorn. Desperate to get out of sight of her pursuer, she frantically tugged at it until it tore away, allowing her to plunge into the darkness of the forest.

With luck he wouldn’t see where she had left the main path. A few yards on Lothíriel stopped, listening intently for any sound that told her the lout was still on her trail. She heard nothing and breathed a sigh of relief. Now she had to decide what to do. Beneath the canopy night had fallen, but if she could get above the tree line there would still be some light and she would be able to head in the general direction of Helm’s Deep. Surely she would see where the Deep cut into the mountain and could somehow make her way down to safety.

Lothíriel forged on, climbing higher and higher, her breath coming in rasps. She wanted to get out into the open before total darkness fell so forced herself to keep going. After what seemed an interminable age she saw a lessening of the gloom ahead. Within minutes she emerged onto a rocky slope, pausing to search for a path that would take her towards where she thought Helm’s Deep to be. But whatever animals had made their mark through the forest had left little impression on hard rocks and stones. After a few moments staring at the slope she thought she could make out a slight track that wound its way between some straggly bushes. It was going in the right direction so she set off, thankful that there was still a glimmer of light in the sky.

Ow! She stepped on a sharp stone. Traversing a rough track on the side of a mountain wearing riding boots was not to be recommended. Her feet hurt through the thin soles. Lothíriel scrambled up the uncertain path, using her hands as well as her feet in an attempt to reach a vantage point before all light left the sky. It looked as if clouds were gathering on the top of the mountain, adding to the gloom. She needed to keep going. Ahh... a stone slipped from under her foot; she clutched at a piece of rock to try and save herself but her ankle gave way. Down she went with a thump. Cautiously she heaved herself to her feet only just realising that her hand was bleeding. She could put her foot to the ground so it wasn’t broken; hopefully it was just a strain. She would be better going on.

It was no good she decided after making slow progress for a few yards –the clouds were thicker now with the smell of rain on the air. No way would she make it to Helm’s Deep that night – the only option was to rest up, try and bind her ankle and move off at first light. Spending the night on the side of a mountain alone was pretty daunting, but she had no choice. Hopefully bears, or anything else threatening, had gone to sleep; nevertheless she would need to keep vigilant.

She hobbled a little further until she reached a large rock with a deep undercut; it would give good shelter. Shivering, Lothíriel tucked herself as far back under the overhang as she could; it had got considerably colder, a sure sign rain was on the way. It might be the middle of summer, but this high up it was likely to get dangerously cold, especially if she got wet.  She could only hope she was in the lee of any storm. Settling down as comfortably as the stony ground would allow, she listened in trepidation for a moment, straining her ears for any indication she had been followed. Nothing! Good news, but what a predicament to be in – alone on a darkening mountainside with an injured ankle. Now she had time to think she decided it would be stupid to remove her boot to examine her ankle. Her riding boot fitted tightly so would probably act as a binding. Remove it and it might not go on again. She certainly wouldn’t be able to walk far with nothing on her foot. Hopefully the pain would ease with rest, and anyway things always seemed better in the light of day.

Lothíriel dropped her head into her hands; now she had stopped moving a deep weariness had come over her. Not surprising really with all that had happened. But she mustn’t fall asleep; goodness knew what was out there. She had no weapon to defend herself and no strength left anyway. By her feet was a large flat stone shaped very like an axe head; she picked it up, nestling it into her hand. It probably wouldn’t do any good if she was attacked, but holding it made her easier.

ooo

The forest closed around her, branches flicking painfully across her face as she ran for her life. She had to get away; but as if she was wearing boots of lead, tired legs moved slower and slower. Eager hands grabbed at her, vile insults echoed in her ears. She stumbled, fell; felt hot breath on her face. Noooo...Lothíriel instinctively lashed out.

‘Ahhh...’ A heavy weight landed on top of her. She screamed, pushing frantically at the body that pinned her down. It lifted slightly, emitting a stifled groan before flopping down again.

Her senses returning Lothíriel stared at the mass of light-coloured hair strewn across her chest and the blood seeping into her dress. No! It couldn’t be...‘Éomer...Éomer!’ she screamed to herself. Sweet Elbereth what had she done!

Totally dismayed by her mistake, she wriggled from under him, causing him to groan more. Ignoring the pain that shot through her ankle, Lothíriel struggled onto her knees. ‘Éomer, Éomer,’ she whispered desperately. Sick with fright she pushed back his blood-matted hair – the hastily-wielded stone had made a nasty gash on the side of his forehead. ‘Oh, thank the Valar,’ she muttered as what sounded like an oath left his lips. He blinked a few times, looking dazed. At least she hadn’t knocked him out, or worse, killed him.

‘Are you all right?’ Stupid really, of course he was not all right – she had just hit him across the head with a stone. And done damage, judging by the amount of blood.

Éomer shook his head as though to clear it, wincing at the movement. ‘I’ve been better.’ Cautiously he put a hand up to his wound; it came away wet with blood. Without saying anything he tugged a scrunched-up kerchief from an inner pocket and held it against his forehead. ‘I thought we’d negotiated a truce.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, guilt making her mulish, ‘but you shouldn’t have sneaked up on me.’

He grimaced, sitting himself up. ’Obviously. But I didn’t sneak, you were asleep and I was only trying to wake you.’

Suddenly tears formed in her eyes, angrily she wiped them away. ‘I had a horrible dream. Those awful men were chasing me and...I fell over.  Then it seemed that hands were all over me. I didn’t know it was you. I’ve been waiting for you to rescue me for hours and hours...’ Lothíriel burst into tears.

Immediately an arm went around her and she found herself sobbing into a hard chest. ‘No...’ she pulled away mortified by her weakness. Gulping, Lothíriel swallowed her tears, dashing them away with her sleeve. ‘I’m sorry; I’m not usually such a wet weed. And we must do something about your wound.’

‘Lothíriel, don’t be silly.’ He stroked a rough hand down her face reassuringly as though she were a child. ‘I’m fine; head wounds always bleed profusely.’ He took the piece of cloth away gingerly and looked hard at it. ‘Anyway, it’s almost stopped now. And there’s no need to be embarrassed about crying,’ he went on, ‘you’ve had a horrible experience. I can only apologise for not getting here earlier.’

She nodded, surreptitiously sniffing; somewhere along the way her handkerchief had been lost. Well, she couldn’t really ask to borrow his, so her sleeve would have to do if necessary. Looking down at the front of her dress she saw a dark stain spread across it – Éomer’s blood! Shuddering, Lothíriel put the thought of what could have happened from her mind, no point in dwelling on it.  He would recover, but her dress might not. Luckily she had bespoken some more riding dresses from the seamstress in Edoras. And she shouldn’t get in trouble over the payment this time, having asked Osythe to negotiate the price... Lothíriel started, suddenly becoming aware that Éomer was waiting patiently for her to say something. Probably giving her time to compose herself, and here she was gabbling to herself about dresses. She gave him an apologetic smile. ‘I did expect you to turn up rather sooner; I kept trying to work out how long it would take you ...’

He shook his head, looking remorseful. ‘I wasn’t at Helm’s Deep, so it took them a while to find me. I intended to be there all day, but instead went out to look at some crops...to be honest I was fed up of being indoors. Now I wish I hadn’t been so irresponsible.’

How could she blame him – she would have hated to be stuck inside all day. Although it would have been better had she never gone picking mushrooms and hadn’t had to be rescued at all. ‘How did you find me?’ she asked to cover her discomfort.

‘Well, it was not by paying that goon who came to negotiate with me any kind of ransom.’

She couldn’t help letting out a little giggle. ‘I never thought you would. What happened? Did you find the one they sent after him?’

 ‘Of course.’ Éomer’s voice was deceptively meek.  ‘But look’, he said, struggling onto his feet. ‘We need to get off this mountain before the storm comes in. There’s still some moonlight at the moment, but I don’t think it will last long. I’ll tell you everything on the way.’

He was right – the wind had risen, she could hear it in the tops of the pines, a sure sign of a squall. Pity, now she was safe, lethargy had taken over and she didn’t want to move. But she nodded. ‘Let’s go then.’

He couldn’t stand up under the overhang so backed out, almost bent double, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. ‘Mind your head.’

Lothíriel took hold of his hand and tried to get up. ‘Oww!’ Her ankle gave out. It had stiffened up since she had stopped walking.

‘What is it?’ Éomer looked down to where she was rubbing it through her riding boot.

‘I twisted my ankle climbing up here. But it’s much worse now than when I did it.’ She made a big effort, managing to hobble a few yards whilst sucking air through her teeth to stop from crying out.

‘Hmmm...You won’t get very far like that. I’ll have to carry you.’

Heat flushed her cheeks at the thought; she turned away, hoping he wouldn’t see. ‘It’s a long way,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Can you carry me that distance?’

Chuckling, he took hold of her arm. ‘Oh, I think I can manage. But no doubt Éothain will be along soon and I’m sure he’ll take over if I have trouble.’

No, they wouldn’t leave their king alone for long. A surge of disappointment rocked her, she had been enjoying their intimacy, and the prospect of him carrying her had sounded dangerously alluring.  Hastily she pushed such a reckless idea aside, horrified by her wayward thoughts.  As she prevaricated, the moon disappeared behind a black cloud, taking away the last of the light.  ‘But it’s so dark, she protested when he made to lift her, although she had no idea what else they could do. Whilst they had been talking the clouds had gathered thickly together, heralding the coming storm.  ‘The moon’s hidden now. It won’t be easy.’

‘No.’ He looked up at the sky, studying the enveloping blackness. ‘I can deal with the dark, we Rohirrim have night-eyes, but I am afraid we are in for a downpour.’ The words had hardly left his lips when there was a crack of thunder from the direction of Helm’s Deep. Moments later big raindrops started to splash down on them. ‘Right,’ he said, coming to a decision. ‘It’s not a good idea to go anywhere until this weather passes. Our summer storms are usually soon over, but violent for the time they last. We’ll shelter for now and move out when it eases off. Come on.’

Éomer helped her back to the rock. Lothíriel sat down and shuffled herself into the shelter of the overhang. Just in time; as he ducked under, the heavens opened.

Lothíriel shivered; the temperature had dropped drastically and it was pitch black under the overhang. Éomer sat down beside her and immediately his arm went round her, drawing her against him.

Stiffening, she tried to pull away.  What a position to find herself in...

‘Don’t be stupid. I need to keep you warm. I wish now that I’d brought my cloak but I rode out into sunshine.’

Knowing he was right and she was being ridiculous – blame her own confused feelings – Lothíriel forced herself to relax and leant back against him. His heat permeated right through his linen tunic. And in spite of their dank shelter, he had brought the warmth of summer with him. He smelt of greenery and fresh air, of wild rides over scorching, sunburnt plains. After the company she had been keeping that day, he smelt wholesome and healthy.

‘I think it would be better if I took off my shirt for you to wear,’ he said after a moment. ‘That dress of yours is pretty thin.’

Lothíriel shook her head, already self-conscious from being held so intimately by such a man; the last thing she wanted was for him to take anything off. ‘No, I’m quite warm, thank you.’ In fact her whole body felt as though it was on fire and she could only hope he couldn’t sense it. Sure her face was bright red, she was thankful for the blackness – at least he couldn’t see her embarrassment.

But typically he took no notice, squirming around beside her to remove his tunic. Knowing she hadn’t a chance of stopping him, she moved over as far as she could to give him space. Then she felt the brush of bare skin against her arm – Sweet Elbereth, she was sitting next to a semi-naked man. Images of a shirtless Éomer flashed through her mind, hastily forced out by telling herself she was behaving like a love-struck fool. Something she definitely didn’t want to be.  Moments later a warm piece of linen was pushed into her hands.

‘Put it on over your dress.’

Well, dark or not, she certainly wasn’t going to put it on under her dress! Lothíriel slid her arms into the sleeves, they came down over her hands but she didn’t roll them up –the cuffs would double as gloves.  The shirt got wrapped round her – making her much cosier – and she underwent a stab of guilt at the thought of him with nothing on his arms.

He was struggling to get dressed beside her, it couldn’t be easy. ‘Will you be all right with just a tunic?’

‘I’ll be perfectly fine. I am used to being out in all weathers.’ She heard a slight chuckle. ‘At least I used to be, but like many things in my life that has changed somewhat.’

Did he mind the loss of freedom, she wondered. Perhaps he relished a few hours away from the cloying protection he had to put up with. He certainly had done nothing to call his men to them. There was some more shuffling about and his arm knocked into her side.

‘Sorry, there’s not much room.’ He must have finished, because he went still for a moment.  ‘We might be here for some time, so we’d better make ourselves as comfortable as possible and get right back out of the rain. I’ll lean against the rock and you lean against me,’ he suggested. Before she could protest he had somehow wriggled round behind, and put one leg each side of her. ‘Just forget how unconventional this is. My aim is to keep you warm and dry, nothing else.’

Her face aflame, Lothíriel nodded. ‘I know. Thank you.’ He had made his body into a comfy chair and must have neglected to put his sword back on, although she had no doubt he had put it within easy reach.  She had been hesitant about being alone with him after he had flirted with her so outrageously but she unerringly knew he would never take advantage of her, or any other woman, in this situation. The thought was extremely comforting.

Suddenly there was a flash of light, quickly followed by a loud roll of thunder. ‘Hmm...I hope Éothain has the sense to stay where he is and not try and follow me up here until this passes.’ Éomer sounded doubtful, and probably rightly so; from what she had seen of his men they were likely to be scouring a rain-lashed mountainside for him.

‘Why were you alone?’ she asked.

He ignored her question. ‘Let’s start at the beginning, you tell me why you were on your own in the forest and how you were captured. I got a garbled account from Alwunn, who evidently was supposed to be with you. I didn’t have time to question her more as I wanted to find you with all haste.’

Now what did she say? Alwunn was a pest, but she did have some sympathy for her. Hopefully she had learnt a lesson and got a big fright.  Lothíriel had never been one to hold a grudge, but she vowed to speak strongly to the girl when they got back to Helm’s Deep.  ‘We were picking mushrooms,’ she said slowly, ‘high up in the forest and got separated. I took a wrong path.’

‘Separated?’  His voice hardened. ‘Be assured that I will be talking to Alwunn as soon as we get back, and if she was lax in any way, then she will be sorry.’

It sounded as though Alwunn would get a scolding from Éomer as well as her so she didn’t say anymore about that but explained her difficulty with finding the right path.

‘These forest trails do all look pretty similar,’ Éomer agreed. ‘So, when were you attacked?’

‘Just as somebody – Aldred, I imagine – blew his horn to guide me in. I headed towards the sound but those foul men got hold of me.’

‘Did you tell them who you were immediately?’

‘No, because they gagged me.’ The memory of that horror invoked a cold chill that ran down her spine. ‘More because I bit one of the louts’ finger quite hard than anything else. Then they dragged me up to their lair.’

‘I always said I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of you.’ Éomer made a sound of approval.  ‘Attacking me, biting fingers, poisoning...’  A hand stroked her hair. ‘But you must have been terrified.’

Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them back angrily – no point in crying now it was over.  Having felt so safe since Éomer had turned up, she had almost forgotten how petrified she’d been. ‘I was; I couldn’t think what to do. In some ways it was lucky the ones that captured me weren’t alone or they might have...attacked me straightaway.’

