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Morgengifu  by Lady Bluejay

Thanks to those who took the trouble to review Chapter 3. I appreciate your comments very much. I always try to answer individually, but Xmas and family commitments took their toll this time, I’m afraid. LBJ

Chapter 4

Edoras – Last year of the Third Age

Éomer wanted her to wake up, in fact he felt very tempted to give her a gentle shake. His hand reached out, but conscience pricked just in time and he quickly pulled it back – that would be really unfair, as she must need the sleep. He was just getting impatient, he admitted to himself, both because he very much wanted to make love to her again, but also because he wanted to give her his morning gift. Not the beautiful black mare he had chosen for her, but the small package that rested on the bedside chest.

It was his only disappointment really, even though he told himself time and time again that she had been too young to remember their first meeting, he would like to think he’d made a deeper impression on her young mind than he obviously had. But with any luck she had agreed to marry him from more than duty and the fact that she knew her choices were limited. He had a feeling Lothíriel was going to worm her way into his heart, so hopefully she felt more than just affection for him. Anyway, if she had failed to remember their long ago meeting in Minas Tirith, she would certainly remember their relatively recent sojourn in Dol Amroth – that had not gone entirely to plan, but hopefully neither of them would have any regrets.

Early spring 3020

Éomer reined in Firefoot and sat back in his saddle gazing out at the lands below him and the strip of misty blue in the far distance that stretched the length of the horizon. Sky or sea, he did not know.

Éothain pulled up alongside him. ‘You won’t see the sea from this far away, if that’s what you’re expecting.’

‘Possibly not, but I am eager for a first glimpse of its vastness.’

‘Something new, I suppose. But I just hope it’s worth all the effort.’ Éothain shivered and turned around in his saddle looking back up at the mountains. ‘If it gets any worse up there we might be stuck on the coast for longer than we intended.’

Éomer pulled the woollen kerchief down from around his chin and grinned at his friend. ‘It’s already warmer now we are lower and this time of the year I doubt the snow will last long. Anyway, I imagine you will enjoy Imrahil’s hospitality. Think of all that fruit and fish. Not to mention the wine.’

‘Maybe, but we still have couple of days’ ride and at the moment a good stew would go down well.’

‘You’ll have to wait; I want to cover some more ground before dark.’ Éomer nudged Firefoot to get him moving again; hopefully, as they got farther down the mountain they would be able to make better progress.

Éothain kept his horse in pace, still looking a bit disgruntled. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to turn around and go home, there must be plenty willing to share your bed without coming all this way.’

Éomer sighed, wondering if Éothain had the right of it. ‘If it was just sharing my bed there would be no problem, but it’s not just that, is it?’

Éothain flashed him a sideways grin, humour restored. ‘I suppose not. But what bothers me – and you know I always have your best interests at heart.’ Éomer quirked a disbelieving brow at that which caused a big smirk to cross Éothain’s face, but he carried on. ‘You’ve only met her the once and now you’re committing yourself by accepting her father’s hospitality. What if you decide you won’t be able to stand some prim Gondorian princess for the rest of your life? It’s going to be a bit awkward to get out of it.’

He hoped not!  And anyway he had come to the conclusion that she was not at all prim. ‘I did talk to the princess about that and we decided there would be no commitment on either side. Which is why it’s been put about that I’m visiting to discuss Imrahil’s need to increase his mounted forces.’

‘Well, you and the lady might have reached an agreement, but I doubt her father, or her brothers come to that, will want you tasting the goods and then rejecting them.’

Tasting the...! Éomer stared blankly at his friend. ‘We are talking about Imrahil’s daughter here, Éothain. Nothing would make me compromise her in any way.’

Éothain shrugged, ignoring the look of exasperation thrown at him. ‘Then how are you going to know that she’ll make you a good wife? It struck me that all those high-up noblewomen had prissy ideas.  She might be frigid. It would be better if you found out first.’

Éomer bit back a laugh. ‘And Æffe let you try the goods before you made your vows, did she?’

‘No, but a few kisses and a bit of slap and tickle tell you a lot about a woman. Shuffling around the dance floor enjoying refined conversation tells you nothing.’

