Celebrations [Eomer]

[Lady Lothíriel]

For Eomer.
NPC: Lothíriel


“Lorí! Look at that Lorí! Oh! And that!”

The dirty hand of her nephew swung around wildly, pointing at the marvels on display, eyes dark and wide in wonder. His other hand, firmly grasped in her own strained against her weight, challenging her to let him go so he could join in the fun of the other children. It was with his best intentions at heart that Lothíriel denied his persistent wordless request. Having taken her six-year-old nephew, leaving nought but a note behind, Lothíriel figured she was already going to be in enough trouble as it was. But, glancing around at the stalls, marvellously decorated, with all their wares on display, and the smiling faces of the people, Lothíriel did not regret her choice for a moment. The people of Middle Earth had waited a long time for something worth celebrating, and now, with the King’s coronation that very night, they had a reason to be merry and she had a desire to be apart of it. Was there really something so wrong with that?

“Your father will be sorry to have missed this. He was very much a fan of fairs when we were younger.” Lothíriel mused; her smoky grey eyes scanned the crowds.

For a moment, they lingered on an upright man, the outline of a sword carefully concealed beneath a thick cloak. Lothíriel would not have known of the weapon were it not for her insider knowledge, he was, after all, there as a most unnecessary protector for both her and Alphros. In her moment of impulsiveness, Lothíriel had found enough sense to take one of her father’s guards as an escort. Convincing him that they were going regardless of whether he joined them; the older man had grudgingly obliged. Still, Lothíriel had concluded after a fleeting moment of thought, she could use such a man as leverage later on when she was forced to confront her eldest brother and father. She couldn’t be entirely ‘out of her mind’ if she had taken a guard with her.

As though, just hearing her for the first time, his attentions stolen by the vibrant displays surrounding them, Alphros wrinkled his nose in disbelief.

“Father? Like something… fun?”

At the comical look on his face, Lothíriel threw her head back with a laugh, though silently agreeing. Since the war, and now even in the moments of peace that followed, her eldest brother Elphir had lost the spark about his character that he had harboured during their childhood. Personally the princess blamed it on the pressures of his looming future. He was soon to ascend the throne as Dol Amorth’s next king, and such expectations seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders and his sense of humour. However, despite all that had changed, and all that they had suffered and endured, to Lothíriel he would always be the one first to agree to a challenge, the one who was always in the water first and the one who had a way with the kitchen staff. Always managing to charm them into giving him sweets despite their mothers orders. It was just a pity, that he didn’t reveal such a pleasant side of his character to his son.

Teasing words soon died on Lothíriel’s lips and all mention of Elphir was forgotten, as something far more pleasing ensnared the attention of the pair. Across the way, past the stall where the short lady with incredible sized assets was selling a delicious display of sweetmeats, stood a group of men with blonde hair. They looked out of place amongst the darker toned Gondorians, but such a thing did not seem to trouble them as they stood proud and tall, their gold plaits moving in the slight breeze. It was not the men however that had stolen Lothíriel’s gift of speech but rather the magnificent creatures that were tethered beside them. In all her life Lothíriel had never seen such beautiful horses.

“Oh Lorí! Look at those!”

The excitement and awe that Alphros voiced, mirrored that that shone in Lothíriel’s eyes, and she sought no complaint to oblige him when he tugged at her hand and guided her in their direction. When they finally came to a stop before the rope that was being used as a makeshift fence to keep people at bay, Lothíriel took a moment to admire the creatures, wondering if they were for sale. It only took a moment; a single moment while her thoughts strayed to fantasies of mounting such a beautiful steed, for Alphros to slip his hand through hers. By the time Lothíriel realised, the young prince had disappeared entirely.

Suddenly frantic she turned, her eyes catching on the guard that was supposed to be keeping an eye on the troublesome pair. The answers she hoped to receive from the older man were absent in his gaze, and angered by her own carelessness Lothíriel glared at him. It was only at the sound of a horse whining did she turn and catch sight of the six-year-old boy approaching one of the larger stallions. For a moment the scene played out before her in slow motion. Without hesitation Alphros closed the space between him and the horse, every step obviously causing the stallion more distress as he pawed at the ground uneasily. When the boy began to extend his hand to touch the creature, it responded by arching its neck and pulling against the tether that held it prisoner. Before it even happened, Lothíriel knew what the next moment would entail.

“Alphros? Alphros get away from there!”