‘They didn’t touch you, did they? That lout Aldred got hold of swore they hadn’t...’

‘No...no, not really,’ she said, remembering the groping hands with distaste. ’Their leader, Thanger, had a bit more about him. He realised I wasn’t a Dunlending skivvy as they first thought.’

‘Oh, of course, your hair. But we don’t have skivvies, Dunlending or anyone else, who we don’t care about.’ He sounded rather affronted.

No, she had never seen a people as proud as the Rohirrim. They all had a place, and servant or not, that place was respected. It was one thing she liked about them very much. ‘I certainly made sure that they knew I was no skivvy, and called on all my heritage to talk down to them.’ She chuckled. ‘My parents would have been mortified had I ever spoken to a servant, or anyone else, like that at home.’ An image of her first meeting with Éomer flashed through her mind; he must have remembered it too because he said a little contritely.

‘I did take your lessons to heart.’

She laughed, not believing a word of it. But although she did think him proud, and sometimes a little arrogant, she knew he cared for his people and had actually never heard him being rude to servants since.

‘So what happened when this Thanger realised you weren’t a Dunlending?’ Éomer went on.

‘I had to persuade them I was worth more alive and untouched,’ she said quietly, slightly embarrassed by talking about it.

A hand squeezed her shoulder sympathetically. ‘You obviously did. Tell me what happened next.’

After those initial words it became easier to talk – especially as it was so dark, and with the rain and the wind howling outside their shelter. Somehow it made things seem less awkward when facial expression couldn’t be seen. They had to huddle together to keep dry and that formed an unspoken bond between them. She found herself telling him everything that had happened, even some of the horrible things the thugs had said to her and how frightened and revolted she had been.

He listened quietly, only swearing under his breath occasionally – vowing retribution. Lothíriel hadn’t heard about the fate of her abductors yet. She’d been putting off asking, afraid she had actually killed one or more of them, but by the sound of his threats they would be lucky to live anyway. When she got to the bit about the effect of the mushrooms she stopped... her voice trailing off, dreading to put the question to him.

But he must have been attuned to her distress, as he found her hand and gently stroked her fingers. ‘If they did die, Lothíriel, then it is no one’s fault but their own. But I understand that it might be better for you that they survive to face justice.’

‘So you don’t actually know if they have?’ she queried, surprised.

‘Well, I know one of those who ate the mushrooms is still alive. At least he was when I rushed up here after you. Although I left him with Éothain, and he’s not known for his gentle ways.’

She supposed not, although Éothain had always been very nice to her. ‘How did you know where I’d gone?’ Now she had given it thought, it seemed strange he had found her so easily.

He hesitated a moment before saying, ‘Don’t forget we already had a captive, that half-wit sent to negotiate the ransom.’

‘You mean Carch, but what about the one sent to keep an eye on him?’

‘Aldred killed him. When Carch demanded Aldred send a message to me, Aldred tied him up and set Alwunn to watch him. Elswite had already ridden to inform me you were missing anyway. His friend tried to sneak in to set him free, but Aldred shafted him.’ Éomer laughed mirthlessly.  ‘The fools didn’t know who they’d taken on. Aldred might be old, but he’s been a warrior all his life.’

Having become well acquainted with the Rohirrim, it didn’t surprise her that Aldred had had no trouble dealing with two ruffians, and Éomer could have no doubt taken on the whole lot of them single-handed. ‘So how did you know where they were camped?’

Silence for a moment, but eventually Éomer answered. ‘Éothain...asked...Carch. My captain can be...let’s say...extremely persuasive.’

‘Oh, I see.’ She wondered if Carch was still alive, but decided not to enquire further.

‘We were going to surround the camp and rescue you, but you had already freed yourself. Quite impressively, I might say.’

She tried to work out what had happened. ‘You must have found Aglon on the path.’

‘We did; writhing around in agony he was, but he...managed to tell us what had happened. He said you’d escaped and he’d been chasing you. But we hadn’t passed you, so we guessed you had turned off somewhere. It didn’t take much to work out the general area where you had left the path and then I found a scrap of material on a thorn bush.’

‘Oh, yes. My dress ripped, I’d forgotten that. So you came after me on your own.’

‘Yes.’

Lothíriel sensed a hesitancy or embarrassment and she waited to see what he would say.

‘I wanted to reach you before it got dark, but we still had to secure the camp in case they recovered enough to escape.  I sent the others to see to that and rushed up here. There was only one track, so it seemed pretty certain which way you’d gone. I couldn’t think you’d do other than head towards Helm’s Deep. Of course the idea was for Éothain to follow on, but the storm has put pay to that.’

‘I am glad you did. I was prepared for a night alone on the mountain, but thankful it hasn’t happened.’ Suddenly there was a loud gurgle as her stomach voiced the need for food. ‘Oh, I apologise...’

‘Don’t. I’m only sorry that I never thought to bring something to eat,’ he said immediately. ‘To be honest, Lothíriel, all I could think of was reaching you as quickly as possible. All else went from my mind. It was bad enough when I thought you just lost, but when I heard you had been abducted...’ She heard an intake of breath. ‘I couldn’t imagine what I’d tell your father.’

Of course...he would be worried about her father. Good job he couldn’t see the disappointment on her face. For a moment she’d thought...

A loud crashing noise came from somewhere outside. Lothíriel jumped, and Éomer’s arms tightened around her. ‘That sounds like a tree going over, it doesn’t look as though the storm will end anytime soon. Now we’ve told all, why don’t you try and sleep. I’m sure it will blow itself out before morning.’

But there was something she wanted to know. ‘If I didn’t poison them to death, what will you do with them?’

‘There’s a strict law in the Riddermark, Lothíriel – no man lays a hand on a woman. They are the providers of home and hearth, and the penalty for abducting and ill-treating a woman, lady or commoner, is likely to be death. But we are in the Westmark and I will let Erkenbrand try them. If it were left to me...’ He stopped, sighing.  ‘I just hope Éothain hasn’t already obliged, I’d like to find out where they were going. They said nothing more than they were heading north?’

‘No.’ Lothíriel thought back, but could not remember much. ‘I got the impression that good pay was being offered to those prepared not to ask questions.’

‘Hmmm...’ Éomer pondered. ‘I think I will speak to Gandalf about that when I see him.’

‘You think it could be important? ‘

‘I’ve no idea, but there’s nothing we can do about it now and I suggest you sleep. If you lie on the ground the cold will seep into you; you need a mattress.’ Gently he pulled her on top of him. ‘Just pretend I am one of your brothers, it’s vital I keep you warm.’

Brother! Warm waves of something she recognised as desire washed through her body. How could she ever think of him as a brother? She hesitated, not wanting to give her feelings away and well aware that further intimacy would stir up more unruly thoughts.

‘Please, Lothíriel, I can’t bear to risk anything else happening to you. Put your head on my chest and forget it’s me you’re sleeping on. ’

Lothíriel swallowed, hoping no one ever got to hear of this. But she did as she was told and tried to distance her mind from her predicament—everything ached and she felt so bone weary she could probably sleep for a week. His heart beat in steady rhythm, reassuring and comforting. She moved slightly as a few wisps of his hair tickled her nose. He must have realised because he pulled his hair away and pushed a strand or two of hers from her eyes.

‘Go to sleep,’ he whispered.

 Would he sleep, she wondered as she settled down with her head against him. Instinctively she knew he would not. He would be on guard all night, protecting her, caring for her. His arm was around her, muscular and strong, but he held her against him gently, probably trying to make her at ease in such a strange situation. He seemed relaxed, but she guessed he was alert to any noise, any hint of danger. Other than behind the thick walls of her father’s castle, never in her life had she experienced such a feeling of security.  She trusted him, she decided, with her life and her honour. They might fight and spark each other off but deep down she knew how fine a man he was -- on a par with her father, her brothers, Faramir...

Lothíriel’s deliberations stopped there, and she faced something within herself she had been reluctant to admit...something she had suspected when her captors had threatened her and she knew without doubt he would come for her himself – she had fallen in love with him.  No!  She quickly contradicted herself, as her heart speeded up even thinking about the consequences of such a happening.  Surely it was just he was so attractive – after all she had witnessed the effect he’d had on the ladies of Minas Tirith.  Having decided that, she made a real effort to go to sleep, but little nagging thoughts kept intruding – how she had actually enjoyed their spats, they had made her feel  vibrant and alive. But she had enjoyed their truces more – like when she had taken him the tisane and they had laughed about elves together, also when they had ridden west  and he had been so patient with her, telling her himself of the history of the land. She had certainly started to think differently about him when she had seen how he truly cared for his people. Then she remembered how frightened she had been that she would never see him again, and how she had told herself he would get to her in time...

She moved, and instantly his arms tightened round her protectively, and that was when she knew without a doubt – her heart had been caught and nothing would ever be the same again. Now what should she do?

With no immediate answer, and dozing but not asleep, she let her mind wander – he had said he would never marry a Gondorian. She mused on that, wondering if he had made that vow in the heat of the moment or if marrying one of his own people was really important to him. There was no doubt that the King of Rohan and a princess of Gondor would be a fine match – and possibly it had already been talked about in the high places of Minas Tirith, especially with her prolonged visit here. Her father would support such a move she was sure.  But Lothíriel didn’t have to think hard – she knew with utter certainty that she would never wed Éomer if he did not love her. That would lead to heartache. Having witnessed Éowyn’s happiness, she’d rather retreat to the Healing Houses than live a life with no more than polite affection between them. But if he loved her...! Lothíriel sighed inwardly and tried to sort the facts out in a very tired brain. So far he had flirted with her – when he wasn’t shouting at her – did that mean anything, or had he merely been amusing himself? He had taken her arm possessively when they entered the Hornburg, but that could have been in deference to her rank. But he had rushed up here in a panic to find her, leaving his men behind, and he had sounded embarrassed about it. All was certainly not lost, and a warm glow spread through her body as she drifted off.

ooo

‘Lothíriel, wake up.’

She heard his voice through a fog of sleep. Nooo..., she didn’t want to move, she was comfortable and warm – at least the half of her that had been lying on him and not exposed to the air was warm. And her dream had been interrupted – she had been riding with Éomer over the plains, racing, and she had been winning...

 ‘Lothíriel, the storm’s passed and dawn’s not far off.’

Dawn! She sat up suddenly; she must have been asleep for hours.

‘I heard a horn call, they will be here soon.’

‘Oh, of course.’ Fully awake now, she tried not to let regret creep into her voice – their little idyll would be over. However, she was ravenous and started to struggle to her feet. She put a hand on his bare arm and gasped. ‘You’re freezing; you gave me all your warmth.’

‘I’ll survive. As I said, I am used to it. Now let’s make a move, the sooner we do the sooner you can be cared for properly.’

He had done a good job of caring for her, but she nodded acquiescently, and pushed herself up. Oh...she was so stiff.

Éomer held her round the waist to support her as she tried to stand. ‘How’s your ankle?’

She tentatively put some weight on it.  ‘Not good, I can put in on the ground but I don’t think it will carry me far.’

‘Hold on then.’ Éomer got himself up, being careful not to bang his head, and picked up his sword. ‘Can you wriggle out?’

She nodded, and ducking under the overhang, started to hop and hobble until she sat on a rock just outside, shivering in the cold of dawn, to survey a grey world.  The clouds had mostly gone, but the sun not yet risen over the tops of the trees.

Éomer extricated himself from their overnight shelter and came to stand in front of her, buckling on his sword. He looked in no discomfort in spite of his bare arms. Lothíriel wrapped his shirt round herself tightly trying to draw more warmth from it. Looking up she found him staring at her.

‘What’s that bruise on your face? I thought it was dirt last night.’

‘Oh.’ She put her finger up finding the tender spot. ‘One of them hit me, when I bit his finger.’

‘Which one?’ Éomer snarled.

‘Carch, the one they sent to treat with you.’ The look on Éomer’s face made her almost sorry for the man.

‘Right,’ he said as if he had come to a decision. ‘There is a great deal for us to discuss, but now is not the time. We will have to wait for some privacy. But I want to assure you that I will be seeing your father within two sennights and will talk to him then.’ He smiled. ‘I can’t believe he will not give his permission.’

‘Permission?’ Lothíriel frowned, not having understood – she had been thinking of a bath and some food. ‘What are you talking about? I realise you will have to tell him of this, but...’

‘Lothíriel,’ he interrupted, touching her cheek with a gentle finger and looking deep into her eyes, ‘we need to get married.’

‘What!’ Her heart thumped so loudly she was sure he must be able to hear it. ‘Why do we need to get married?’

‘You have been abducted by brigands whilst in my care,’ Éomer answered with an encouraging smile.  ‘That alone would make it necessary for me to talk to your father.  But besides, we have just spent the night together.’

‘The brigands did no more than frighten me and assault me a little, and nothing happened between us,’ she babbled, playing for time. This was all coming too fast for her, she needed to think. But her mind was jumbled by the prospect of marrying him.

He sighed. ‘Lothíriel I hoped you wouldn’t see it as such a terrible prospect.  And I know your father will only be thankful you are safe, but others might not see it so simply as that. Your reputation...’

‘My reputation will be fine,’ she shot back. ‘I will tell my father all, he will believe me and that’s all that matters.’ It wasn’t a terrible prospect, far from it, if he really wanted this. But his momentous words came back to her like a returning affliction – standing between them, needing to be purged. She had to be sure. ‘Don’t forget, you said you were determined not to marry a Gondorian.’  Hardly daring to breathe, she waited for him to tell her he had fallen in love with her.

 ‘Ah, but that was before I found out what a good housekeeper you were. My life has never been so comfortable.’ Only his lips twitched, the rest of his face stayed provokingly straight.

All her hopes came tumbling down; instead anger rose as fast as a spring tide. ‘Housekeeper!’ she spat at him, her heart pounding wildly.  ‘How dare you!  If you think I’d marry you to keep you in clean clothes and hot meals you are sadly mistaken.’ Her hands clenched in fury. ‘I’d...I’d rather marry...an...orc.’

A look of pure amusement passed across his face. ‘No, you wouldn’t. They stink.’

She was lost for words for a moment, and Éomer put out his hand to touch her on the arm. ‘Lothíriel please, I was joking...’

‘Don’t touch me!’ She shook him off angrily. ‘And if you speak to my father without my permission, I’ll...I’ll feed you hemlock!’

With that they heard a shout, Lothíriel turned and saw Éothain and a few others winding their way along the track.

 ‘Damn!’ He turned to her, looking totality mortified.    ‘Look,’ he said quickly, ‘I’ve made a right mess of this and we need to sort it out. I didn’t mean...‘ He sighed as another raucous shout hailed him. ‘We will have to talk later.’

Lothíriel glared at him, despair and anger making it difficult for her to think straight. But she had said she would not marry him if he did not love her and however hard, she would keep to that. I would be better in the end than a union where adoration was one-sided. ‘Don’t bother,’ she retorted bitterly. ‘I have nothing to say to you.’

To be continued.

