Chapter 3

Edoras – Last year of the Third Age

The room was light enough now to make out the shapes of the furniture and the placement of the wall hangings. Éomer could hear sounds filtering in through the open window – voices calling as the men made their way down to the stables. He heard one of the stallions sounding off and remembered that the stable-master had said that one of his favourite mares was likely to reach her sweet-time today.  Normally that would have had him leaping out of bed eager to witness the Mark’s robust breeding plans in action. They needed all the good horses they could get, as Imrahil would buy as many as he could provide. Imrahil – a quirk of a smile turned up Éomer’s lips as he cast his eyes over his still sleeping wife – the Prince of Dol Amroth had been extremely eager to contribute to a very different breeding scheme that had started to take place in The Riddermark, hopefully that one would be successful too.

Minas Tirith July 18^th 3019

The first thing that struck Éomer when he walked through the open gate into the courtyard of Imrahil’s house was the quiet. During the few days between the Battle of the Pelennor and his departure for the march to Mordor he had stayed here, along with many of his senior men and numerous of Imrahil’s Swan-knights.  After they had returned to the city, he had lodged in the citadel with Aragorn, but still the house had been overflowing with warriors, and the courtyard with horses, every time he had visited.

Today, only the soft drone of bees disturbed the peace. The place smelt different too, not that back then the odour of horse, dung and unwashed men had disturbed him, but he infinitely preferred the heady scent of a deep pink rose that wantonly scrambled over the inner archway and provided a colourful entrance to the house.

A guard stepped forward to open the heavy, studded door and Éomer followed Imrahil inside the cool hallway. He remembered that he had last seen it choked with weapons and armour, but now only flowers welcomed them – a great bunch of sweet-smelling lilies stood on an ornate coffer.  ‘Very different than last time I was here,’ Éomer remarked, sniffing appreciatively.

Imrahil flashed him a speculative look. ‘There is nothing like a woman’s touch to make life more pleasant, Éomer.’

Éomer didn’t deign to reply to that. Which made Imrahil chuckle, even more so when he witnessed the angry scowl thrown at him.  But saying no more, he led them up the wide stone stairs and through to the dining hall that ran along the side of the house, its windows facing towards the west.   Liveried servants were loading the table with platters of food and two men lounged in chairs at one end of the long table, drinking from silver goblets. Both jumped to their feet as Imrahil and Éomer entered. Erchirion, being the nearest, reached him first. The prince quickly set down his wine, honoured him with a scanty but respectful bow and held out his hand, which Éomer grasped willingly.  All three of Imrahil’s sons bore considerable likeness to their father, but Erchirion stood out from the other two owing to his deeply tanned complexion and the gold ring he wore in one ear. Éomer had met him when he had commanded the dromond bringing Aragorn to the Harlond, Erchirion’s own ship having been run aground on one of the sandbanks in the great river after he had set her against three great black-sailed war-ships from Umbar, trying desperately to protect Pelargir from being overrun.

‘It’s good to see you,’ Éomer said. ‘I never thought to find you in the city; you couldn’t wait to get back to sea last time we met. And I remember you were keen to refloat your ship, have you managed it?’

‘Yes.’ A look of pleasure and satisfaction crossed Erchirion’s face. ‘Luckily they had not fired her, and she was not too badly damaged. Meant to keep her for themselves, I imagine. But The Lady Mithrellas has been repaired and lies in the Harlond, waiting to transport my sister home tomorrow.’

Éomer offered no more than a smile at that. Thinking that if they were definitely sending her back to Dol Amroth, it put an end to any thought of him agreeing to Imrahil’s wishes.

Erchirion did not seem to notice his reticence and carried on talking about his ship and his plans. ‘Our navy will be the best for many years, as we have salvaged several of the war-ships that came out of Umbar and are refitting them to serve Gondor.’

‘Never mind the talk of ships; Éomer is unlikely to be interested unless they are carrying something useful like food or wine.’ Pushing his brother out of the way, Amrothos held out his hand, a big welcoming smile on his handsome face.

‘Or horses,’ Erchirion added with a grin.  He stepped back to allow room for his brother. ‘I have yet to convince our Horse-lord that his equine friends actually travel well on board ship.’