Éomer could agree with that, he just hoped Lothíriel stuck to her intention of making sure they spent some time together without their escorts hanging around.  He couldn’t imagine indulging in slap and tickle as Éothain so crudely put it, but he agreed that a kiss could tell you a lot about a woman. With any luck he would get the chance to try it.

The farther they progressed south, the milder the weather became; it seemed that they had left winter clinging to the slopes behind them.  A day out from Dol Amroth and even Éothain was smiling, pushing his cloak back and breathing in soft air fragranced with thyme and rosemary. Éomer, having at last got his view of the Bay of Belfalas and the endless waters beyond, spent his time looking for a glimpse of the castle; Imrahil had told him it stood on a rocky promontory that was visible from a great distance, but during the past days cloud had often obscured the view.  Around noon however they emerged from a belt of pine and there it was – still a way off, but unmistakeable: turrets rising into a clear blue sky.

Wanting to look, Éomer came to a halt, just as one of his scouts appeared. He waited to see what the man had to say. ‘A party coming this way, lord. They’re flying the Ship and Swan, so I imagine it’s an escort.’

Éomer nodded. Good. He had maps and there was no mistaking the way so far, but a guide into the castle would be welcome. Minutes later a group of Swan-knights swept into view and Éomer had no trouble recognising the man in the lead as Imrahil’s youngest son.

Amrothos cantered up, wheeled his horse around and slotted in between Éomer and Éothain, leaving his men to fall in behind.

‘Right on time,’ he remarked after a scanty bow. ‘A good journey?’

‘Except for the cold it was fine,’ Éothain mumbled.

Amrothos laughed. ‘Well it’s not cold here. In fact the weather has been unseasonably warm. We might even get you in the sea. After the icy rivers you are used to, the bay will probably feel like a bath.’

‘I think I’d prefer my water in a tub if you don’t mind, ‘Éomer said with a grin. ‘I can regulate the water temperature to suit myself.’

‘It depends what my sweet sister has planned for you, she’s difficult to say no to. But I did overrule her today, she wanted to come with me, but I said that that would set tongues wagging, which you don’t want if the pair of you haven’t made up your mind.’

Éomer huffed. ‘I am surprised your father didn’t suggest it, since he’s so keen on this.’

‘Oh, I think he’s reasonably confident,’ Amrothos replied with a laugh. ‘He reads people pretty well, you know, and for some reason thinks you will suit each other.’

That remained to be seen. Éomer put the thought from his mind for the moment concentrating on the scenery and the sight of the imposing edifice of stone looming large before him. The huge gate was reached by a causeway that spanned wicked looking rocks, the sea crashing white spume over them.  The breeze smelled wild and vast and Éomer licked salt from his lips, breathing in the unfamiliar tang of the shoreline. ‘Is this the only way in?’ he asked Amrothos. He looked up at the massive walls rising high above him. ‘Easy to defend.’

‘It’s the only way an army can enter, but there are secret doors let into the cliff below.’ A lift of a black brow accompanied the next remark. ‘Once one has descended to beach level, it’s an easy walk along the sand to the port...and the taverns.’

Éomer laughed. ‘A way you are familiar with, I imagine.’

‘Erchirion introduced me when I was about fourteen. Our father pretended he didn’t know that we used to escape.’ Amrothos grinned hugely. ‘I imagine he did just the same when he was young.’

Éomer wondered if Imrahil knew that his daughter was apt to leave the castle by other than the front gates. Probably, he decided, the prince was nothing if not astute.

***

Later, sitting next to Imrahil a the head of a huge table in the great hall of the castle, Éomer wondered if he had imagined the twinkle of mischief he had caught in Lothíriel’s eyes back in Minas Tirith. So far she had behaved like a real princess, just as Éothain had feared. But when the welcome feast came to an end and she made her polite goodnights, she surreptitiously shoved a note in his hand.  Éomer could hardly read it with Imrahil and her brothers nearby but hoped he could guess the contents. Counting on his conjecture being right, he made the excuse of the long journey to pretend fatigue and made his way to his quarters. He would see Imrahil plenty the next day anyway – that they needed discussions on the supply of horses was not totally untrue.