Panic rose in her voice as she hastily stepped over the rope, dismissing not only the protests from her guard but also from the blonde men speaking in their foreign tongue. Lothíriel did not know how she managed to reach the boy before the horrible event presented itself, but somehow, by some stroke of luck, the princess managed to tug her nephew behind her just as the horse reared in a panic. Eyes wide in horror, Lothíriel felt small hands grasp at the folds of her dress.

My father is going to kill me, she thought before giving way to her fear.

[eomer]

Eomer had left the top level where many noblemen were still busy chatting and drinking to the coronation of King Elessar. He was of course pleased to see his good friend on the throne, but the grief that had wrapped around his heart was far to great to be suppressed by his feelings of joy. As he slowly walked down to the first level of Minas Tirith and out the giant gates. He made his way to Pelennor Fields, all the while the events of the past days replaying in his head.

“Gondor found its King, while Rohan lost hers.” With the destruction of Sauron and the beginning of an Age of Peace all fell into nothingness when compared to the task at hand. The people of Rohan would turn to him now for guidance. The sight of his uncle, his king dying in his arms and naming him his successor was one that haunted him during his sleep. Not to mention finding his beloved sister on the field of battle, terribly wounded.

He stopped as he reached the fair, in stead of following the countless people around him, he chose to walk behind the many tents and stands. He was not feeling much for joy or lots of company. He just wanted to get to the end of the fair where his men were to be found. He knew they would feel the same way he did, after all they had lost their prince, king and many comrades in the war.

When he finally reached his men there was no merry chatting of any kind, they simply poured him a cup of ale and he gladly accepted. Having a silent drink with men you marched to war with meant more than a million words ever could. A silent toast and all cups were emptied in one go. Years of spending nights on the harsh plains of Rohan drinking ale and eating meat had strengthened him enough to withstand several cups of ale before they took any effect. A necessary quality, for who would follow a captain into battle who can’t even hold his liquor?

The silence was however suddenly broken when a guard to his right shouted something to two visitors. It didn’t take long for Eomer to realise what was going on and as he dropped his cup he rushed towards the nervous horse. As he drew nearer to it he slowed his pace, being a Horse master he knew that jumping in front of a nervous horse was not at all a smart thing to do. Eomer took small steps until he was standing between the woman and child and the nervous horse. It took all his skills to safely approach the horse, grab the reins and by taking his time and remaining calm he managed to calm the horse. During which the guard that had yelled at the woman and child had used this moment of calm to pull them away from the horse and back behind the rope fence.

Eomer slowly backed away, his eyes not leaving the horse as it continued its search for some grass. He shook his head as he walked towards the two that had almost caused a tragedy. “That rope was put up for your and theirs safety.” When he looked from the boy to the woman he felt unable to speak. Before him stood a woman of such beauty that could make the sun hide in shame.

He quickly snapped out of his little trance and spoke more gently this time. “At least nobody got hurt. You should keep a better eye on the little boy here. Tell me your name fair lady so I know whom it is I am addressing. So I avoid insulting anyone.”

[[Sorry for the bad post]]

[Lady Lothíriel]

To say Lothíriel did not know what madness had possessed her to put herself in between her nephew and the large hooves of the frightened animal would be a lie. Lothíriel knew exactly what had possessed her. There was no denying it. Love made people do stupid things. It could give a wounded father and husband the strength to deliver the final, deadly blow to a man that threatened the life of his loved ones. It could give someone who was lying on their deathbed, about to relinquish their claims to life, the fighting spirit to pull through. It could make a person willingly forsake their own life for another, giving up their last breath so one who had touched their heart could carry on. Love could destroy you but without it, everything else seemed a little less worthwhile, dull, bland and incomplete. It was the princess’s firm belief that a life without love was truly a life not worth living.

There were no words to describe the relief that flooded Lothíriel when the muscular figure of a man stepped between her and the horse, shielding her from harm. A moment later she allowed herself to be led like a child away from the commotion and back behind the rope, Alphros’ hand grasped tightly within her own. Safe once more Lothíriel felt her senses return to her and she sought no time before rounding on her nephew, concern still flickering in her eyes, like embers of a fire that had once been.

“Alphros, you scared the life out of me! What ever were you thinking? You are not to do that ever again. Do you understand me?”

Her words full of blind love and the realisation of what could have been chased each other past her lips. Lothíriel did not realise her mistake until his first sob clouded the space between them, distancing her from him. Inwardly she scolded herself for allowing her response to be dictated by her own fear.