Éomer shook his head, chuckling. ‘I believe you, although it seems unnatural to me. But then many of my beliefs have been turned on their heads these last months. After I witnessed trees walking across our land, I ceased to be surprised by anything. ’

Amrothos rolled his eyes. ‘What about the net-weavers of the golden woods. I had a long talk to Éothain before you went back to Rohan; he was very wary of your plan to offer the Lórien elves hospitality, thinking they might put a spell on you all.’

‘Sour the ale, you mean? Or turn us into toads?’  Éomer laughed. ‘I think you will find he has changed his mind.’

‘I can believe that, having met them.’ Amrothos shook his head in wonder. ‘The elves have certainly livened up this city. And put a lot of high-bred noses out of joint; beauty having taken on a new meaning since the elf-maidens arrived.’ He let out an awed sigh which made his brother laugh.

‘You keep hoping they will notice you, but they see you as no more than an infant.  And a fractious one at that.’

‘Well, they certainly won’t be interested in you,’ Amrothos shot back. ‘You have no social graces and brine for blood. All you can talk about is ships...’

‘And elves are very interested in ships,’ Erchirion interrupted with a smirk on his face.

‘Éomer, tell those two to shut up! They haven’t even offered you a drink.’ Imrahil waved his sons out of the way and indicated a chair at the near end of the table. ‘Do sit down, the food is all prepared, but we will have to wait for Lothíriel to join us.’

Bowing ironically to his father, Erchirion filled a goblet and passed it over. Éomer thanked him and sat down, letting his gaze flicker over the vast array of food on the table. Erchirion took a seat beside him and Amrothos leant against the table so he could join in their talk. Seeing his sons were now properly playing host, Imrahil turned away to converse with his steward.  As soon as his father was engrossed in conversation, Erchirion leant close and said with a low laugh, ‘We are surprised our esteemed father managed to get you here. Amrothos and I were wagering as to whether you would turn tail and run for it when you heard what he had planned for you.’

Erchirion hadn’t spoken quietly enough and behind him, Imrahil let out an irritated sigh. But Éomer didn’t react,  after all no one could actually force him to marry, and he had always enjoyed the way Imrahil’s sons tended to mock their father whilst at the same time giving him utmost respect. He took a big gulp of his wine and carefully put the goblet down, looking straight at Erchirion with a steely stare. ‘All sorts of plans can be made, Erchirion, but no objective can be reached until they are actually executed.’

‘How true!’ Amrothos’ eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘But if you don’t mind, Éomer, don’t scupper them quite yet, or father will not get out any more of this excellent wine. I think he intends to get you under the influence of Gondor’s finest, so that you will agree to anything.’

‘Amrothos...!’ Imrahil’s voice cut in like a whiplash, but his youngest son only snorted in amusement. ‘Oh, I’m only joking, we all know that Éomer could drink a barrel dry and not fall under the table. Which makes me think we’ve got no chance of splicing him to my sister.  Still,’ he murmured reflectively, ‘stranger things have happened.’

‘Éomer,’ Imrahil dropped a hand on his shoulder. ‘I apologise. If I had thought that this would happen I would never have taken these two rogues into my confidence. And had time not been so short, I assure you that I would never have done so!’

‘Oh, come on, Father,’ Amrothos rebuked him with a disarming smile. ‘Lothy would have told us anyway, you know that. She would have wanted our advice...’ He threw a grin towards Erchirion who was busying himself with the wine jug, probably to hide his amusement from his father. ‘In fact she did ask our advice, being that we spent considerable time in your company, Éomer. ’

Éomer was not sure what to reply; if these two thought the deal was done they were sadly mistaken. Erchirion topped up his goblet and he picked it up, taking a slow sip of the rich wine to give himself time to think. But a moment’s reflection told him that the truth always worked best.  ‘I feel that I had better make clear that I have no intention of offering for your sister, or in fact any other woman, on a day’s acquaintance. However suitable Princess Lothíriel might appear to be, I am looking for more in a wife than compliance and civility. And the fact that she agreed to this without meeting me worries me greatly.’

Amrothos let out a hearty chuckle. ‘Oh don’t worry, Éomer,’ Lothy will probably manage to be compliant for no more than an hour at most. After that she turns into a veritable arch-wife.’