Yes! As soon as he read the note his confidence in his decision to come all this way took an almighty lift – she would tap on his door within the hour and he just had to change into plainer clothes fitting for a minor noble. Good, at least he could keep his sword – he’d worried he would have to dress like a peasant. And Éothain would have had  an apoplexy if he’d ever found out his king had gone out unarmed. In fact he would probably have a seizure if he discovered Éomer was going out at all.  Having insisted that under Imrahil’s protection he did not need a guard on the door, Éomer had finally managed to get rid of his tenacious protector and his squire. After a quick change of clothes he tied his hair back so as to be less distinctive. Nothing he could do about the colour though, so as ready as he could be, he waited impatiently for Lothíriel to arrive, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. It was still reasonably early although darkness had fallen a while ago, but he guessed the environs of the port would be seething with light and life. The tap, when it came, was so quiet he wondered if it had happened at all, but he leapt up and quickly opened the door. She stood there – a finger to her lips and huge silver eyes sparking with pent up excitement.

‘Follow me, but do not talk,’ she whispered. Wrapping her dark cloak around her Lothíriel flitted down the long passage, coming to a corner she stopped, peering cautiously round before she beckoned him on.  A few steps on she halted at a small door set into the thick stone of the castle wall.  After warily looking right and left she fitted a key in the lock and the door opened soundlessly inwards.

Éomer realised that the walls must be double here because a narrow staircase wound down, lit only by moonlight shafting in from small slits in the outer wall.

‘We are lucky the moon is up now,’ she remarked as he followed her downwards. ‘It won’t be so easy on the way back up.’ Éomer grimaced, not looking forward to the steep climb. But there would be some respite as every now and then the steps stopped, giving way to rough stone passages before the stairs started again. Éomer saw at least two other doors, but Lothíriel hurried past them explaining they led to other parts of the castle and were intended for escaping any siege inflicted on Dol Amroth.

All the way down Éomer had been aware of the rumble of what he deduced was the sea, but turning a corner he jumped as a loud crash almost seemed to set the stone vibrating.

‘The tide’s coming in,’ Lothíriel explained, ‘but we should be able to get along the beach.’

Moments later they reached a blank wall. Éomer could see no door, but after flashing him a grin Lothíriel reached up to pull on a metal handle buried in the roof of the passage. To his amazement a huge block of stone swung effortlessly outwards, leaving enough of an opening for two people to pass through. They were in a sea cave, and beyond the entrance he could see silver crested waves rolling towards them. Moonbeams flooded in, sparkling on glittering crystal veins that ran through the rock.  Her skin seemed to shimmer as the light fell on her face, her eyes glowed and her lips looked dark and inviting. Éomer reached out – one kiss wouldn’t do any harm – but before he could follow through with his thought she had moved out of his reach, placing her hand on some part of the door.  It closed silently behind them. 

‘Come,’ she grabbed his arm, ‘we don’t have much time. We must take the path just above the sand if we don’t want to drown.’

He certainly had no intention of drowning – there would be time for a kiss later.  He followed her out of the cave, scrambling after her up a few rocks to reach the path. One misstep and he would be in for a ducking. Lothíriel however was lithe and surefooted, confidently following the narrow path that clung to the cliff just above the beach.  A furlong or so on and the path got easier, the cliffs dropping in height and sheerness. Suddenly, as the rocks in front of him flattened, he saw the lights of the port.  Twinkling enticingly, they beckoned him to fun and pleasure. At least that was what he hoped awaited him.

The path soon turned into a cobbled way, leading down towards the sea between simple stone dwellings. Nets, wicker creels and floats were piled up outside many of the doors and the air held an overriding aroma of fish and goodness knew what else.

‘A bit of a stink,’ Éomer remarked, screwing up his face.

Lothíriel chuckled. ’You get used to it. But this way takes us through the poorer part of the town. Come down the main road from the castle and the air is a bit more wholesome.   But we will be at the harbour soon, you’ll like that more.’

She was right, already he could smell the aroma of baking mixed with cooked fish rather than raw and the air started to hang heavy with the fragrance of exotic spices. Exotic music too, unfamiliar melodies that evoked a different culture. ‘It sounds very lively down there, and very different.’

Lothíriel laughed. ‘Of course, Dol Amroth always was meeting place for East and West, traders have no time for war. It’s even better now with the threat of the Corsairs removed. There are many ships in tonight.’ She pointed to the forest of masts Éomer could now see above the houses. ‘The bazaars, stalls and drinking houses will keep open as long as there are customers to part with their coin. It’s necessary for them to make their living...’ She stopped, a frown creasing her forehead.  ‘Bother! I was not expecting that.’