Chapter 12

Lothíriel could hear the whispering in the doorway but kept her eyes shut and her breathing regular. After a few more muffled words the door closed and she was alone again. She breathed a sigh of relief, strangely thankful for the feverish chill and injured ankle which had given her a good excuse to keep to her bed. She was even more thankful for the elderly dragon Brythwyn had supplied to tend to her. Edyth had fielded visitors who might disturb her patient's rest with no regard for rank, and so had foiled Éomer's previous attempt to talk to her. He certainly would have stood no chance this time if Edyth thought her asleep. But just to be sure Lothíriel lay still for ages afterwards, not relaxing until she heard the sound of hooves clattering over the causeway. Heart thumping she jumped up, limping over to the narrow window. By straining her neck she could glimpse the small column of riders, and the tall man in front of them. Éomer looked back over his shoulder as though aware he was being observed, his eyes roving over the face of the Hornburg. Lothíriel ducked behind the curtain, although the likelihood of him spotting her was small.

When she looked again the group was out of sight, probably already cantering down to the dike. She wouldn't now see him until he returned from Minas Tirith. Perhaps by then she would be able to face him without opening up the painful rent he had made in her heart. Without wishing things had been different. As it was, the sooner she returned home the better, although in truth she couldn't expect her father to take her straight back after many days of travel, could she? But perhaps he would provide an escort. Yes, of course he would. She would see Éowyn betrothed and then go home. The faint fear that Éomer would talk to her father about marrying her she pushed aside, knowing he was too honest to do anything so underhand. And anyway, why would he want to marry her if he didn't have to. For her dowry? She dismissed that straightaway, after all he would have made an effort when they first met in Minas Tirith had that been the case, but he had been totally opposed to the idea of making any Gondorian his wife. No, he had only suggested a union after their night on the mountain because he felt duty-bound to do so, and she had no intention of marrying because of anyone's duty. A soft tap on the door disturbed her thoughts and before she could get back in the bed, Osythe came in.

'Ahh...I see you're awake now. Éomer wanted to talk to you but he couldn't wait. He's tried to see you a few times.' Osythe looked at her as if she knew her sleep had been feigned, but Lothíriel shrugged nonchalantly, not giving anything away.

'I have been sleeping a lot. It took a few days to get over that cold night on the mountain. Edyth said sleep was good for me, and of course I needed to rest my ankle.' She made a show of walking across the room. 'It's almost healed and I feel more like myself. I do want to get back to Meduseld as soon as possible.'

'Hmmm...' Osythe studied the offending foot for a moment. 'You do look to be walking better. Éomer has arranged for Erkenbrand to escort us as soon as you are fit to ride. Perhaps in a couple of days' time, if we take it slowly.'

Lothíriel nodded; even had she wanted to she could never have endured a fast ride with Éomer and his men.

'Anyway, Éomer asked me to give you this.' Osythe held out the pendant she had last seen in Carch's hand. 'I've washed it in vinegar,' she said, as Lothíriel hesitated to take it.

'Thank you.' Her fingers clasped around the golden swan-ship, the necklace bringing back hideous memories. 'I haven't asked, Osythe, but what has happened to them?'

Osythe pursed her lips, reluctant to answer. 'Are you sure you want to know?'

'Yes.' Lothíriel swallowed. 'I've been going over it in my mind, but I don't think I could have done anything else.' She sighed unhappily. 'Except not getting lost in the first place, of course.'

'I'm not sure that was all your doing, Alwunn's story sounds a little weak to me.'

Lothíriel said nothing under the older woman's scrutiny. Osythe waited, and then nodded her head. 'Very well, we will pass over that for a moment.' She dithered for a second longer, but then took a breath. 'I suppose you need to know what happened. I can tell you that none but the leader died as a result of the fibrecaps. A shame, as the others swore he was the only one who knew exactly where they were going and who was hiring them. Éomer wasn't pleased about that.'

Lothíriel sighed again. Another mistake chalked up to her, but then Thanger had gulped down a huge portion of the stew. But she didn't feel any remorse about his death, only a cold numbness. 'And the others?'

'All hung.'

'Oh...' The numbness deepened to an icy chill.

'It was a just outcome,' Osythe responded, confirming her agreement to this decision with a decisive nod. 'All of us need to be safe in our own land if this war has meant anything. Éomer is determined on that.'

He would be – caring, noble, infuriating man that he was. 'Yes, I suppose you are right. I just wish none of it had happened.'

Osythe stared at her thoughtfully, as though deciding whether to voice what was in her mind. 'Lothíriel, I may be speaking out of turn, but whatever you might say it is obvious to me that you have been avoiding Éomer. I am hoping that he did not...offend you during your night on the mountainside.'

Heat rushed to her cheeks, so she busied herself fixing the chain around her neck to avoid Osythe's penetrating gaze. 'No, of course not.' Her mind flashed back to the way he had given up his shirt and made sure she was as comfortable as possible. To the wonderful thrill she had experienced when pressed against his hard body and the indescribable longing she had felt deep inside her. It was afterwards the problem arose, but she was not going to say anything about that. A feeling of utter loss washed over her, but with a great effort she succeeded in keeping her voice level. 'He behaved completely honourably and I was very grateful to have him with me. Nobody thinks any different, do they?'

'There's bound to be some who'll snigger behind their hands, but that will pass. It may be best if you are seen to be on friendly terms when he returns from Gondor.'

Lothíriel wondered if it had been a good idea for her to insist that Éothain carry her down the mountain, but too late to change that now. At the time she had not been thinking straight. Trying to make light of it, she laughed. 'We weren't always on good terms before, but I shall make a special effort.'

Before Osythe could reply there was another tap on the door. This time Alwunn stood there, but coming face to face with Osythe she did not venture in.

'I'll... come another time,' she stammered, taking a step backwards.

'No.' Osythe held the door open wider, a scowl on her face. 'If you've come to say your piece then it's a good job. Sooner would have been better.'

'I didn't want to disturb Lady Lothíriel when she was unwell,' the girl excused herself.

'I'm much better now,' Lothíriel intervened, seeing the firm set of Osythe's jaw. 'And I am happy to talk to you.' She resisted the urge to sit down on the bed not wanting to put herself at a disadvantage, Alwunn was taller than her as it was.

Head down, Erkenbrand's daughter scuffed her feet for a moment after Osythe had gone, but when she did speak the words coming out of her mouth were at odds with the defiance in her eyes. 'I apologise, I should not have left you on your own.'

'No, you shouldn't,' Lothíriel said, sharply. 'It was a thoughtless action that had immense repercussions. If any worse had happened to me, then it would have put your king in a very difficult position. Relations between our two countries could even have been compromised. In fact it could have...'

'You don't need to say any more.' Alwunn flushed red, interrupting rudely. 'Éomer gave me the worst telling off of my life. He treated me like a naughty child, and since then he can hardly bear to speak to me. But I didn't mean for anything bad to happen to you. I just got mad and walked off. It wasn't my fault there were brigands about.'

Realising Éomer had probably said everything needed – and she imagined a tongue-lashing from him had been extremely unpleasant – Lothíriel toned down what she had been intending to say. 'We can't always see what's ahead, Alwunn. You need to remember that all actions have consequences. If we had been together then those ruffians might have hesitated to attack the two of us, but besides that, I would not have got lost. Your silly behaviour resulted in the deaths of seven men.'

Not at all bothered by that, Alwunn tossed her head contemptuously. 'They deserved it, and anyway they were likely to commit some other awful deed. It's good they have been stopped.'

'Maybe, but don't you think that being held hostage was pretty awful for me?' Lothíriel wondered if Alwunn was at all likely to learn anything from this. The only thing she seemed bothered about was Éomer's reaction. 'I spent hours frightened out of my wits. It sounds like you have forgotten that.'

'No, not really,' Alwunn countered. 'But you got yourself out of it and must enjoy the fact that everyone is singing your praises. Before it was for your home keeping skills, now it's for your courage. I am sorry you were captured, and I am grateful that you never let on how I left you alone deliberately.' She hesitated and then the rest came out in a rush. 'But...I wish you'd never come here.'

Lothíriel sighed at the venom in her voice; the girl would probably have been pleased if she had not managed to escape her captors and been spirited far away. Well, let her put her hostility into words. 'Alwunn, why are you so angry with me?'

'Isn't it obvious?' Alwunn retorted. But with a catch of her breath the antagonism left her eyes to be replaced by desolation. 'Before you came I at least had a chance with Éomer. Now he's so mad he will never consider me. But anyway, even before all this happened he made it pretty plain that he has set you up to be his queen.'

'How did he?' Lothíriel interrupted sharply. He had better not been saying anything to all and sundry!

Alwunn stared as if she thought Lothíriel was stupid. But when she continued to look steadily at her, the girl shrugged her pretty shoulders. 'Well right from the beginning when he escorted you into the Hornburg here. Everyone was talking about it. It came as a bit of a shock because we had heard nothing.'

Lothíriel tried to maintain an outward facade of calm, inside she seethed. How dare he put her in that position! Well, she would scupper that idea right away. Alwunn was welcome to him – if she ever managed to persuade him she'd grown up. Hopefully if she did her housekeeping skills would pass muster.

'I think everyone has jumped to conclusions,' Lothíriel said with a hard edge to her voice. 'My father is a good friend of King Éomer's and my rank dictates the way he treats me. He is grateful because I have been helping Éowyn, but there is nothing more.'

'Well, if you believe that.' Alwunn looked totally sceptical.

'Perhaps you will learn from this Alwunn. Behave like a child then you will be treated as one.'

Alwunn obviously didn't like that because her lips firmed into a thin line. Lothíriel suddenly felt very tired. She'd had enough of the stupid girl and wanted to nurse her bruised heart in private. 'I think we have said everything, Alwunn. Please tell your mother I am recovered and will be eating with everyone else in the hall again.'

Lothíriel sank down onto the bed as soon as Alwunn had gone, but almost immediately sat up with a jolt as a thought struck her. What had the girl said –Éomer had made his intentions clear the day they had arrived at the Hornburg. Well before she had been captured and they'd spent the night together! If that was true, and the significance had been read correctly by his people...then that put his subsequent action in an entirely new light. Indignation made her jump to her feet, stamping over to the window. The arrogant pig! If he hadn't already gone, she would have told him exactly what she thought of such high-handed behaviour. Had he really selected her as his wife with no reference to her at all? A moment's thought told her that after the journey to get to Rohan he had probably come to the conclusion she was not the soft Gondorian he had originally assumed her to be, and with her background and her housekeeping prowess - which had obviously impressed him, judging by his comment on the mountain –he might well have decided she was suitable queen material. Lothíriel clenched her hands, angrily pacing back across the room – well, that could be true, but he might as well whistle in the wind if he expected her to conform to such a plan just because it suddenly suited him.

ooo

By the time they were ready to return to Edoras, Lothíriel's anger had eased somewhat, to leave only a wretched gloom. But as they rode out in the cool of dawn and left Helm's Deep farther and farther behind and the plain opened up before them, her heart lightened. The Ered Nimrais marched on their flank, tall and commanding, but far ahead, grass and sky merged into an endless vista of soft shadow and mist. She breathed in the early morning air joyfully; being incarcerated behind stone walls had not suited her and she looked forward to the freshness and open outlook of Edoras, and especially the homeliness of Meduseld.

By the second day however Lothíriel realised that the change of location did nothing to lessen her deep down despondency. If anything her misery was increased by the memories of their outward journey and how Éomer had been so kind and friendly, explaining the significance of the landscape, pointing out the various places of interest and beguiling her with tales of past kings. He had certainly enjoyed her company then and she had relished the new friendliness between them. It had continued that morning before she went mushroom hunting, and through the night on the mountain. She could only regret that his ensuing words had changed it all. Cantering for hour after hour with nothing to do except follow Erkenbrand and his riders gave her time to think and Lothíriel found herself going over every moment of their ill-fated conversation during that cold dawn– considering every nuance in his voice and every likely interpretation of his actions. Trying to see if she had missed something significant.

He had said he was joking about wanting her for her housekeeping abilities, but she had dismissed that out of hand, losing her temper immediately. Possibly, she now admitted to herself, because she had been weary and uncomfortable, so not receptive to any fooling about and certainly not to being teased. But Éomer did like to tease; she had found that out many times. Was it possible that she had mistaken him, and had they had more time he might have declared himself? Or was that just wishful thinking? The thoughts churned around in her head as Storm's hooves steadily pounded the road, until one notion surfaced above the others – Éowyn had not fallen for Faramir right away. Love had come to Rohan's White Lady slowly, as she discovered Faramir's worth. Might her brother be the same? She pondered on that for a while and could come to no sensible conclusion. Thinking back to his behaviour that wild night however confused her even more – he had conducted himself with honour and compassion. But if he had fallen for her and wanted to make her his wife would he have been quite so resistant to her nearness, kept his feelings so well in check. It seemed unlikely considering the difficulty she'd had hiding any reaction to being cuddled up against him. Sifting through everything that had happened made her realise that in spite of her previous anger, if she discovered Éomer had genuine feelings for her, then even though he would be likely to get a piece of her mind over his presumptuousness, she would like nothing better than to be his wife and queen. If he didn't – well, however hard, she was still determined that she would go home and try and forget him.

A shout woke her from her reverie and glancing up she saw a hill in the distance, the top of which looked to be ablaze with fire – Meduseld. The Golden Hall, flamed with the red of the setting sun. Lothíriel stretched herself in the saddle, easing aching muscles. At last – they had taken two long days to get here, but the slower ride had still been hot and tiring. She looked forward to feeling the ground beneath her feet, a simple supper, and bed. But Éowyn would be waiting for her, and although she longed to see her friend, Éowyn would want a detailed account of her captivity. She would be happy to do that of course, but after all her deliberations Lothíriel realised she wanted someone she could talk through her uncertainties with. Someone who might give her an insight into the behaviour of men, and one man in particular. Not Éowyn for that – she had long harboured a suspicion Éowyn would like her for a sister. No, Lothíriel wanted her mother – always so loving and sensible. And her mother would not take into account any political implications; she would give her honest opinion. However it would be a good three senninghts until the funeral cortège arrived and then, probably before she could talk to her mother, she would have to face Éomer, still confused and undecided. But she entered Edoras in a much better frame of mind than she had left the Hornburg – perhaps she should not give up quite yet.

Éowyn ran down the steps as Lothíriel prepared to dismount, hardly giving her time to take her feet from the stirrups before she welcomed her with outstretched arms, hugging her against her chest as soon as she had slid from Storm's back. 'Poor you, tell me all about it,' Éowyn said taking her arm.

'In a moment,' Lothíriel replied, laughing. 'I need a drink before I start recounting tales.'

Éowyn called out to one of the guards as they started the climb up towards the hall and by the time they reached the platform a servant appeared bearing a tray of pottery mugs.

Even though she knew the next weeks would be busy, Lothíriel felt a deep sense of peace and homecoming when she saw the open doors that gave a glimpse of the dark, cool interior of the hall.

'I should really welcome you back with mead,' Éowyn said, passing her and Osythe a cup, 'but this will be more refreshing.'

Gratefully Lothíriel gulped down the elderflower cordial, allowing herself to be led to one of the tables.

'Now tell me,' Éowyn whispered when they sat down and the servant had refilled Lothíriel's mug, 'before Erkenbrand comes up from the stables and supper is served. Éomer wouldn't say much except to praise your actions. I had to rely on Éothain for any details as my brother was unusually mute and bad-tempered about the whole episode. But I did gather he was extremely angry with Alwunn.' Éowyn went on, barely pausing for breath, 'Did you really get separated accidently, or did the little minx leave you alone on purpose?'