‘Don’t listen to him, Éomer. My sister is generally even tempered and suitable in every way.’ Erchirion for one had obviously decided to stop fooling around as he had a serious look on his face. He carried on in an even, conciliatory tone, obviously prepared to give his support to this folly.  ‘I was surprised when she showed no disinclination to fall in with Father’s plans, but on reflection I have decided that you and Rohan would be good for her. Her choices are limited here.’

‘That’s as may be, my friend,’ Éomer growled, struggling with his temper. ‘But I have no intention of marrying to suit anyone’s convenience, be it your father’s or yours and certainly not your sister’s. You will not force me into this.’

‘I am sure they won’t, my lord. I imagine that no one has ever forced you into doing anything you do not wish to do. It would be stupid to change that now, don’t you think?’

Éomer froze, closing his eyes as the full force of embarrassment hit him. The voice that had come from behind him was melodious and refined, with not a hint of censure or displeasure. But he still felt like a naughty child caught out in some misdemeanour. Slowly he stood up and started to turn around, wondering what the hell he was going to say. But Amrothos beat him to it anyway

‘That’s what comes of gliding about in that silent way you have, Lothy, you hear things you are not meant to hear.’

Amrothos’ interruption gave him the chance to take in the elegantly gowned lady. Lady! That didn’t fit in with his memories. She looked the epitome of a Gondorian noblewoman, her fine eyebrows arching in mockery as she fenced with her brother.

‘I am not at all silent, brother dear, it is just that you make an incredible amount of noise.’

‘That’s unjust; I wasn’t even talking at that moment,’ Amrothos shot back.

Erchirion let out an appreciative chuckle. ‘No, but Lothy’s right, you usually are shouting about something.’

‘Éomer...’ Imrahil took his arm and quelled his sons with a look. ‘Allow me to present my daughter, Lothíriel.’

Not seeming to be a bit put out by his rude outburst, the princess gave him a gracious smile and bowed. Lifting her head, she met his stare boldly,  causing him to stammer out a hurried apology.

‘My lady, I am sorry ...but…’ he hesitated, unusually inarticulate and not having had time to make up any real excuse.

However, Lady Lothíriel interrupted with a slight inclination of her head and another polite smile. ‘But you were under pressure from my forceful family, believe me I can understand that. And why apologise for speaking the truth, my lord? As I understand it, plain speaking is something the Rohirrim pride themselves on.’

‘True, but not at the expense of good manners, I hope.’ He had been trying to see if he could recognise any of the child in her, but had it not been for her big sliver-grey eyes, he would have thought he was looking at a different person entirely. All Imrahil’s family were good to look at and she was no exception – smooth pale skin, well-shaped red lips and fine delicate bone structure.  He supposed it helped, but he determined not be seduced by a pretty face. And Imrahil had been right when he said she had confidence, as with a pleasant nod to him she turned to give orders to the servants for the serving of the meal, not showing any discomfiture at the awkward situation.

Éomer had rarely sat through a more bizarre meal.  Erchirion and Amrothos laughed and joked, telling stories, reminiscing on the evenings they had enjoyed at Cormallen, and asking about various Rohirrim with whom they were acquainted, jumping in even when he tried to make remarks to their sister. Lothíriel herself remained studiously polite. It was almost as if she had been warned by a strict tutor on the correct way to behave when in the presence of a king.  Not for one moment could he see the mischievous child he remembered in this accomplished and gracious hostess. She helped him to food from the various dishes, enquired into his sister’s health and passed knowledgeable comments on the problems of rebuilding homes and ensuring supplies reached those most in need. Was she really content to leave negotiations regarding her marriage to her father?  Imrahil had refuted the idea that he would be forcing her into something she did not wish to do, and nothing in her manner or bearing showed Éomer that she was in any way discomposed by the situation, but neither did he detect any enthusiasm on her part. 

A dull, courteous marriage was not what he wanted at all and he had decided that he would tell Imrahil a definite no – right after the feast that night. It was only when he looked up suddenly and caught her unawares that he realised there was a gleam of amusement lurking in those big eyes.  A suspicion entered his mind that he was not seeing the whole person here and for the first time he felt intrigued. That did not mean he would fall in with Imrahil’s plans and he certainly had no intention of committing himself that very day, but it did make him think it would be worth talking to her alone. Anyway it would be more polite to tell her his reasons for refusal himself rather than pass cold words on through her father.