‘What?’ Éomer could see nothing that he thought could cause her worried look. She nibbled at her bottom lip before she answered him.

That’s The Lady Mithrellas.’ She nodded towards a tall mast.‘My brother was not due in until tomorrow morning, which is why I thought it safe to bring you down here tonight. He won’t be pleased if he finds us alone together.’

No, Éomer could understand that and he immediately felt guilty. The idea of private time in her company had been too alluring, but he really should have come down with a guard and probably, to be correct, with her brothers in tow. But he did so want to kiss her. Should have done it in the cave, but then they might have got their feet wet. ‘We are likely to bump into him, are we?’

She shrugged. ‘He usually will spend an hour or two in one of the taverns when he gets in. But I suppose that knowing you would be here he is more likely to have gone straight to the castle.’ She grinned up at him. ‘Won’t he be surprised to learn you have retired early?’

Éomer smiled. ‘As long as he doesn’t go looking for me!’ He sighed; this was not going to plan. ‘If you don’t wish to take the chance and go back...’

‘No.’ She shook her head and grabbed his arm. ‘We couldn’t get into the cave until the tide recedes a bit anyway.  I know which tavern his crew use, so as long as we keep away from there we’ll be fine.’

Éomer couldn’t imagine taking her into a tavern anyway. ‘If you are sure?’

‘Yes, come on. It will be best before the night gets any older.’

The slight worry he’d had that he would stand out as different proved unfounded, every hair colour imaginable was on show and he heard snatches of conversation uttered in a variety of accents. And a mixture of common people interspersed with those obviously more affluent. The waterfront, when they reached it, was ablaze with the light from a dozen braziers, music – from an assortment of instruments- vied with the harsh voices of the traders as they called out their wares. Fish, spices, sweetmeats, fabrics, pottery – one could probably buy anything here. ‘Is it always like this, don’t they have set market days?’

Lothíriel smiled. ‘The farmers bring in produce from the country twice a week, but anything that arrives in the port gets sold as soon as it’s unloaded. There are quite a few ships in tonight which tends to attract many people from the surrounding area to enjoy the lively atmosphere.’

Éomer took her arm and they strolled along past stalls piled high with goods. He marvelled at the spice sacks that spilled bright fiery powders onto the wooden boards, filling the air with hot dust that stung his eyes.  No wonder the food was so different in Gondor.  ‘ Your father brought some of this stuff with him when he visited, but I imagine I will have to buy more if you decide to come and live in Edoras.’

She grinned. ‘I am sure I will be able to influence your cooks. Father said he enjoyed many of your dishes, but it’s true that we are used to more zesty fare.’

Éomer soon realised that he enjoyed having her by his side. They talked easily, Lothíriel pointing out many unfamiliar things and persuading him to try the different foodstuffs on offer. The spicy vegetable balls and meat filled pastries he liked enormously – not so sure about the spiny sea creatures one opened like an egg and ate with a spoon.   Laughing, she popped a creamy coloured sweetmeat into his mouth. ‘This will take the taste away.’

He licked his lips. ‘Oh, that better. What is it?’

‘Halwa, it comes from Harad.  Made from almonds, sesame seeds and honey.’

‘It’s very different from the sweetmeats at home, I’ll buy some more to take back with me.’ Éomer drew out his purse from the pouch on his belt, negotiating with the stallholder to pack a small basket he could pick up later.

The crowd thickened in front of the stalls and farther along the quay Éomer could see that some impromptu dancing – women in brightly coloured costumes weaved around to outlandish music.   ‘They come off the trading ships,’ Lothíriel said to his query as to the origin of the dancers.  ‘Shall we go that way?’

He nodded and took her arm, drawing her closer as they reached the dancers and stood to watch. Making sure she was safe in the crowd, he told himself. Although he couldn’t pretend he didn’t enjoy the feel of her womanly body next to his or not appreciate her sweet fragrance amongst the riper smells of the port. The thought of her as his wife was becoming more and more appealing. He hoped she might feel the same way, and was not just going to respond to her father’s wishes. He would hate that. A kiss would help him to judge her mindset – perhaps there was somewhere a little less crowded.