Lothíriel averted her eyes, wondering how Éowyn knew and unwilling to confirm the Shield-maiden's suspicions. It seemed that both Éowyn and Osythe were distrustful of Alwunn, possibly because they had been long acquainted with her.

'You don't have to answer; your face says it all.' Éowyn nodded knowingly. 'Alwunn has always looked out for her own interests and thought too much of herself. She had her sights set on Éomer even before he became king, but it never did her any good.'

'I'd rather you didn't say any more to Éomer about her part,' Lothíriel said. 'The matter is finished with. Éomer thinks it was accidental and that's fine by me.'

'I doubt he does,' Éowyn said with a rise of her brow. 'He's always been able to see right through those trying to hide the truth. But I imagine he will respect you for not giving Alwunn's guilt away, nobody likes a tell-tale.'

Respect her? Yes, she wanted him to respect her, but she wanted him to love her also. Giving herself a mental shake – brooding would do no good – Lothíriel changed the subject. 'Have any letters come from my father?' After discovering how many intended to follow King Théoden's cortège, she had written to him a time ago, hinting that it would be a good idea if those coming for a protracted stay contributed to the larder.

'Yes,' Éowyn replied. 'You have a few letters and one has your father's seal. They are in your room.'

Lothíriel drained her mug and stood up, stretching out her stiffness. 'Then if you want to know what happened, come with me, and I will tell you of my adventure.'

ooo

No time to brood, Lothíriel had been busy before the trip to Helm's Deep, but she, and all the other women in the hall, worked tirelessly to prepare for the funeral and the huge influx of guests. Luckily Faramir had sent Éowyn a complete list of those expected to come with the cortège so they were able to plan. But even though the elves would be sleeping in their silken tents it became obvious that finding beds for the rest of the visitors meant clearing out rooms that they had hitherto left untouched.

Éowyn suggested Éomer give up his chamber for Aragorn and Arwen, and Lothíriel, who had been using Théodred's old room, gladly agreed to give it up for her parents and go back to sharing with Éowyn. Faramir and the members of the Fellowship needed to be housed in Meduseld or in the guesthouses nearby, but other lords and ladies coming from Gondor would have to be billeted wherever there was room.

With all the sleeping arrangements decided, Lothíriel concentrated on the food. Her father had responded brilliantly – as she knew he would – to her plea, and wagons bearing smoked hams and other preserved meat, salted fish, fresh and bottled fruit and vegetables arrived a week before the guests were due. But there were still huge amounts of cooking to be undertaken and the task of preserving food for the winter had to carry on. Lothíriel spent most of her time directing operations and answering endless questions from anything as to what sauce to serve with fish to how many covers an elf might need. By the night before the cortège was due to arrive she felt exhausted and determined to bathe, wash her hair and go to bed early. She would have to face Éomer before noon the next day and no way did she wish to look anything other than serene and in control.

ooo

Six men – two the only survivors of Théoden's Royal guard, the rest sons of those hewn down on the Pelennor – carried their dead king's bier up the steps and into the hall. But Lothíriel let the coffin pass with barely a glance, concealing herself behind Éowyn as the Lady of Rohan waited to one side to offer the welcome cups. Lothíriel's eyes were for Éomer, and she thought she would be able to observe him unseen, taking the opportunity to test her feelings. But as he came up the steps with his easy stride – tall, golden from the summer sun – Éowyn moved and their eyes met in an explosion of awareness. Suddenly she was under the scrutiny of his intense gaze – searching and questioning. Her stomach flipped and a rush of heat shot up to her face. How could she ever have thought she could deal with this sensibly?

'Help me hand these out, would you, Lothíriel.' Éowyn's voice penetrated her dazed senses. Wordlessly Lothíriel took one of the cups. She intended to wait and pass it to her father, but somehow Éomer put himself right in front of her. 'Westu Éomer hál...,' she said, her voice fading as he took the cup from her. Their fingers touched, setting her blood fizzing like fermenting wine. Éomer drained his cup and handed it back, brushing her wrist with his thumb before she could pull her hand away.

'Lothíriel, we need to talk. Very soon.'

His low voice purred in her ear. But a slight nod was all the response she made – they were on view to all those coming up behind – her mother and father included. And not surprisingly the exchange had been observed – Lothíriel could tell by the twitch of her mother's lips. Her father looked his usual enigmatic self, until he reached her and she caught the knowing look in his eyes. He tossed back his drink and then put his arm round her, hugging her tightly against him. Something he rarely did in public. 'You look very much at home here, my dear. I am glad to see you none the worse for your experiences. You must come and tell your mother and me all about it.'

Once all the guests had been given refreshment and shown to their different accommodations, Lothíriel was able to slip away and join her mother and father in their chamber. Her mother had changed out of her travel clothes and sat in one of the chairs, looking cool and elegant as she always did. Lothíriel went over and kissed her cheek, breathing in the sweet fragrance of jasmine. All through her childhood, in illness and health, the perfume had given reassuring comfort of her mother's presence.

'It's so good to see you, Mother. And you look to have dealt with the long journey well.'

'And good to see you safe and well, my love. We heard such awful tales.' Her mother kissed her back and Lothíriel squeezed her hand before turning to her father. Immediately she was drawn into another hug, this time smelling the aroma of leather and horse, mixed with the scent of the bergamot soap he favoured. Her father looked much younger than when she had last seen him, as though the cares of the dark years had been gradually washed away. 'I've heard about your abduction from Éomer, of course. But come and tell me the full story.' He led her to the other chair, perching himself on the edge of the bed.

Lothíriel started hesitantly, but soon found herself recounting everything that had happened to her parents, not even hiding the slight unease she still had with her deadly solution. The Lord of Dol Amroth listened quietly to her story, only making the odd comment and asking one or two questions to be clear where all this had taken place. At the end he sat silently for a moment before giving his thoughts. 'With hindsight, Lothíriel, I do not think you should have been in that forest at all, not without a proper guard. Éomer did as much as admit that, but I think we might all have been lulled into a false sense of security. There will always be those of malevolent disposition, we cannot eradicate evil entirely. It will be as well for us to remember that.'

'Elswite had been foraging there all her life,' Lothíriel said. 'Only when Saruman started his attacks did she cease.'

'Well, I am sure that Éomer will soon make Rohan safe again, but in the meantime it is a lesson for us all.' He stood up and dropped a hand on her shoulder. 'You did well, my love. I am proud of you. And give no more thought to the consequences of your escape plan – those that seek to do mischief have to accept the penalty of failure.'

Lothíriel smiled up at him. He had said nothing about her night spent on the mountain with Éomer, nor questioned her in any way about it, only expressing relief she had not been alone. He trusted her, and with a little thought Lothíriel realised he trusted Éomer to behave honourably because in a similar situation he would have behaved honourably himself.

'I must go to the stable and check that Legrin is comfortable. It's liable to be crowded in there. And anyway, I expect you have lots to talk about with your mother.'

Sure that her father's horse had been well cared for, Lothíriel just nodded agreement. In spite, or perhaps because of the encounter with Éomer on the steps, she still wanted to discuss things with her mother.

'Well, dear,' her mother said as the door closed. 'I have to say that the hall looked wonderful, everything sparkled and the colours in the tapestries fairly glowed. I had a quick word with Éowyn and she says that it's all down to you. I am so glad that my tuition was not wasted, you have a knack when it comes to homemaking...'

'Mother!' Lothíriel jumped up and paced to the window. 'If anyone else mentions my housekeeping abilities I am liable to scream!'

'Ah...' Her mother sounded slightly confused. 'But wasn't that why you came here?'

'Of course it was...but...' She shook her head, not being able to get the words out.

'Perhaps, then,' her mother said thoughtfully, 'it was something to do with the encounter I witnessed with Éomer outside the hall that is the reason for your agitation?'

Lothíriel stared at the clouds gathering overhead. It looked like it might rain, just like that night on the mountain.

'Lothíriel?' Her mother prompted when she didn't answer. 'Is there something you wish to tell me?'

'Éomer said we should get married,' she got out finally, managing to look her mother in the eye. 'After that night we spent together, he said we needed to.'

Her mother took an inward breath, but nothing showed on her face. 'And is it necessary that you do so, my dear?'

'No!' Lothíriel shook her head vehemently. 'No one could fault his conduct. But he said my father would expect it and being alone with him all that time would cause talk. I told him that there was absolutely no need and my father would believe me if I said nothing had happened.' She hesitated. 'When he tried to insist, I reminded him that he had been totally opposed to marrying a Gondorian...'

'And what did he say to that?' her mother asked when she stalled again.

'He said that had been before he found out what a good housekeeper I was. And since I'd come to Meduseld his life had never been so comfortable.'

A frown appeared on her mother's forehead. 'Oh, I see.'

'I told him I would rather marry an orc!'

Her mother stared for a moment and then started to laugh. 'The idiot, he well deserved that.'

Tears welled in Lothíriel's eyes. 'He said he'd been joking, but I wouldn't listen and then his men arrived. I wouldn't let him near me to explain when we got back to the Hornburg, but since then I have started to wonder if he had been joking as he said. It would be just like him. I'd decided I wanted to go home straight after the funeral. But now I don't know what to do.'

'What did he say to you on the steps? The pair of you looked as though you'd been hit by a thunderbolt.'

A good description for it. 'Only that we needed to talk soon, he could hardly have said any more. But I felt so strange. As soon as I saw him it was like all my senses reacted at once. I couldn't think straight.'

'Are you in love with him, Lothíriel?'

She nodded, swallowing down a sob.

'And do you want to marry him?'

'Only if he loves me. Not if it's because of who I am or how good a Hlafdige I will make. I don't want a polite marriage where the only thing we have for each other is respect.'

Her mother's lips held a wry grin. 'I have come to know and like Éomer very much. He is an honest man who will make a good king and do the best for his people. But I don't think you'd ever get a polite marriage from him.'

Lothíriel wiped her hand across her wet eyes, not able to stop a small chuckle escaping. 'No, I don't suppose I would. But you know what I mean – I want more than a suitable alliance. And I need to be sure of that.'

Her mother got up and took her hand, squeezing it gently. She led her back to the chair. 'Lothíriel, sit down and let me tell you something.' Her mother took a seat on the bed, keeping hold of her hand.

'Your father and I obviously discussed the invitation for you to come here and for some reason it amused your father greatly.'

'Oh?' Lothíriel looked up.

'He eventually admitted that when the armies were resting in Cormallen Éomer came in for a lot of teasing from Aragorn and others that the first job required of him as king was to find a wife. During a later conversation your father mentioned you, quite innocently, but was treated to a tirade from Éomer about how he would not even consider "one of Gondor's showy hothouse flowers." So when Éowyn asked you to go to Rohan, your father rather hoped Éomer would be made to eat his words. Of course.' Her mother smiled mischievously. 'I would be lying if I tried to deny that your father thought a marriage between you would be good, for you and Gondor. But he also made it plain to me that he wanted to leave the outcome to providence and it would be for you and Éomer to decide.'

'Éomer was very antagonistic when we first met,' Lothíriel mused. 'More than I thought he had any right to be. But if he suspected we were somehow being forced together...I suppose I can understand his reaction. But we had started to get on well, and he was so caring during that night. But it made me mad when I thought he saw me as no more than a suitable queen for him.'

'I cannot totally reassure you, of course. But my guess is that he found it difficult to admit to his feelings, men often do. And so he covered it with a joke. I think you ought to give him another chance.'

Lothíriel nodded, she owed it to him after her show of temper. Although she still wasn't happy about him dragging her into the Hornburg and giving everyone ideas. 'I will, but finding any way to have a private conversation will be difficult, there are people everywhere.'

Her mother laughed. 'I am sure he is resourceful enough to work something out. But Lothíriel, I think whatever happens you should keep to your plan of going home soon. Don't forget that even if you and Éomer come to an agreement, you cannot announce a betrothal for another month at least, and would need to wait a little while after that to get married. Your father and I are staying for a prolonged visit, but most are leaving a few days after the funeral. You have not seen your home in peace and it would be a good idea to enjoy it before winter sets in. Erchirion will be leaving then, and maybe Amrothos as well, it will be a much faster ride for you than if you wait for me.'

'Yes,' she said coming quickly to a decision. 'I will go with Erchirion.'

ooo

Éowyn's face fell when she heard later that Lothíriel would be going home when the party broke up.

'I have done all I can, Éowyn. It's months since I saw my home, and I will meet up with you when you come to Gondor to marry Faramir. That will be in less than three months. '

'I know, but Éomer will be alone here all winter with just Osythe to look after him. Sometimes I feel torn...'

'Don't. I cannot believe your brother would want you to forsake your chance of happiness...'

'I know, but if you stayed...'

'Éowyn.' Lothíriel shook her head laughing, resolutely pushing down any feelings of regret. 'Even if I felt so inclined, it would be totally improper to be here without you. Osythe will look after Éomer.'

Éowyn let out a deep sigh. 'I suppose so, but I have so enjoyed you being here. How we are going to thank you I don't know.'

'There is no need. There are some experiences I would not like to repeat, but in spite of that I have enjoyed myself immensely. I suspect I will miss the freedom; at home I am dogged with servants whichever way I turn. You have no idea how difficult it is to escape on one's own sometimes.'

The supper gong stopped their conversation and in moments the hall started to fill. It would be even more crowded for the funeral feast and the celebration planned for the evening before the guests departed. A whole week of organizing and providing – the journey home would seem like a rest. But later, when the meal was being cleared, Lothíriel felt a deep sense of pride at the way the evening went so smoothly, everyone well fed and entertained. Osythe would cope as she now had helpers and servants with both the knowledge and the inclination to make sure Meduseld was a fitting home for their king. She knew said king really appreciated the change she had wrought, but wished he'd appreciate other things about her. And were they really going to have a conversation? She couldn't see how as he was continuously surrounded by friends and advisors.

'Deep in thought, Lothíriel?'

'Oh!' She jumped, spilling a little of her drink. Elves could certainly move quietly, Elladan in particular. 'I was thinking about going home,' she said as she mopped at her dress. 'I have been here too long.'

'Really?' A dark brow rose in mockery. 'I would have thought that you have been here not nearly long enough.'

'Don't talk in riddles, Elladan. I am too tired to appreciate it.'

'Then come and sit comfortably and listen to the music. I won't notice if you fall asleep. You can even put your head on my shoulder if you like.'

'Don't be silly!' She made a face at him, but got up and allowed him to lead her to one of the padded chairs that had been put around the wall, in the shadow of the pillars. The minstrel was singing a gentle ballad that she knew told the story of a group of herders following their horses over the lush plains in summer. She could even recognise some of the words now. When it was finished the melody changed to something a little livelier, but no dancing tonight, not with a coffin flanked by four guards taking centre place in the hall. Dancing would be kept for the farewell feast. A shame that she would be unable to dance, she reflected. She would have liked one Rohirric dance before she left. Perhaps they'd have some at Éowyn's wedding.

'Why are you going home, Lothíriel?' Elladan suddenly asked.

'For the very reason it is my home and I wish to see it again. I want to enjoy that warm water we spoke about before the weather turns. What about you, are you leaving with your father or staying a while?'