By the time he had to leave to meet up with Aragorn, he had formed the intention of talking to the princess that night. Presumably if Imrahil was keen to promote this match, then he would raise no objection to Éomer taking his daughter for a stroll around the gardens later. He stood up, bowing slightly to her. ‘My Lady, perhaps you would spare me some time tonight, I think we need to talk.’ All eyes were on him, expectation showing on three different faces. Only hers remained unreadable, just the slight wariness in her silver eyes giving away the possibility that she was not quite as unaffected by the situation as she was trying to make out.  He dropped his voice so only she could hear, ‘I will endeavour to have my men pour some strong drink down your brothers’ throats, that way we may even be able to talk uninterrupted for a few moments.’

That at least made her smile. ‘A cudgel over the head might have better effect!’

So she did have a sense of humour. Perhaps if he had time to get to know her a little more, then he might feel better about Imrahil’s proposal. But as it was, he couldn’t see himself agreeing to it. After a few words of farewell to his host, Éomer headed back out into the sunshine. He had been looking forward to this visit and meeting up with his friends, now he thought he would have been better off staying in the Mark.

ooo

The feast dragged on and on with typical Gondorian tedium – no raucous songs, no arguments between men in their cups and the ladies generally kept a respectable distance between themselves and any male they were sitting next to.  In the Mark it was more usual for couples to cuddle close, not sit with their noses in the air talking politely.  But Gondorian manners didn’t stop many hopefuls eying him as if he were the main course with not enough to go round, which might have amused him had not Imrahil already threatened his equanimity that day.  Sitting on the raised platform next to Aragorn, Éomer couldn’t help but enjoy himself as he always appreciated Aragorn’s conversation and dry wit, but even so he’d be quite glad when the evening ended and he could retire in peace. Before that however he had to give an answer to Gimli – the dwarf had reminded him earlier that he expected a response on the question of Lady Galadriel’s beauty. Also he had to talk to Imrahil’s daughter and make it clear that however high-born, attractive and suitable she might be, if she intended to return to Dol Amroth the next day then he had no intention of committing himself.

At last – the food was being cleared away. All he had to do now was sit through a few speeches, and he’d already told Aragorn to keep it short and to the point! Pity he hadn’t told Faramir the same, he mused as his mind wandered after a few minutes of rhetoric– Gondor’s Steward never being at a loss for things to say. Éomer suddenly started as he belatedly realized everyone was standing up to toast him – damnation now he had to respond.

Having dredged up a few suitable words from somewhere, he could only be thankful when the formal part of the evening was over and the guests could mingle and talk informally – at least with the hall so full no dancing had been planned, which saved him being targeted by determined parents. It would take a lot of nerve for anyone to push their daughter forward when he was engrossed in talking to Master Elrond and his sons and he made sure he kept himself fully engaged. But after a while out of the corner of his eye he noticed Imrahil a few feet away speaking with his daughter and Faramir. Excusing himself he joined them and in a few minutes was steering Lady Lothíriel through the press of people towards one of the open doors.

‘We seem to be attracting an inordinate amount of attention,’ he murmured as he saw heads turn and remarks made behind raised hands.

‘I am afraid many are interested in your doings, it gives them something to gossip about.’

Damn. Had he set her up to be the centre of speculation? Now he realised that singling her out had been a stupid thing to have done and probably raised false hopes. He should have given his refusal to Imrahil right at the beginning. He had to make his position clear at once.  Not quite yet though as they were not the only ones to have sought respite from the heat of the hall and enjoy the beautiful evening.  The sun had recently set, but red fire still blazed across the western sky and many were taking in the dramatic spectacle.  Acknowledging numerous bows with a few polite words, Éomer gradually led his companion towards a place on the wall that looked reasonably unpopulated.

‘Those crass words you overheard at the midday meal must have told you that I am not in favour of your father’s plan for us, Lady Lothíriel,’ he said as soon as they were in no danger of being eavesdropped. ‘But I feel it’s only polite that I offer you an explanation of my reasons.  One day is not enough time to make up one’s mind on such an important issue.’