He was just contemplating how to achieve his aim when someone jostled him from behind. He turned to remonstrate and felt a hand slide towards his pouch. Dropping Lothíriel’s arm Éomer swung around, instinctively elbowing the thief in the throat. The man fell to the floor, choking.

‘What have you done to my brother?’  Another man snarled, drawing out a knife.

He didn’t need this! Pushing Lothíriel behind his back, Éomer‘s hand went to his sword. ‘Thieves get their comeuppance. Disappear and take your brother with you unless you wish to face the consequences.’

‘He’s no thief, he just bumped into you.’

‘Go now, my last warning!’ The man hesitated only a moment before sheathing his knife and grabbing hold of his brother’s hand, hoisting him up. With a malevolent glare in Éomer’s direction he, and the would-be thief, disappeared into the crowd.

Éomer immediately swung round. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to floor anyone in front of you.’ But Lothíriel looked excited rather than worried.

She laughed. ‘No more reaction than I would have expected. You were hardly going to let him get away with trying to pickpocket you. And he didn’t seem to be very good at it.’

‘No.’ Éomer chuckled. ‘Rather an amateur. Perhaps he thought I would be so taken up with the lovely lady at my side I would be easy prey.’

Her face tinged with colour, Lothíriel placed her fingers on his arm and moved closer to his side. ‘But a warrior never relaxes, I have seen it in my brothers.’

The crowd, drawn by the ruckus, had started to disperse. Éomer imagined such goings on were commonplace. ‘You don’t come down here totally on your own, do you?’

She shook her head. ‘No, Amrothos can usually be persuaded to accompany me. Or sometimes I come with a friend and her brother.’

Well, that was a relief. He liked the thought of her being adventurous, but foolhardy? No!  Suddenly he felt good, he had a pretty lady at his side and he should certainly be taking advantage of that. Seeing the swirl of skirts further down the street, he placed his hand over hers and squeezed gently. ‘Come, let’s find a drink and move nearer to the music.  I haven’t danced since the Yule celebrations.’

‘Do the Rohirrim like to dance a lot?’

‘They do. Music, song and dance are important to us. And from what I see, the dances here would be more to my kinsmen’s taste than those in the courts of Minas Tirith.’

She laughed. ‘Yes, far more lively. Where cultures clash, we can only benefit.’

They watched for a while, Éomer enjoying some fragrant red wine, Lothíriel sipping at a cup of rose petal tea. Everyone to their own, he supposed, idly wondering how many roses were grown in the Riddermark.

‘Have you finished?’  When she nodded, Éomer took their cups back to the stall. He couldn’t keep her out here all night and had yet to even hold her. The dancing beckoned.

Éomer threw a coin into the fiddler’s hat and drew Lothíriel into the midst of the dancers. The music, a strange mixture of East and West, was inspiring couples to dance together in a lively jig, arms around each other’s waist. No fault to be found there. Then the tempo changed – the music sped up, a popular trick in the Mark especially when the ale flowed freely. Faster and faster they went, the ring of bodies whirling around the open space. He really ought to get her out of there, knowing what was likely to transpire. But her heightened colour and laughing eyes showed clearly she was enjoying the fun. Then the inevitable happened and the circle collapsed, the dancers falling to the ground in an ungainly heap. Éomer stayed on his feet, his solid weight aiding him, Lothíriel slipped but clung to his arm, laughing up at him and pushing back her escaping hair. Quickly he pulled her up before she got crushed in the fracas. He must have tugged too hard because she virtually slammed against his chest, the impact causing her to stumble. His arm went round her to steady her.

‘Sorry, are you all right?’ She didn’t try to move, staying encircled in his arm.

‘Of course that was such fun.’

Her lips looked so inviting that with no more thought Éomer kissed her. She tasted of roses, halwa and desirable woman, igniting his blood like a firestorm. For a moment she stiffened, but then relaxed, melting into him.  With no more encouragement needed, Éomer plundered her sweet mouth, his senses singing with the pure joy of it…

‘Well, well, Father will be pleased. We can make the announcement tomorrow night.’

Erchirion! Just his luck! Éomer took his lips from Lothíriel’s but didn’t release her. Now neither of them had any choice. Their fate sealed by a kiss.

To be continued.

Just a short epilogue to go – I will try and post it shortly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 





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