“Oh Alphros. Come here.” Kneeling before him, the princess gathered her nephew into her arms. Her next words were softly spoken into his ear. “I’m sorry. You just scared me. I’m sorry.”

At the sound of footsteps and her first taste of scolding words lilted with a foreign accent, Lothíriel looked up. Already irritation and anger burned in the soft grey of her eyes, hardening them as she raised herself to her feet with a graceful ease. As the daughter of the prince of Dol Amroth, Lothíriel was not used to being addressed so commonly or with such a sharp tone. Though scolding was something she was well-accustomed to, her rash actions tended to earn her an earful on a regular basis, it was usually dealt with only her best intentions at heart and from a member of her immediate family, certainly not some stranger from a foreign land. Arms folded across her chest, Lothíriel glowered at the fair-haired warrior, the expression in her eyes alone was enough to summarise her feelings, even without her next words.

“How dare you address me so. My father could have your neck for such blatant disrespect.”

The fact that he was several times larger than her, easily stronger and blessed with rugged good looks of the kind she had never seen before did not deter the princess in the slightest. She would have turned on her heel and left him standing there were it not for two things that forced her to soften her original approach: his gentler words and the obvious fact that she owed this man her life, not the sting of her tongue.

Lothíriel lowered her eyes for the briefest of moments, biting down on the inside of her lip. Already the guilt was engulfing her, leaving her with no choice…

“Lothíriel of Dol Amroth and this is Alphros.”

She offered her name like a flag of surrender, minus her heritage and links to royalty, the evidence of a small smile trailing across her full lips. It was only when she felt a small hand tug at her skirts that the princess broke her gaze away from the cool blue eyes of the nameless warrior. Alphros peered up at her with wide eyes, all traces of horror having abandoned him completely as though the near-tragedy prior had never happened.

“Lorí, Father said not to talk to strangers.”

Reaching a hand down to ruffle his hair Lothíriel grinned at the younger boy affectionately. When she spoke once more she addressed both males equally, but it was with her final words that her eyes raised to meet the strangers, blue to grey.

“Indeed he did, but if sir is so kind as to give me his name in turn, we will no longer be strangers now will we?”

[[Ha! I will accept no such apologies. It was a lovely post. ]]

[eomer]

“These lands have seen enough war to last a lifetime your highness. I have heard of your father and I know he would not have my neck for it would plunge both our lands into yet another war. For I am Eomer, son of Eomund, and since Lord Theodon fell the uncrowned king of Rohan.” Eomer straightened his back, looking as proud as he felt. His eyes not leaving her face.

“My previous words were spoken in a tone unacceptable when in they are addressed to a member of the royal family. Though the same can be set of your tone of voice Princess. You are addressing a king. And now that we are no longer strangers to one another I feel this conversation will be worthy of our title.”

Eomer stepped over the rope that served as fence and made a short bow. “The enemy may be destroyed your highness, but it is no reason for a princess to walk around without any…” He looked around and immediately spotted the soldier, clad in armour. “with only one guard. I do not doubt his abilities, but one guard cannot promise the protection of two members of a royal family if there is more than one attacker.” Eomer took a few steps closer towards Lothiriel and Alphros, his eyes moving from her face to her nephew’s.

“Your father is a wise man, little boy. And I doubt he would have allowed you to be wondering off with only Lothiriel and one guard to protect you.” Eomer slowly turned his head until his eyes met hers once more. “I would think a father would pay better attention to his son, a prince of Dol Amroth.”

After several moments of silence Eomer took a few steps until he stood next to her, though looking in opposite directions. His voice was soft and his eyes focused on the walls of Minas Tirith. “I will accompany you back to your father’s quarters now. This is no place for a young Prince and Princess to be wandering about. Please follow me.”

Taking a few steps towards the White City he stopped and looked back, waiting for her.

[Lady Lothíriel]

[[LOL, don't hate me from posting back so quickly! I couldn't help myself.
You'll probably realise pretty quick that I've taken an interesting turn in my next post. I thought it could be funny and I can't wait to see what you make of it. XD
Enjoy.]]

“Do not mistake my youth for naivety or foolishness, my Lord. I have heard of Eomer, son of Eomund. He fought right here in these very fields, and at the Black Gate with what remains of my kin. Do not make the mistake of underestimating me or my better judgement.”