‘Certainly it isn’t,’ she agreed in a level voice. ‘My father, I am sure, has been considering the matter for quite some time.’

‘Well, I haven’t!’ he shot back before he could stop himself. Did she really think that only her father’s wishes counted? ‘And I am surprised you are acquiescent to this.’ He stared down at her, ready to make his refusal to cooperate even more blunt, but realised her lips were twitching.  So she found it funny?

‘Sometimes when faced with an irrepressible force, it is better to be seen to comply,’ she said with a ghost of a laugh. ‘I considered all the facts, gained information from all I could and decided I would cooperate. But I am not at all offended that you are not agreeable, as my brothers told me you were unlikely be coerced into doing anything against your will, no matter how persuasive my father.’

Did that mean she expected – even wanted – him to refuse?  It seemed a risky strategy if she was not totally in agreement with this.  ‘But what if I had agreed straightaway to your father’s suggestion?’

She shrugged. ‘Be assured, my father would not have forced me, had I met you and taken against the idea, so it seemed better to concur and see what happened. I could not imagine you would consent without talking to me first and would want a willing bride. A Gondorian might not, one who wished only to better himself. But you have no need of that and I surmised you would actually want to know who you were being asked to wed and be sure of my compliance.’

 ‘Undoubtedly  it is the right way to proceed,’ he agreed. ‘Perhaps if you could see your way to coming to Edoras when we leave...’

‘It’s impossible,’ she interrupted. ‘I gave my word before I knew my father had hatched this plan. Already I have stayed here longer than I intended.’

Éomer nodded, he could hardly blame her for that. But it was a pity, as in all other respects than her too correct manner she would be suitable to be Queen of Rohan.  He was definitely attracted to her appearance, but unfortunately the promising independence and liveliness he had witnessed all those years ago had obviously been knocked out of her by the demands of her station. No point in putting his decision off. ‘Well, in that case...’ He was just going to finally quash the idea when a burst of cheering came from below and some lively music wafted up. Lothíriel hurried the few steps to the wall, looking over eagerly.

A moment later she turned back to him, her huge eyes alight with excitement. ‘They are dancing down in the streets and there are bound to be firecrackers later. If we climb over onto the stable roof we can get down from there and will be able to join in. No one will miss us for a while.’

Éomer nearly laughed out loud. In the blink of an eye the cultured noblewoman had been replaced by the roguish child he remembered. But she was not a child now; the heaving of a very shapely bosom bore witness to the fact. Somehow the knowledge that she would be prepared to do such a thing altered everything. But it still didn’t change the reality of her leaving the following morning.

‘Are you coming?’ she persisted. ‘I would have thought a little while away from all the pomp would suit you. It must be awful to have people hanging around you all the time. At least I can get away when I want.’

Yes, by fooling the gatekeeper, no doubt.   Surely this was the time for him to admit they had met all those years ago, but something held him back. She seemed totally unaware of their previous meeting and he didn’t want to embarrass her. He’d already concluded that she had been too young for the day to stick in her mind, recalling that Éowyn had been of a similar age when they had moved to Edoras, and she had forgotten many things that happened in Aldburg before that time.  But still there was a slight disappointment that he had made little impression on her and his little horse probably lay forlorn and abandoned somewhere. Surely he hadn’t changed that much? Then his hand went naturally to his beard, as it always did when he was thinking.   Of course! His beard! At fifteen he had only sported a covering of bum fluff, no wonder she did not recognise him. He gave her one more memory prompt. ‘You make a habit of absenting yourself from your home do you? I would have thought you were carefully watched.’

‘Oh, there’s always a way. At home the castle has many secret passages. And here I often manage to get out into the city without being noticed.’ No recollection showed on her face, so he gave up expecting to share any reminiscences.

‘It’s very temping, but I am afraid we would not be able to leave my escort behind, even if we climbed over the stable roof.’ He glanced over his shoulder to where two members of Rohan’s Royal Guard were standing against the wall of the hall. She followed his gaze, scowling when she realised they were under observation.

‘Did you order them to follow you outside?’

He laughed. ‘No, but my captain is very good at his job. I would have to be pretty resourceful to get away from them.’

‘And it’s always like this? It seems a little excessive here, where surely you are safe.’