'Leaving. But I imagine I will visit again in the not too distant future. I am sure there will be something to draw me here.'

Too weary to even start to think what that might be, Lothíriel stood up. 'As much as I enjoy your company, I think it's time I retired. There are busy days ahead, so if you'll excuse me.'

Elladan got to his feet, bowing over her hand. 'I'd slip away down the side of the hall if I were you, just in case anyone wants a warming-pan or something.'

Warming-pan! In this heat? Lothíriel laughed as she caught his joke – she had been asked more ridiculous things that day. 'Goodnight, Elladan.'

But she took his advice and kept close to the wall as she made her way to the door leading to the east tower, saying goodnight to a few guests who had sought quiet away from the main part of the hall. Then, only yards from the door, her progress was stopped by the simple reason of Éomer placing his large body right in front of her.

Hastily she bowed, her heart thumping wildly against her chest, and managed to get out a muffled, 'Good night, my lord.'

He took her hand, bending over it just as though he was going to say a courteous good night. But his words came out low, and in a rush. 'Lothíriel, will you meet me in the garden?'

'Garden? When?' Had she heard right – all her senses were jangling.

'Now. If you go straight there I will come as soon as I can.'

She hesitated, eager to speak to him alone, but fearful of what she might hear.

'Lothíriel, please.'

Getting her emotions under control, she inclined her head as though responding to a politeness. 'Don't keep me waiting.' She had no intention of hanging around on his convenience.

To be concluded.

Chapter 13

The outer door opened with a squeak, and cautiously Lothíriel put a foot on the gravel path. With the moon nearing the full, she would be able to pick her way between the overgrown bushes, hopefully without snagging her dress. Éomer had not said where to meet, but the garden was not that big and it seemed sensible to head for the seat placed half way along the path that ran between the two corner towers. She took a deep breath, inhaling the heavily scented air; it must have been beautiful here at one time. Queen Morwen had reputedly loved her garden and had brought many of her favourite plants from Gondor. There had only been time to clear the herb beds, but Lothíriel had seen many beautiful eglantines scrambling over the overgrown bushes, filling the air with their heavy perfume. There were also great big bellflowers and bright summer daisies poking through the carpet of weeds. If she hadn’t been so busy stocking the larder, then her attention might have come this way. Maybe if she ever came back...she stopped such a thought straightaway, the only likelihood of that being if she married Éomer, and that was far from certain. Especially after his connivance with Elladan. She was sure now that the elf had not steered her to the edge of the hall without a prior motive. That would be the first thing she would want to know from Éomer.

Reaching the seat she hesitated, remembering seeing it covered with moss and lichen. After a moment’s deliberation she fished up her sleeve and pulled out a handkerchief – it didn’t matter if it got messed up – and laid it out over one end of the seat. Thankful to take the weight off of her feet, Lothíriel wrapped her skirt around her legs to keep if from the dirty stone, and sat down.  It had been a tiring day.  For a short while it was very enjoyable sitting there watching little bats flitting past as they chased the moths attracted by the tangle of weeds and flowers.  One small moth alighted on a bellflower next to her, silver wings glittering in the moonlight. She watched entranced as it unrolled an incredibly long proboscis to harvest the sweet nectar.   But something rustled in the bushes nearby, making her jump. Only a small mammal seeking a meal, she told herself.  An owl hooted on the other side of the hill – she knew a pair lived in the stables, doing a good job of keeping the mice away from the feed. Lothíriel sighed, wondering how long she should stay. She could imagine it wouldn’t be easy for Éomer to slip away, but however pleasant it was she had no intention of sitting here all night. Another few minutes, she decided. However, at that moment she heard the sound of a door being opened and shut, a key being turned.  Footsteps crunched on the gravel.

‘Lothíriel?’ A voice whispered from the darkness.

‘I’m here. Sitting on the seat.’ But she stood up as she saw him approaching; no way did she want him towering over her. And her heart rate had already speeded up alarmingly – it might be better if she didn’t let him too close, fearing her emotions were likely to overrule her wisdom.

Too late, he walked right up and made a grab for her hand. ‘I’m sorry, I kept getting waylaid.’

Understandable, but she pulled her hand away before he could capture it, taking a step backwards. ‘You are lucky I am here at all, after I realised that Elladan had set me up.’

Ahh...’ He looked suitably embarrassed, and Lothíriel folded her arms not wanting to give an inch – yet.

‘My excuse is that I needed help,’ he said with just a hint of repentance in his voice.  ‘Éowyn said you were leaving in a few days so I knew I didn’t have a lot of time, and trying to get near you without attracting attention was proving impossible. I did consider sending a note, but someone would have had to deliver it. And I do so want to talk to you.’

She sighed, not knowing how he could look so remorseful when she was sure he felt no such thing. But she had wondered how he would arrange anything with so many around him all the time.  Perhaps she should let that go. ‘I suppose.’ But she fixed a steely gaze on him.  ‘So what exactly did you want to say?’

He let out a slightly exasperated breath, realising he was not going to be in for an easy time. Why should he be, Lothíriel thought defiantly. He’d caused her many sleepless hours. 

‘There’s lots I want to say, Lothíriel. But first I need to apologise.’

Her chin went up and she held those dark eyes, determined not to surrender her slight advantage. ‘What exactly are you going to apologise for, Éomer? Dragging me with you into the Hornburg and giving your people the impression there was some agreement between us – one you had neglected to mention to me? Or for thinking that it might be a good idea to marry me to ensure that your socks are always washed and mended?’

He took a sharp inward breath. ‘I promise that I didn’t mean to embarrass you at the Hornburg, I was just happy that...’ Another sigh left his lips when she kept her expression wooden. This time he shook his head as if admonishing himself. ‘Look, can we sit down and talk about this? I’m well aware I have made a complete mess of things, but believe me, there is nothing I want more than to put it right.’

He reached out to take her hand again, and this time she let him, unfolding her arms a little reluctantly. But when his hand wrapped around hers he must have detected the faint trembling in her fingertips, for a slow smile lit his face. ‘Will you sit with me?’ Éomer looked down at the seat, frowning when he saw the handkerchief shining white in the moonlight.

‘I didn’t want to get my dress dirty. If you sit down you are likely to stain your tunic.’

‘Oh, I think I could risk that to talk to you.’ His voice was warm and sultry in the darkness. Too alluring for comfort.

‘Maybe,’ she said, all practicality, determined to hang on to her senses, ‘but you might get some funny looks when you return to the hall.’

‘True’. A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. ‘Then walk with me and I will attempt to gain your forgiveness.’ He tucked her arm in his and started to lead her towards a path that cut through the middle of the garden. It was even more overgrown, the briars reaching out to grab the unwary. But avoiding being snared they reached a relatively clear area, edged by a broken wall.

‘The stone looks slightly cleaner than the seat, so the tunic will have to take its chances,’ Éomer said sitting down on it. ‘You can put your dress in jeopardy or lean against me.’

Putting herself in jeopardy, no doubt! Lothíriel sat down beside him, making sure only their hands were actually touching. Already his nearness was having a disastrous effect on her equilibrium. ‘What is it you want to say to me?’

‘Lots. But I’d better start with the apologies. Get them out of the way and hope we can move on from there.’

Lothíriel waited, saying nothing, determined not to give him any help. They had talked so easily together on that mountainside – before his disastrous words. But now an awkward silence lay between them.

Still holding on to her, Éomer raked the fingers of his free hand through his hair, looking as if his thoughts were difficult to voice. Lothíriel had no sympathy, and waited until he finally found the words he needed. ‘I behaved badly towards you right from the beginning, didn’t I?  I am afraid I was hostile even before we met. Hence my subsequent discourtesy when Éowyn invited you to come here.’

‘But why were you hostile before meeting me?’ Lothíriel asked. She thought she knew, but wanted to hear him say it.

He shrugged. ‘I suppose because I don’t like being pushed into things and got irritated when your father talked about you.’

She huffed, incredulous. ‘Why should that irritate you?  I bet he talked about my brothers too.’

 ‘He did,’ he agreed, giving her a highly sceptical look, ‘but not in regards to me finding a suitable wife.’

‘My father suggested I might fill that role, did he? I find that hard to believe.’ Had her father been so obvious?

‘Well, not in as many words,’ Éomer admitted. ‘But the insinuations were there under the surface.’

She didn’t actually want to tell of the conversation with her mother, so compromised.  ‘I am sure you misinterpreted and his remarks were made in all innocence.’

‘Lothíriel, do you really think that?’ Éomer asked with a mocking laugh.  ‘I like your father very much, but a more shrewd and astute man I have yet to meet. I cannot believe he brought your name up in the way he did quite as innocently as you imagine?’

‘Well, perhaps,’ she acknowledged after some thought, deciding that her father had not wanted to miss such an opportunity. ‘But I had nothing to do with that and didn’t deserve your antagonism.’

‘I know differently now, but at the time it seemed very likely that you had. And I am afraid that there was so much going on, so much to think about with getting our wounded back home that I had no patience with any matchmaking. Anyway,’ he said with a slight chuckle, ‘you were hardly all innocence, giving me the impression you were another of those useless ornaments prevalent in Gondor’s courts.’

‘You walked yourself into that,’ she shot back. ‘And deserved all you got.’

‘Perhaps I did. And you soon proved me wrong, didn’t you.’ He laughed out loud. ‘When I saw you riding up on Erchirion’s splendid horse, looking so confident and haughty, I wanted to rant at you and kiss you all at the same time.’

Her eyes flew up and locked with his. ‘I’m not haughty,’ she retorted. He had wanted to kiss her? Way back then?

‘You’re not saying anything about the kissing?’ His lips quivered, as he tried to hold on to his amusement.

‘I don’t believe you wanted to kiss me all that time ago,’ she snapped, embarrassed by the easy way he had got her blushing.

‘Oh, Lothíriel, I have wanted to kiss you for weeks. You can’t imagine how I had to hold on to myself during that cold night on the mountain.’ He lazily stroked her hand with his thumb and his dark eyes gleamed with obvious desire, causing her heart to jump alarmingly.

‘Oh...’ It was all she could get out for a moment. But then her wits returned, still stung by his words that fateful morning. ‘So you think it would be handy to have a queen you wouldn’t mind kissing as long as she can count bed sheets and feed everyone? That’s your requirement in a wife, is it?’

‘Oh, Fengel’s guts!’ Éomer jumped up and turned around to face her. ‘You are the most infuriating woman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting...’

‘The thought is reciprocated,’ she shot back, rising to her feet. She was not staying here to listen to this! But as she made a move, Éomer grabbed her arm.

‘Lothíriel wait! I should never have made those stupid remarks that morning, especially when you were so tired and anxious, but please don’t make me regret them for the rest of my life.’ He looked so distraught that the anger went out of her, and her stiff posture relaxed, giving him leave to say more. She sat back down, but he didn’t join her, pacing around before he collected himself enough to say in a strained voice.

‘The truth is that I was attracted to you right from when you pulled me up on my manners, glaring at me with fire in your eyes. Then I got annoyed with myself as I considered a Gondorian Princess totally unsuitable to be Queen of Rohan, in spite of hints from Aragorn and my sister. In fact that made me even more antagonistic.  But you must know that I started to change my mind about you on the journey when I realised you were plucky and resilient, not a bit the soft-living noblewoman I’d imagined.’ Lothíriel said nothing and he carried on. ‘After I made an idiot of myself over Hungife...’

‘Yes, why did you?’ she interrupted, not being able to let that go. ‘You thought the worst of me right away.’

‘I think I felt let-down,’ he said after a moment’s reflection. ‘I’d believed ill of you at first, and then changed my mind deciding you were a woman who didn’t need constantly cosseting. It made me disappointed to find I might have been right the first time. But please don’t hold that against me; blame my confused thoughts and feelings. 

‘And your temper,’ Lothíriel said, keeping her voice still rather cool.

‘That too,’ he said with a slight laugh. ‘I am not making an excuse, but that time was rather difficult for me. Coming back to Edoras made me face the reality of being king, having to provide for a whole people and try and keep them safe. There was so much on my mind that love and courtship were way down the list.’

He looked down at her, capturing her gaze and holding it. She could not pull her eyes away, seeing the raw emotion she had been wrestling with mirrored in his.

‘My feelings for you grew during the time at Edoras. But I suppose I still had not decided to speak as I felt it was a big commitment for you to move to another country far from your home and you might very likely say no. Also it’s not easy to admit I had been totally wrong, and had fallen in love with the woman I intended to keep at arm’s length.’

Lothíriel’s eyes widened, but she said nothing, causing a flicker of inner mirth to cross his face.

‘On the journey to the Hornburg you seemed so happy,’ he went on, ‘so one of us that I could see a real future between us. You coped with the ride, my men and the rougher conditions of fast travelling. But besides that I felt a new closeness between us. By the time we got to the keep, I felt so elated that I took your arm and ran up the steps out of sheer joy, and because I so much wanted Brythwyn to like you. I promise that, stupidly perhaps, I did not think of the consequences of such a simple action.’

Lothíriel nodded silently. She had felt that closeness, and at the time considered it a turning point in their   relations. She sighed. ‘I wish you had said something then.’

‘I’d made up my mind to speak to you when we got back to Edoras,’ Éomer continued, ‘before I left for Gondor, but then you were abducted.’ A shudder passed through his body. ‘Believe me, Lothíriel, I was beside myself when I heard. Once I realised you had escaped, but were alone on the mountain with night falling, I panicked, rushing off after you without giving my men chance to follow. I just wanted to get to you and keep you safe. Having found you and discovered I loved you, the thought of losing you was beyond any imaginable horror.’

He loved her! He really loved her! All the ire and anguish she had felt receded in a great wave of relief.

He smiled, accurately reading her expression. ‘And then in the morning I suppose I got cold feet about actually declaring what I felt as you were unlikely to be thinking the Riddermark a safe place to live, and so used the excuse that your father would expect us to get married.’

‘Is that supposed to placate me, Éomer? That you thought you could speak with my father without finding out if I was agreeable?’ But she was teasing, and he knew it. Taking a step towards her, he reached down to take her hand again. This time the silence between them was not awkward, but contemplative, as the implication of his declaration sunk into them both.

‘Wrong of me, I know.  So you had better tell me what happens in the best Gondorian circles when a man decides he wants to marry a woman.’ He was obviously trying to keep a straight face, but a gleam of humour crept into his eyes and the corner of his mouth twitched.

 She stuck her nose in the air, not being able to resist a bit of mockery. ‘There certainly are ways of doing things, Éomer. First the man would need to ascertain from the lady if she was agreeable for him to speak to her father.’

Lips twitching openly now, he nodded. ‘And then?’

‘He asks her father for permission to court the lady. If agreed the courtship would take at least six months.’  An eyebrow rose at that, but Éomer never said anything. Lothíriel stifled her grin and carried on.

‘If the lady responds to his courtship then her father is approached for permission for them to marry.’

‘Another six months, I suppose,’ Éomer remarked blandly.

She nodded. ‘Unless there are special circumstances, yes.’

‘So now I know how they do it in Gondor. But we do it rather differently in the Riddermark. Much more like this.’