Éomer didn’t answer for a moment, struck by the incongruity of the situation. When she continued to look intently into his face, waiting for an answer, he took a deep breath. ‘They are afraid something will happen to me before I produce an heir,’ he said at last.

‘Ah...’ An impish grin spread across her face. ‘And for that you need a wife.’

‘Exactly,’ he admitted with a raised brow. ‘And suitable candidates are not thick on the ground.’

Her enormous silver eyes sparkled with her suppressed laughter. ‘Poor you, it must have been tempting to take up my father’s offer and get everyone off your back.’

It was getting more tempting by the minute! Thoughts of her suitability and attractiveness whirled around in his mind; should he allow the opportunity to slip by without making some effort?  He had spent an hour before the feast going over the ladies he knew and one by one dismissing them all, a fruitless exercise which caused him to make one of his instant decisions. ‘Lothíriel, if you are willing, I would like to get to know you a bit more to see if we might suit. As much as I might wish to, I cannot accompany you down into the city tonight as I have a tryst with Gimli that I must keep. But in the dead days, after the turn of the year, I would ride to Dol Amroth and hope that you would be pleased to lead me through the castle’s secret ways so that we can spend some time without an escort and an audience.’

A little gasp of surprise left her lips. ‘You can spare the time? My father thought you would not be able to leave Rohan.’

He smiled. ‘I am hoping the Dimholt road will be open, which will make the journey much shorter. Aragorn and I were discussing it tonight and he is very hopeful. But anyway, if my people are so keen for me to take a wife, then they will not begrudge me the chance to seek for one. If I have to take the long way through Anórien, then so be it.’

‘If you do, you can take ship from Minas Tirith.’

Éomer nodded. ‘So I understand. Erchirion says our horses will travel well, and I have no reason to doubt him.

 ‘Then I shall see you in Dol Amroth, my lord.’ She hesitated and then said almost apologetically, ‘It would be better if you let it be known that you were coming to inspect our defences or some such thing. Conjecture would otherwise be rife and if we do not reach agreement between us then it could cause embarrassment.’

Of course, she would not like everyone to think he had come and looked her over and then found her lacking. But that worked both ways. ‘I will do that, but if you would rather forget the whole idea then say now and I will inform your father. That will be the end of it.’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I would like to get to know you better and unless I find you are very different than I believe you to be, then I would not be unhappy with the match.’

Éomer raised a brow. ‘Do I take that as a compliment, my lady?’

A mischievous smile crossed her face. ‘You could, but then you are probably unaware of some of the other choices that have been mooted for me.’

‘Serves me right for fishing!’  Giving her a mock look of contriteness, Éomer took her arm to escort her back to the hall. ‘I hope they have dismantled some of the tables by now and made a bit of space. I rather felt like one of those silver fish they sent us in Cormallen – packed tight in a barrel with my bones all crushed.’

She laughed. ‘They are called sardines and the comparison is very apt.’ As they neared the doors sweet strains of music floated out into the night air. Lothíriel gave an appreciative sigh.  ‘Ah, the elves are playing. It has been wonderful since they have been here, but I must not stay long as I have to be away early tomorrow.’ She started to pull away from him. ‘So I will say goodbye now, my lord, and make my excuses to return home as soon as we get inside.’

She didn’t look tired and Éomer was immediately suspicious, detaining her with a firm grip on her arm. ‘Lothíriel, you will not go down to the city on your own, will you? I cannot think it will be safe.’

Her eyes widened when she realised he was mistrustful of her. It obviously amused her greatly and she rested her fingers over his for a moment, squeezing gently. ‘No, I will forgo such delights tonight unless I persuade one of my brothers to come with me. But I assure you that the harbour at Dol Amroth is much less salubrious.’ She let out a wicked little laugh. ‘I am sure you will enjoy it.’

A moment later she was the essence of a Gondorian noblewoman, head held high with her hand resting lightly on his arm, and acknowledging the obeisance of those they passed with a practised smile.

Watching her retreating back after she had excused herself to Aragorn and her father, he decided that some sleep would not be amiss for himself. But first he had to decide what to tell Gimli. A moment’s reflection told him that black hair had definitely found favour with him that night, so now he had to face the wrath of a belligerent dwarf.

To be continued.