Before she even had a chance to draw a breath, let alone make any response, he pulled her against him and his lips captured hers in a hungry, searing kiss. Lothíriel kept her body rigid for only a moment before she sagged against him, revelling in the feel of his hard body and the shock of heat and desire that tore through her.

After that first scorching collision of passion, his kisses became gentler and more probing. She gasped softly as his tongue teased her lips apart until he could slide it between them. When she acquiesced he deepened the kiss, encouraging her to explore with her own tongue – a new experience to be savoured. With the fire raging within, if he let her go now she would probably melt in a heap on the floor.

A groan escaped his lips as he eased the pressure enough to whisper. ‘I want you as my wife, Lothíriel. Not to provide me with food and clean clothes, but because I cannot imagine living without you. And I am willing to follow Gondor’s way if I can have you in the end, dear heart.  So, do I have permission to speak to your father?’

All the fight went out of her; she wanted him and didn’t care if he knew it. She could barely get the words out, and when she did her voice sounded decidedly shaky.  Berenor’s polite courtship and chaste pecks had not prepared her for Éomer’s hot and hungry kisses. ‘You have my full permission and my father will agree, we both know that.  But no betrothal can be announced for another month at least.’

‘Never mind, it will give me time to court you. I think I owe you that after being so crass.’

‘But I won’t be here...’ She sighed, wondering if she could change her mind and stay awhile.

Still holding her against him with one hand, he stroked a finger down her cheek thoughtfully.  ‘Perhaps it’s a good idea that you go home, I’m not sure I could cope with having you near for the next weeks without even having the right to hold your hand. But besides that you probably need some time to enjoy the peace with your family for a while. I am well aware you gave that up to come here and help us. But don’t worry.’ His lips brushed against hers. ‘I will know where to find you, my love. And what I might lack in time will have to be made up by extra effort.’ 

Find her? Nearly three hundred leagues stood between Edoras and Dol Amroth. But then she remembered Éowyn’s wedding.  From the progress they had made during the last hour, three weeks spent in Minas Tirith should be ample for a courtship. And she did want to go home. But as Éomer pulled her into another kiss, her resolve on that started to waver.

‘Damn!’ Éomer suddenly let her go, putting his finger across her lips to stop her protesting.  Then she heard what he with his warrior instincts had picked up on before her – giggling voices in the kitchen garden. ‘I locked the door to my quarters so Éothain couldn’t come looking for me,’ he whispered, ‘but I forgot the passage from the kitchen.’

She nodded, realising that a couple of the servants had taken the opportunity to find privacy outside. The giggling had stopped and now she could just hear murmurs and endearments coming from behind the yew hedge that separated the herb beds from the private part of the garden they had been enjoying.  With an inward smile, she wondered if the couple were used to kissing and cuddling, or new to it like her, and being rocked by passion and wonder as much she had been.

With just a beckoning of his head, Éomer led her back to the door of the East Tower. He had no difficulty in walking quietly on the gravel path, but Lothíriel winced every time she put her foot to the floor – it sounded louder in her ears than a clanking bucket. But either they hadn’t been heard or the giggling couple wanted to be noticed as little as they did and they reached the door undetected. Éomer drew her into his arms, resting his lips against her hair.

‘It’s doubtful we will have time to be together again before you leave, but I will speak to your father as soon as  I get the chance and perhaps you will trust me to sort out with him what it’s best to do. As much as I would like to drag you back here at the earliest opportunity, I do not wish to ride roughshod over anyone’s sensibilities.’

 After the hectic day she had had and all the emotion of the night, she felt drained. Sure her father would work something out that suited her, she nodded, dropping her head onto his chest. ‘Speak to him, Éomer; it would not do for me to show any outward interest in you until the six months is up, but I am sure he will not want to wait overlong to announce a betrothal.’

His hand gently smoothed over the back of her hair. ‘I promise we will spend some time together before any announcement is made. But right now I think you need to sleep, my love. I am afraid the next few days are going to be tiring for you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your efforts on our behalf.’

‘Don’t say it.’ Lothíriel raised herself on tip toe and kissed him on the lips. ‘If Éowyn had not invited me here, we might never have got over that initial animosity.’

‘Oh, I think your father would have found another way.’

She laughed softly as he pushed the door open for her. How true that was.

ooo

Lothíriel pulled on her riding dress wondering why Éowyn was so insistent they go riding quite so early, especially the morning after the funeral feast. With Éomer officially taking up his crown and Éowyn’s and Faramir’s betrothal being announced, everyone had wanted to celebrate long into the night.

But once she emerged into the cool, fresh air of dawn, she could only be glad Éowyn had shaken her from slumber. She didn’t have many more mornings to ride with Éowyn and not many more to ride Storm either. She couldn’t believe her brother would not want him back once they started the long journey home.  But at least her father had indicated he would be buying some horses from Éomer, she could only hope he would give her first choice.

When she reached the stables there was no one in the yard except a boy scrubbing out a water trough, but she heard the clop of horses and moments later Éowyn appeared leading Windfola. Behind her came her groom, leading not Storm as Lothíriel expected, but a black mare of incredible beauty. Lothíriel stood stock still for a moment, taking in the fine lines and excellent conformation. Arching her neck proudly, the mare turned to look at her, considering the stranger before her with intelligent, dark eyes.

‘I thought you might like a change from riding Storm this morning,’ Éowyn said with a self satisfied smile seeing Lothíriel’s undisguised admiration. ‘This is Nightshade, I am sure you will get on well with her.’

So dark, the mare’s coat shone almost blue.  ‘So not all your black horses were taken,’ Lothíriel remarked as she quietly approached the horse with a piece of carrot secreted in her palm.

‘Even the most determined orc never got in sight of Aldburg,’ Éowyn explained. ‘Once we realised what the filth were after our best horses were kept there.’

 A velvet muzzle nuzzled into her hand and with a soft chuckle Lothíriel released the carrot to be crunched by strong white teeth. ‘If this is why you got me up early, Éowyn, then I will forgive you.’ She ran one hand down the mare’s smooth neck, her fingers still being investigated for more titbits. ‘She’s utterly gorgeous and it seems she will not object to me riding her.’

‘Horses are good judges of character, and I expect she is looking forward to a gallop this fine morning.’

Lothíriel took the reins from the groom, but spent a little more time fussing over the mare before she nodded to him to give her a leg up.

Perfectly schooled, the mare never moved as she mounted, getting into motion with only the barest command from her rider. But Lothíriel could tell that Nightshade’s compliance was due to training, not because she was not lively and fun to ride. ‘I am afraid you’ll spoil me for any horse my father provides.’

Éowyn shrugged. ‘Then you might as well enjoy her while you can.’

They walked the horses down the hill towards the gates. Meduseld had been strangely quiet when she had passed through the hall, but life started early in Edoras  and those already up and about nodded or doffed their caps, smiling as their eyes flicked over the horses and commenting to each other. Lothíriel had picked up quite a bit of Rohirric and she managed to decipher that she was not the only one who thought the mare exceptional. Already she could feel the smooth gait and the responsiveness of the horse. ‘Are we going out on our own?’ Lothíriel enquired.  

‘A small escort is waiting. After your experiences there is no way Éomer would allow us out without one.’

Lothíriel suppressed a sigh; there had hardly been any opportunity to talk to him since their hour spent in the garden. Those memories were going to have to last her a considerable time. But the sheer enjoyment of riding such a wonderful horse pushed aside any irritation that it would be a while before she could be alone with him, and much, much longer before she would be his wife. And yes, she thought, as they emerged from the barrows and she saw the grasses of the plain glowing in the early sun, she would miss the sea, but she would be happy here.

Reaching the fine sward that ran along the side of the beaten road, Éowyn nodded and Lothíriel dropped her hands. Nightshade shot forward, confirming what she had expected – balanced and beautiful, the mare stretched out, eager to gallop, eager to please.

‘She’s wonderful,’ Lothíriel called across to Éowyn when they slowed their mounts.  ‘I am just wondering if I could persuade my father...’

But Éowyn shook her head as she closed the distance between them. ‘Sorry, but she’s not for sale.’

Lothíriel pulled a face. ‘I’d thought you’d say that.  Then thank you for letting me ride her. But now I think we had better get back, as the guests are likely to be seeking nourishment.’

In contrast to when they had left, they returned to a stable yard full of people. Not only was Éomer leaning against a rail with his eyes fixed on her, but Elessar, Faramir, her father, her brothers, even Gandalf and the hobbits were hanging around. They must all need fresh air after the excesses of the night before, she decided. Lothíriel slid down from Nightshade’s back and went round to pet the horse, running her fingers up the velvet-soft nose to scratch her under her forelock. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered into the mare’s ear. ‘I enjoyed that.’ She looked around for the groom to pass the reins over but instead Éowyn stood alongside her.

‘You don’t have to pass her back, Lothíriel, she’s yours.’

‘Mine...,’ Lothíriel stuttered throwing a quick glance towards her father. ‘But you said she wasn’t for sale.’

She isn’t,’ Éowyn answered, mischief written on her face. ‘She’s a gift, from me. From us,’ she murmured in a much lower tone, her eyes flicking towards her brother. ‘Just a small repayment for all the help you have given us.’

Éomer hadn’t moved, he stood a few yards from her. ‘Éowyn wanted to say a big thank you, and she thought this the most appropriate way. Something she knew you’d appreciate.’

Was he saying he had nothing to do with it in spite of the mumbled words from Éowyn? It seemed unlikely, but then he gave her a surreptitious wink, which confirmed her suspicions. But no chance to ask him as her brothers immediately crowded round. Erchirion tweaked her plait. ‘I suppose this means I get my horse back. And we can enjoy a fast ride home.’

It was only later that day that she realised why Erchirion wished to return home with all speed, the information given to her by a gleeful Amrothos – Erchirion had found himself a woman. Wife, if she would have him, the youngest Dol Amroth prince had made clear with a mocking laugh. Lothíriel didn’t think it funny at all, pleased for her brother who had evidently met the lady when she had come to the castle to visit her wounded father. She wished them well with their courting, happy that they had no hindrances like bereavement periods and distance to contend with.

Still, when the morning came for them to depart she tried to smile; indeed part of her relished that she would be able to enjoy her homeland before winter set in. But in the midst of the goodbyes, as they gathered to leave, Éowyn met her with a stony face.

‘You’re not still cross, I’m going.’ They had said their personal goodbyes the night before and Éowyn had not shown anything other than a natural sadness that they were parting for a while.

Éowyn let out an angry huff. ‘No, I am cross, livid even, with interfering old men who think they know what’s right!’

What had brought this on? ‘I’m listening,’ Lothíriel said drawing her away from the rest of the group, some of whom were eyeing her with undisguised interest.

‘Evidently, according to the great and good of Gondor, it’s not thought proper for Faramir to marry quite so soon after his father’s and brother’s death.’

‘Ah...I did wonder.’ So that was what all the talk had been about the night before. With the long journey ahead, she had retired early.  But it didn’t surprise her; after all she couldn’t even openly show any interest in Éomer for a good few weeks yet. ‘So the wedding is off for the moment.’

‘Unless Aragorn overrides them. But Faramir thinks that as he is so new to ruling, it would be better if he sticks to the traditions and not be seen to be changing things too quickly. He needs their support.’ She let out a big, despondent sigh. ‘So I will be spending the winter here after all. Better for Éomer, I know. But both Faramir and I have had a dark time and we thought the best thing to chase away the bad memories was to start building a new life together, with no delay. But now we have to wait.’

‘I’m sorry, Éowyn. Gondor’s traditions go back for ages past, change comes only slowly.’

‘My sister telling you her problems, is she?’ Éomer moved close to her, his arm brushing against her, causing her heart to speed up and a warm flush suffuse her body.  Quite why he had such an effect on her by just being near, she had no idea. Especially after the weeks they had spent wrangling with each other. It had to be the kissing, now every time she saw him she wanted those lips pressed against hers again.

Almost as if Éomer guessed what she was thinking, he gave her a long, lazy smile, his eyes gleaming warmth. She wished he wouldn’t, it was hard enough leaving without the problems of trying to hide her feelings from the “great and good” as Éowyn had so aptly put it. She could only be thankful that riding with her brothers and an escort of Swan- knights, they would soon leave the Gondorian nobles, their wains and their plodders, far behind.

‘Some things just have to be.’ Drawing his gaze away from her he fixed sympathetic eyes on Éowyn.  ‘I am afraid Gondorians do not see things as simply as us.’

Éowyn threw her hands in the air in exasperation. ‘I am sure you could have done something about it.’

Éomer wrapped an arm around his sister, pulling her against him. ‘I did suggest you get married here and forgo all that fuss, but your betrothed has a highly developed sense of duty and tradition. ‘

‘Lothíriel, we’re all set to go.’ Erchirion looked extremely happy, possibly a combination of his new found love and the fact he had Storm back. She smiled up at him, realising how lucky she had been that he had lent the horse in the first place. But now, after getting used to her new mount the past few days, no way would she swop. Already she felt an incredible bond with the mare.

Éomer clicked his fingers, and a groom brought Nightshade forward. ‘May I?’

Lothíriel swallowed; unable to say anything, she nodded her assent. Éomer grasped and lifted the lower part of one leg and she swung the other, luckily quite elegantly, over Nightshade’s back. Dropping her head to arrange her skirts allowed her to cover the visible reaction to him touching her.

‘Let’s go,’ Amrothos said. ‘We might as well get in front of that procession of amblers right from the start.’

Éomer’s eyes narrowed. ‘I hope you are not going to overtax your sister.’

Amrothos let out a laugh. ‘Oh, don’t worry, if there is anything she doesn’t like she will just dig her heels in.  Nobody forces Lothy to do something against her will.’

‘How true,’ Éomer murmured, from close beside her.

Lothíriel decided she had better get out of there, quickly. After a quick clasp of Éowyn’s arm, and a promise to write, she looked Éomer straight in the eye and inclined her head, putting on her best princess voice. ‘My lord, thank you for your hospitality. Being in Rohan has been...enlightening.’

She didn’t wait for any comment back. With a nod to her brother that she was ready, Lothíriel headed Nightshade towards the entrance to the stable yard, where she could see the Dol Amroth standard fluttering amongst a group of knights.

It was only when they crossed the ford and started cantering down the greensward that Lothíriel realised another consequence of the postponement of Éowyn’s wedding – Éomer had promised they would have time together before any betrothal announcement. But now he would not be coming to Gondor until the following year.

To be continued.

This was supposed to be the last chapter, but as it got so long I decided to end it here and post a short final chapter. LBJ

With apologies for the time it has taken to post the final chapter – I have had a busy few weeks. LBJ

Chapter 14

‘You’ve been dreaming all day, Lothy,’ Amrothos accused with one of his mocking smiles. He hefted the saddle from Nightshade’s back and passed it to a groom, waiting for her to reply. But Lothíriel only smiled in response – all she felt like doing – and didn’t answer. Instead, she slipped her mare a piece of apple. Passing Aldburg just after midday, they had ridden for a few more hours before making camp just off the road where a small stream tumbled down from the high crags of the northern face of the White Mountains.  She had been drooping with fatigue when Erchirion had called for a stop; he must have noticed her sagging in the saddle and not waited for her to complain.

‘Were your thoughts on this magnificent animal, or on the Horse-lord who gave her to you?’ her brother probed further when he got no comeback.

This time he flashed her one of his engaging grins, and Lothíriel turned away. There was too much knowing in those grey eyes. But he spoke the truth – fast travelling was not conducive to lots of conversation, which had allowed her to immerse herself in her own thoughts. Maybe not a good thing, because she had mused on nothing else but Éomer, and when she was likely to see him again. She had to face the fact that it would likely be months and months. But he had pledged to woo her properly, and he was not one to go back on his given word. However, when he had said that, he had been expecting to come to Gondor for Éowyn’s wedding... she suddenly brought her pondering to a halt, realising what her brother had actually said.

Thinking hard, not to give anything away, she stared pensively at Nightshade as the mare was led away. ‘Éowyn gave her to me, Amrothos.’

‘Really...’  Her brother laughed, tweaking the end of her plait.  ‘Do you honestly believe that?’

‘Well I...’ she stopped.

‘Of course you don’t,’ Amrothos went on, grinning from ear to ear.  ‘Nightshade comes from the royal herd, and there’s only one person who could give her to you. Don’t tell me you have been in Rohan for all these months and not known that.’

Well she did, but had chosen to ignore it and pretend to accept what she had been told. ‘I know that she was brought over from Aldburg, but I suppose I thought Éowyn had come to some agreement with Éomer. After all it was to help her that I came to Rohan.’ The urge to have her suspicions confirmed won over discretion and she said casually.  ‘And anyway, if it’s as you say, why didn’t he gift Nightshade to me himself?’

‘Yes, I wondered that too,’ Erchirion said coming up behind her. ‘But enquiries led me to believe that for him to gift you a horse would be tantamount to a betrothal.’

‘Oh...’ She had been right. Heat rose to her cheeks, which got Amrothos laughing more.

‘And although he wanted you to have the horse to ride home, he can’t actually announce your betrothal for another few weeks. Can he, Lothy?’

When she didn’t say anything, Erchirion slid his arm around her. ‘Is there something you want to tell us, little sister?’

‘Yes,’ Amrothos fixed her with his sharp gaze. ‘Like exactly what arrangements you and Éomer have made with each other.’

Frowning at his brother, Erchirion gave her a squeeze.  ‘Don’t tease her; I am sure she will tell us when she’s ready.’

‘What makes you think there is anything to tell?’ Lothíriel put up her chin defiantly. Two to one was not fair.

Amrothos made a snorting sound. ‘Lothy, as your brothers it is up to us to keep an eye on you. And that’s exactly what we’ve noticed friend Éomer doing. Two eyes most of the time, he can hardly look anywhere else. So you might as well come clean.’

‘I don’t know why you came back with us, Amrothos,’ Lothíriel snapped crossly. ‘You seemed to be enjoying yourself in Rohan and could have stayed until mother felt like undertaking the journey home. Unless you also have a lady to woo in Gondor, that is.’

Amrothos held up his hands and took a step backwards. ‘I’m much too young for any wooing. I will leave that to my romantic brother here.’ Chuckling, he punched Erchirion lightly on the arm.  ‘But how could I stay behind when he needs my support? And anyway, I thought you could do with extra protection on the journey after your recent near disaster. But don’t worry; I am sure I will be visiting Rohan again. Reasonably soon, I should think.’

‘Why’s that?’ Lothíriel couldn’t help asking, wondering if Éomer had issued an invitation for him to return.          

‘Your wedding of course. Brothers do come to weddings you know.’

‘Oh, do you think it will be in Meduseld? I hadn’t thought...’ Lothíriel stopped, realising two pairs of eyes were staring at her, triumphant smiles quirking both sets of lips. She must be wearier than she thought to make such a blunder.

‘As I said, sister dear, have you anything to tell us?’ Smiling affectionately at her, Erchirion gently ran the back of his finger down her cheek. ‘Loaning you my horse obviously worked.’

‘A good job I persuaded you to agree to it, Brother’, Amrothos butted in. Laughing he put his arm around her, pulling her away from his brother. ‘So, you have me to thank that you were able to snare your king, Lothy.’

‘I didn’t snare him!’ Lothíriel retorted, knowing further denial was useless. ‘I spent the first few weeks not liking him at all...’ She shrugged. ‘But he sort of grew on me when I started to realise he had a kind, caring side. He certainly confirmed that when I was kidnapped.’

Scowls crossed their faces, and she thought they were about to censure Éomer about that incident, but luckily a shout interrupted them – the food was ready. ‘Come on.’ Erchirion took one arm and Amrothos linked his in the other. ‘You can tell all whilst we eat. And we are only concerned for your happiness.’

She sighed, but after walking a few paces decided it was best to get it over with. ‘Well, I will admit that Éomer and I have come to an agreement.’

‘Then why so despondent?’ Amrothos asked as they sat down.

‘Because he promised to spend some time with me before a betrothal is announced. But Éowyn’s wedding has been postponed, and she intimated to me that she now wished to be married in Meduseld. So I am wondering if I should have stayed in Rohan. If Éomer makes arrangements with our father, the next time I see him might be our wedding day.’

Erchirion paused the fork halfway to his mouth, frowning. ‘But you said he promised to spend time with you before your official betrothal.’

She nodded. ‘That’s what he said. But we hardly had chance to talk after that, and things changed.’

‘I don’t think he’s the type to go back on his promises, Lothy.’ Erchirion confirmed her own thoughts.

‘No, but he’s hardly going to make the long journey to Dol Amroth with all the problems he’s having to deal with in Rohan.’ She sighed again. ‘I should have stayed.’

‘Do you love him, Lothy?’  Putting his plate down on the ground, Amrothos looked at her intently. She could only answer him with truth.

‘It took a long time for me to get there, and a few times he was very close to getting a kick on the shins, or worse.’  They both grinned at that, making her feel a whole lot better. ‘But yes, in spite of trying very hard not to, I have fallen completely in love with him.’

 ‘Good.’ Amrothos nodded his head as if he more than welcomed her admission. ‘And Éomer, does he love you?’

She realised that both were keenly awaiting her answer. They had to be to have stopped eating. ‘He says he does...’ she hesitated as memories of his kisses assailed her senses. ‘Yes, he loves me.’

Big smiles crossed their faces. ‘In that case,’ Amrothos said, nonchalantly picking up his plate again and taking a bite of chicken, ‘it’s better that you are going home. Staying in Rohan would make it difficult for both of you.’

She glared, not missing the innuendo of that at all.  ‘Don’t talk with your mouth full.’

He shrugged, not at all put out by her censure. ‘Just looking after your interests.’

Later, tucked in her bedroll listening to the gurgle of the stream and the occasional owl hooting, it struck her that her brothers were different. They had been very solicitous of her comfort – bracken had arrived for her bed, and hot water, just like that first night camping with the Rohirrim. But besides that the questioning of her had obviously been done out of concern for her happiness. Even Amrothos had only teased her gently, rather than the mockery she had come to expect of him.  In fact it had become apparent that he had only decided to return to Dol Amroth when he had heard she intended to travel with Erchirion. War changed many things, and probably her normally irritating sibling had actually grown up.   She settled for sleep, knowing that in spite of her heartache she looked forward to seeing her home and the rest of her family again.

ooo

Dol Amroth – just the battlements showed, hovering above the sea-mist like a ghostly castle returned from the depths of time. The mist that hid the lower walls swirled in eddies, blown by the freshening wind, and every now and again the breakwater and the harbour entrance appeared, only to be hidden once more.  Nothing but the voice of the leadsman calling out the depths broke the eerie silence as the captain crept his ship forward. Straying out of the channel would have them on the rocks, but he had done this many times before.  Then the harbour bell started clanging, guiding them in. At last the red marker on the end of the breakwater passed down the port side.

Lothíriel let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding – in such poor visibility the rocks that protected the harbour from invaders made the entrance difficult, even for the experienced.  Now they were safe, she paced up and down on the deck, impatient for the ship to reach its berth, eager to get home after the long, hard journey.  The only respite in the days of travelling had been when they stayed a night in Minas Tirith.  But they had been up before dawn the morning they had left, and the few days at sea had not been restful either. The brisk following wind had brought them in much earlier than expected, but it had made for an uncomfortable motion as waves rolled beneath the ship. But at least Nightshade had taken the sea voyage in perfect stride, reassured by the relaxed manner in which the other horses coped with the journey, as well as the constant attention, shared between her mistress, the grooms, the princes and numerous Swan-knights.

The mist finally lifted as they entered the inner harbour and the sun broke through, pale but triumphant. Lothíriel shivered in anticipation – would Elphir be waiting on the quay, she wondered. Would they have been spotted in the mist? Word of their coming had been sent with a fast trader immediately on arriving in Minas Tirith, so hopefully he would know.

But of course the castle watch must have marked the ship far out and given notice of its approach as she saw Elphir searching the deck, trying for a first glimpse of his siblings as the ship turned for the quay. Forgetting all protocol, Lothíriel jumped up and down, waving frantically. He had spotted her, and waved back almost as enthusiastically. Then he reached down and Lothíriel realised that he was hoisting Alphros onto his shoulders. Oh, it would be good to give her little nephew a cuddle, she had missed him.

Lothíriel got the opportunity for a long cuddle, as seeing his father’s admiring reaction to Nightshade, the little boy insisted on riding with her. She doubted she would have done it with any  other horse straight from a sea-journey, but apart from obviously being pleased all four hooves were on dry land, Nightshade showed only a natural liveliness after the cramped conditions on board.

‘I’ve missed you, Aunt Lothy,’ Alphros confided as they neared the castle. ‘You won’t go away again, will you?’

‘Not for a while, anyway,’ she promised him. Perhaps she wouldn’t at all. Entering through the big gateway, receiving the salutes of the guards, as she had done a thousand times before, she felt like she had never been away and her months in Rohan could have been a dream. Had she really snared the Lord of the Mark, as Amrothos had so crudely put it?  Maybe Éomer had changed his mind, reconsidered his wish to marry a Gondorian now she was out of sight and others claimed his attention?

She shook her head, letting the memories flood back in. No, what was she thinking, why ever would Éomer change his mind – he was not a man who said one thing and did another...

‘Aunt Lothy, I was telling you about the pony Father gave me, and you’re not listening. I want you to come and see him as soon as we get to the stables.’

‘I’m sorry, Alphros,’ she said dropping a guilty kiss on his head. ‘It’s been a long journey and I’m tired. But of course I would love to see your pony.’ 

At last, satisfied that his aunt had made the right noises about his pretty little pony, Alphros took her hand and they went back into the keep and through to the family dining hall. ‘I’ve brought her,’ he announced, ‘and she likes my pony.’

‘I like him very much, Alphros,’ Lothíriel agreed, ‘and can’t wait to see you ride him.’ 

Mildis got up, running around the table to give her a hug. ‘Oh, I’ve missed you. And I imagine you’ve got so much to tell me.’

Alphros tugged at her hand. ‘You can sit by me, Aunt Lothy.’

‘Give your aunt some peace, Alphros, and let her talk to someone else.’  Elphir held out his arms to his son, and the little boy reluctantly let her go to settle onto his father’s lap, looking very downcast.

Lothíriel smiled lovingly at him. ‘I will have time over the coming days to do all the things you want of me, Alphros, but right now I need a drink and a bath.’

After motioning to the servants that they could leave, Mildis indicated the empty chair next to where she had been sitting. ‘Well, have something now and then we can leave the men to it and have a good gossip whilst you bathe.’

Her brothers were already tucking into a substantial meal even though they had broken their fast whilst still out at sea. She was not hungry, but seeing a bowl of peaches on the table, Lothíriel nodded – one thing she had missed in Rohan was abundant fresh fruit.  She dipped her hands into the bowl of water left ready on the side, but as she dried them she stared at Mildis who was still hovering, waiting for her to sit down. Lothíriel’s eyes went to her sister-in-law’s stomach and then back up to her face, which turned a pretty shade of pink under her scrutiny. ‘I think it’s you that has news for me, Mildis.’

‘Oh, I didn’t think you’d notice.’ Mildis put her hand on her slightly rounded stomach. ‘I was going to tell you later.’

What wonderful news for them all! Even Amrothos stopped eating long enough to get up and give Mildis a hug, and congratulate his elder brother, who was looking at his wife with undisguised pride.  After warmly embracing Mildis and Elphir, Lothíriel sat down and started to peal a peach, shaking her head when Mildis tried to press more food on her, all she really wanted was a bath. Amrothos took a swig from his mug and sat back in his chair, leaving the food for a moment.

‘Father will be beside himself when he gets back,’ he mused – ‘a new grandchild, Erchirion finally getting leg-shackled, and a husband for Lothíriel. It certainly means I needn’t make any effort at the moment.’

That woke Elphir up from his happy contemplation; he drew his eyes from his wife and stared enquiringly at his sister. ‘A husband?’

Amrothos didn’t give her time to answer. ‘Our sister has come to an arrangement with the King of Rohan...’

‘I knew it, I just knew it,’ Mildis shrieked, jumping out of her chair.  ‘I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist all that charm and golden hair. You’re going to be a queen!’

‘Charm!’ Amrothos laughed. ‘Our little sister didn’t find him charming at first, did you Lothy?’

 ‘About as charming as you on a bad day.’ Lothíriel smiled sweetly at him. Had she thought he’d improved?

‘Oh, you must tell me all.’ Mildis stood up and grabbed her hand. ‘Come on; let’s go somewhere quiet where we can’t be overheard.’

‘It’s not settled,’ Lothíriel protested. ‘I don’t even know if Father has given his permission.’

That remark caused all three of her siblings to guffaw heartily. ‘Can you really believe he will not welcome a king into the family?’ Erchirion asked through his chuckles.

‘Why will we have a king in the family?’ Alphros piped up, scowling.

‘Because your aunt is going to marry one,’ his father explained. ‘She will be the Queen of Rohan.’

‘Where’s Rohan?’ Lothíriel heard him say as Mildis dragged her out, telling her to bring the peach with her.

‘Mildis, I am not saying anything until I make friends with a big tub of hot water.  My hair is full of salt, and my dress is stiff with it.’ It was covered in horse spit too, but she didn’t like to say that.

‘Poor you. But I don’t know why you spend so much time on deck. I just go into my cabin and stay there.’

Lothíriel laughed. She and Mildis were so different, but they had always got on well.  That made her remember to ask something she wanted to know. ‘What’s Erchirion’s intended like? He doesn’t say much, and Amrothos just says she’s pretty.’

‘Very,’ Mildis said smiling. ‘Quite shy and quiet. Very suitable for him, I think. But I am sure you will soon meet her. It’s you I want to talk about.’

But Mildis would have to wait. Lothíriel wanted her hair washed and no way would she discuss Éomer with a maid in the room. Or mention her kidnapping. So they discussed nothing more than commonplaces about Meduseld and Edoras.

‘Meduseld sounds very different from Dol Amroth,’ Mildis said, surprised, after Lothíriel had gone through the way a lord’s hall was organised in Rohan. ‘Everyone eating together, and the Hlafdige responsible for making sure all have enough to food?’

‘Well, Mother does that here really.’

‘I suppose.’ Mildis grimaced. ‘I hope she’s around for a long time, I’m not sure I will quite be able to follow her in the same way.’

Lothíriel didn’t answer her for a moment, waiting till the maid left the room.  A lot of things would have to change when she left permanently. She drew her robe tightly round her, smiling at Mildis to ease her words. ‘Perhaps when I go to Rohan would be a good time for you to start learning; Mother can’t do everything on her own. And when your turn comes you will not be able to leave all the housekeeping to servants.’

Mildis wrinkled her nose. ‘You’re right, of course. I’ll make an effort.’  Dismissing that with a wave of her hand, she grinned mischievously. ‘But never mind the boring things now; tell me all about   your king.’

Where to start? And how much to tell?  She had to be a little circumspect; after all Éomer would be her husband. ‘I think Elphir’s initial assessment of him being ‘terse and proud’ was very accurate,’ she said after a moment’s thought. Arrogant and pig-headed would cover it too, which made her wonder for the umpteenth time why she had actually fallen in love with him when she had tried so very hard not to. ‘But that’s only until you get to know him,’ she continued, smiling reminiscently to herself.  ‘However, I admit that at times I wanted to do him bodily harm... in fact I told him once that he ought to go and sleep in the midden...’

‘Lothíriel, you didn’t!’ Mildis exclaimed. ‘Whatever had he done?’

Well, she could recount that occurrence. And she told a bit more, admitting how he had flirted with her and then got angry again for no real reason. Mildis listened open mouthed through most of it, recoiling in horror when she heard some of the details of the kidnapping.

‘And you spent the night in a cave with him?’

Lothíriel nodded. ‘He behaved totally honourably. And nearly froze to death so that I could keep warm.’

‘Is that when he asked you to marry him?’

‘Not exactly.’ Lothíriel didn’t want to give away all the intimate details. True, she had told most of it to her mother, but that was slightly different. She had needed advice.  ‘He asked me the night he came back from Minas Tirith.’ She sighed. ‘A few days later I left to come home.’

‘And you say you haven’t actually spoken to your father about marrying him?’

‘No. Éomer was going to do that after I left.’ Another sigh escaped. ‘I was supposed to be seeing him again in a few months when Éowyn got married. But now that their wedding is postponed, I don’t know when we’ll meet again.’

‘Your wedding day, I imagine,’ Mildis echoed her worst thoughts. ‘That would be quite normal with the distance involved. It happens even in Gondor sometimes, but mostly in arranged marriages.’

‘I suppose so.  I will just have to bear it. It’s just that as soon as I realised how much I loved him, we parted.’

‘It’s a little hard,’ Mildis agreed. ‘But better than having to marry someone you don’t want to. Which reminds me, Berenor’s parents asked when you were coming back. You will have to think what to tell them.’

‘You won’t say anything, will you, Mildis? I wouldn’t like to hurt them. Nothing must get out until the six months are up; even then it will be difficult saying I am going to marry someone else.’

But to her astonishment, when Lothíriel met with them a few days later, it seemed that the announcement of her betrothal would not come as a surprise to anyone.

After Lady Narhel had wiped away a tear, she put her hand on Lothíriel’s arm and lowered her voice. ‘We are sorry for you, of course, having to settle for an arranged marriage when you were expecting a love match with dear Berenor. But it’s the best you can do in the circumstances, don’t you think?’

‘Arranged marriage?’ Lothíriel echoed, not following at all.

Narhel nodded. ‘We guessed immediately didn’t we, Helcar?’ She looked at her husband for confirmation, which he gave with a sad smile. ‘As soon as you were sent to Rohan everybody realised your father was making plans with Elessar to marry you off to King Éomer.   Well, it stands to reason doesn’t it, now things have changed. Our Prince has never been one to miss such an opportunity. And of course Gondor’s new ruler will want to make sure those Horse-lords are on our side in the future. We understand that, and hope you are not too unhappy about it.’

‘But nothing has been said,’ Lothíriel pointed out, still in a daze.

‘Oh no, dear, quite right that you don’t say anything until your grieving period is up, but that doesn’t stop everyone from seeing the obvious, does it?’

The obvious?  Did everyone really think she had been sent to Rohan as some kind of surety to keep their allies happy?  Unable to listen to any more, she muttered an excuse and got away as fast as she could. Arranged marriage? Was that what the nobles of Gondor believed? Probably, and their assessment would be confirmed if she was sent off to Edoras when the time came like part of the aid agreement. Well, she told herself, as she hurried across the courtyard towards the stables, what did it matter what people thought? She would ignore the implications of the conversation and go by her own inclinations. She wanted to marry Éomer, and how that was achieved didn’t matter. And she would make a special effort to enjoy herself in the weeks before her parents returned. Not that they tried to stop her doing what she liked, but life in the castle was inevitably more formal when they were home.  

Reaching Nightshade’s stall, she petted her horse shamelessly – the beautiful mare the living link between her and Éomer.

‘Want to go out, Lothy?’ Amrothos came towards her, leading his grey gelding down the space between the stalls ‘The tide’s out and the beach will be firm if you fancy a gallop.’

She certainly did, and she blessed her brother for suggesting it. She might need to keep her wits sharp around him, but at least he was not stuffy about how fast and how far they went, unlike some of the elderly grooms who accompanied her if there was no one else.

The gallop was all she hoped for Nightshade’s first venture along the sand. The mare never faltered, loving the open space and happy to splash through the edge of the surf. Lothíriel laughed out loud with the exhilaration of the fast ride and determined to enjoy the good weather whilst she could. She had promised Elladan she would study some of the tomes in the castle library, but that could wait for the dark winter days.

So as the days shortened, but the weather stayed fair, she made the most of the bounty of a warm autumn, riding and swimming with her brothers and falling weary into her bed on many nights.  Grateful to be kept occupied, Lothíriel took numerous turns at leading Alphros as he bounced around on the back of his treasured pony.  And a couple of times she accompanied Erchirion when he rode to Edhellond to visit Annael, the lady to whom her brother had given his heart. As Amrothos had said, Annael was certainly pretty, also sweet and gentle, gazing at Erchirion with adoring puppy eyes. Just what he needed and liked, bringing out his caring, protective instincts. However, when contemplating her own romance, it struck Lothíriel forcibly that Éomer would have eaten a woman like Annael alive, but then Annael would probably never have riled him as she had. What did the fact that she could hold her own against a belligerent Horse-lord say about herself?  Hopefully that she was just the wife he needed.

But however hard she tried to keep herself busy, moments of quiet found her musing about Éomer and her future life, and it was both relief and trepidation she felt when one morning Elphir sought her out as she came back from an early ride.

‘A messenger has ridden in; Father will be home tomorrow, in the late afternoon. I have informed the kitchens, but you might like to check everything is prepared.’

Even though she had been expecting this news, a dry lump came to her throat. Perhaps there would be a letter from Éomer. Surely he would write something and not just leave it to her father to tell her exactly what had been arranged.

‘Lothíriel, did you hear what I said?’

She jumped; her mind leagues away across the mountains. ‘Of course, I was just thinking. Everything will be ready. But Elphir, you said the late afternoon, the tide will be in around midday.’

‘It has no bearing, they are riding.’

‘Riding! But Mother will hate that. I found the journey long and tiring, and was certainly glad to board the ship at the Harlond.’

Elphir shrugged, and turned away to pull at Nightshade’s ears. ‘Perhaps she’s had a lot of practice, spending all that time in Rohan.’

ooo

Lothíriel rose early, wanting to make sure everything was ready for her parents’ return. After a visit to the kitchens to confirm the dishes that would form the welcome supper that evening, she joined the family for the first meal of the day.

‘What are you going to do this morning?’ Elphir asked as he passed a plate of pastries.

Lothíriel chose one covered in nuts and honey and poured herself some pomegranate juice. ‘I can do no more here – the rooms have been aired and the kitchens have their orders. I thought I would take a walk on the beach. It looks like the weather might soon break.’ To be truthful, she wanted to be alone. Her father’s return would no doubt signify a change in her life forever, just for this short while she sort of wished to hang on to the old one. If Amrothos wanted to ride today, she would tell him no.  And where was he anyway, the meal was nearly over and he hadn’t appeared.

‘Where’s Amrothos?’ she asked no one in particular.

‘He rode out very early,’ Alphros answered. ‘I was told to go back to bed, but I didn’t, and I saw him riding through the gate with some of his men. He could have taken me. I like riding.’

‘He’s gone to meet Father,’ Erchirion said. ‘He must have fancied a long ride today.’

How strange that he had not asked her, not that she would have wished to go anyway. She turned to Elphir. ‘You are still not expecting them until later in the day?’

‘I have had no message to say otherwise.’

Lothíriel nodded, and put down her napkin. ‘Then I have a few hours to please myself. I will see you all later.’ She was still not convinced her mother would return on horseback, wondering if the messenger had got it wrong and only her father was riding.

‘Lothíriel,’ Elphir called as she made for the door, ‘are you definitely going on the beach?’

‘I am, and I intend to take a book.’ She got out of the door quickly, before he could say she had to have a companion. He didn’t, but she still hurried out the side gate, lest the housekeeper, steward or anyone else claimed her attention. But she told the gate guards where she was going, only sensible even though the lands around the castle had long been declared safe. Her kidnapping had made her more cautious than she had used to be. But she still took the cliff path, confident and steady footed as she descended, enjoying the view and the gulls wheeling around her.

Halfway down she stopped, breathing in the fresh, salt air. The tide was coming in and the shallows were filled with fisher-folk casting their nets to trap the shoals feeding on the worms and crustaceans woken by the return of the water.  She scanned the sea, grinning with delight when she saw the tell-tale fins of a pod of dolphins heading in. The beautiful creatures streaked through the water as they chased their prey; from her raised position she could see them clearly as they boiled the water with their leaping and diving. And then without warning they were gone, heading back out of the bay together like an army given the order to retreat, the sea flat and quiet again.

The show over, Lothíriel continued down to the beach, and walked along to where the dunes started. She scrambled up to her favourite hollow, and took out her book. But it remained on her lap as she leant back against the sand, making no attempt to read it as her mind would not settle.  It had all started in this place, months ago, when she had been trying to decide whether to go to Minas Tirith to give companionship to Éowyn.  What a long way she had come since then – deliberately she thought back, going over all the things that had happened, how much she had achieved and what she might do if she really did return as queen. But before she had got very far, without intending it, her eyes closed. Not to sleep, but to doze, taking pleasure in the peace, she told herself.

A shout woke her. She sat up suddenly, but it was only one of the fishermen calling to his companions. They were nearer her now – having moved up the beach with the tide. She looked up at the sun, it must be around noontime and the tide would be turning. Sure enough they were gathering up their nets and some heaving full baskets onto a cart. She watched them as they started trudging back towards the port, following the line of the receding tide so that they could walk on the firm sand. Then her attention was caught by two figures coming towards her at the foot of the dunes.  They stopped, looking out to sea, one pointing out something to the other, who was gazing around as if seeing something for the first time.

No, she couldn’t believe it!  What was he doing here!

Lothíriel stood up, her heart thumping wildly. He had come. Against all her hope he had kept his word. She couldn’t move; amazement, joy, and even panic rendered her immobile as she waited for Éomer and her brother to climb up to her, her eyes fixed on the man she had fallen in love with.

‘Look what I’ve brought you,’ Amrothos called out.  Éomer said nothing, looking intent on reaching her as quickly as possible. But riding boots and soft, slippy sand hampered him – three steps up, one step back. That broke her near trance, and she started to laugh. But whether because he had greater incentive, or Amrothos deliberately hung back, he reached her first. Lothíriel held out her hand, but there was no polite kissing of her knuckles, Éomer caught it in his and pulled her hard against him.

All her fears of the past weeks faded away and with a little moan of relief she dropped her head onto his shoulder, relaxing against him.

‘I’ve missed you, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth,’ he murmured, as he gently pushed some escaped hair back from her eyes and brushed his lips across her temple. ‘There’s been no one to keep me in order.’

Lothíriel could feel the beat of his heart, a whisper of breath against her cheek. He was the Éomer she had used as a pillow during that cold night on the mountain – trustworthy, steadfast – and all shyness left her. She looked up into his face, tentatively lifting her finger to trace an outline of his lips, drinking in the sight of him. ‘I was not expecting this, how have you been able to leave Rohan for so long?’

‘Ah...’ He smiled, a little triumphantly she thought.  ‘There is something you do not know. The road under the Dimholt is open, which means that it is not so far, or as long a journey to get here now. Although this time the ride has been a little slower in deference to your mother. With just my men I can be back in Edoras in four days. But anyway, Lothíriel, my people will not begrudge me few sennights if it means that I secure the wife I want.’

‘And I was kind enough to go and meet him. So you could at least show me some appreciation, Lothy, after I put myself out to get him here with all speed so that you could have a little time together.’ Amrothos pulled a hurt face. ‘But I seem to be superfluous.’

‘We are both very appreciative,’ Éomer said, not even looking at him. ‘And will be even more so if you take yourself off for a while.’

Lothíriel gulped, expecting her brother to make some tart rejoinder, but he only laughed. ‘I’ll give you half an hour, and will be at the bottom of the cliff path, waiting for you.’ He flourished Éomer an exaggerated bow, turned, and digging his heels into the sand, quickly ran down the slope to the beach.

‘Elphir must have known you were coming,’ Lothíriel reflected watching her brother depart. ‘But he never said anything.’

‘Your brothers thought to surprise you. Amrothos met us on the road this morning with the suggestion that I ride with him ahead of the rest. Elphir said you were down on the beach, and here I am.  I hope you are pleased to see me.’

Did he doubt it? Amrothos was now out of sight, they were as alone as they were likely to be for some time. She would have to thank him later, and Elphir. Éomer glanced along the beach, following her gaze.

Turning back, he looked down on her with heat-filled eyes. ‘Good, now I can kiss you properly.’

Her thoughts exactly.

Éomer bent his lips to her, kissing her with a smouldering passion that turned her legs to jelly and set a fire deep within her... she wanted this, these feelings, for the rest of her life. She kissed him back possibly with more enthusiasm than experience, but she must have been doing right as he growled deep in his throat.

‘Did you speak to my father?’ she murmured breathlessly when their lips parted.

He gently took her chin between his fingers, tipping it so he could look directly into her eyes. ‘I did. But he has not given me full authority to marry you, only to woo you. The decision is yours. But if you agree, then he is happy that we get married in Meduseld early next year, possibly at the same time as Éowyn and Faramir. I am hoping that you will consent, and by the time I leave we can announce our betrothal.’ 

She saw a waver of doubt cross his face, perhaps she was not the only one who had worried about a change of mind. ‘I thought we agreed to marry that night in the Meduseld garden.’

‘We did, but since then you have had chance to reconsider.’ He looked towards the sea, sweeping an arm around the expanse of beach. ‘It is very different here; living in the Riddermark will not be the same at all.’

‘I think I know that, Éomer, having spent so many weeks there. I still want to marry you.’ Not being able to resist, she added. ‘After all, I would hate to think of you not being looked after properly, since your comfort is obviously important to you.’

He expelled a frustrated breath, but then his lips curved into one of his slow smiles. ‘You are not going to let me forget that in a hurry, are you?’

‘Well, I might. If you kiss me again.’

The end.

With thanks to Lia for her expert beta – and The Garden of Ithilien workshop for their continuing support. LBJ