From the moment Lothíriel opened her mouth, she made it perfectly clear that she didn’t believe him. Arms folded across her chest, her grey eyes ablaze with accusation and annoyance revealed that she was entirely genuine in her disbelief. It wasn’t that the man before her was lacking in a regal air. Meeting King Elessar had reminded the princess that not all royalty wore thick coats of fur, dressed in silk and spoke in language not so different from poetic verse, like the Prince’s of Dol Amroth. It was just that this man with his enviable mane of gold did not resemble the warrior she had overheard her brothers discussing in awe, nor the character frequently mentioned in gossip. From her various sources of information Lothíriel had learned that Eomer of Rohan was eight feet tall and brave beyond measure. He had looked upon the armies of Sauron and had laughed like a madman, and when he had found his sister’s body on the battlefield, had embraced his own fate willingly, riding alone into a pack of orcs and other such evils. The ladies of the Gondorian court marvelled at his physical strength, wrinkling their nose when they learned that he ate orcs for breakfast by the hundreds, but not even trying to conceal their obvious joy at the fact that soon he would be forced to take a wife and a Queen. However, according to Lothíriel’s aunt, Ivriniel, he was a tyrant and a brute, a barbarian king with a talent for charming married ladies into his bed.

Therefore, Lothíriel had concluded with upmost surety, this man before her could not be Eomer, King of Rohan. Whilst his physique bore an uncanny resemblance to the rumours, Lothíriel imagined that so did many of the Riders of Rohan. It was not the fact that he was somewhat shorter than eight feet that betrayed him, nor that he appeared entirely sane and not in the least barbaric. It was the gentleness in his eyes. Besides, this would not be the first time that one of her brothers had attempted to fool her in such a fashion.

Whilst she had spoken the princess had followed him, closing the space between them, Alphros’ hand grasped tightly in her own. Upon reaching the proclaimed ‘King of Rohan’, Lothíriel denied his request to take her to her father’s quarters and instead, stepped around him, blocking his path with her small frame. With large expressive eyes, she tilted her head to meet his own eyes squarely. When she spoke once more, her voice was softer and almost curious, though traces of irritation still flickered beneath.

“You’re a warrior aren’t you? One of those Riders of Rohan?”

Her eyes roamed to his hair, the marker of his people, a perfect contrast to her own. Lothíriel had heard a great deal about the Rohirrim from her father and brothers. They were fearless and brave, favouring action over talk and nursing plain and straightforward speech to the point of bluntness. With affection her father had recalled their headstrong nature, claiming that they were loyal allies but deadly enemies, and that they had certainly earned the title of ‘Horse Lords.’ It appeared to the princess that Gondor owed a great deal to these brave men and it was not with insult in mind, that she had questioned the fair-headed warrior of his association with them.

Arching a perfectly shaped brow Lothíriel continued.

“Perhaps a friend of one of my brothers from the battlefield?”

On a sub-conscious level a part of Lothíriel wanted her brothers to be behind the scheme. Not only would it mean she wasn’t accusing the actual King of Rohan of being a fraud, but it would also mean her brothers were back to their old tricks again, that the war and darkness had not taken that rare light from them too.

“Tell me, your Royal Highness, which one of my brothers put you up to this charade?”

Lothíriel’s eyes wandered from his face to the crowds, searching for the sight of laughing Prince. Her anger had subsided a great deal but her eyes still betrayed her innermost feelings, a lethal concoction of humour and ebbing irritation. Despite herself, Lothíriel recalled the practical jokes from their childhood, traded between her siblings and her, with fondness and amusement. And such emotion could not help but leak into her eyes.

[eomer]

Eomer’s eyes stared at the nine levels of Minas Tirith, even when she accused him of lying did he not look back at her. He never took kindly to people calling him a liar, and it didn’t often happen that someone would even attempt to do so. Eomer was a brave and proud warrior from the lands of Rohan, he did not fill his time with speaking lies.

“You asked my name and I answered by telling you the name I was given at birth. If you feel the need to insult me by calling me a liar just because I do not fit the Eomer from stories than that is your problem.” His pace slowed down until he came to a sudden stop, turned around and stared into her eyes.

“In Rohan children are taught not to simply believe anything that is told in stories until they witness it for themselves.” He kept his eyes on her for a little while longer, until she had finished speaking. It seemed Princes Lothiriel still did not see she was dealing with the real Eomer. Or was it that she was too afraid to admit her mistake, afraid of his reaction, she after all believed the other stories about him.

“You are correct, I am a Rider of Rohan and I did ride to war with your brothers. They are skilled in the art of fighting, and I am proud to have spilled and lost blood alongside them. It is a shame that their sister seems unable to show at least a bit of respect.” Eomer continued walking towards the White City, watching them both from the corner of his eye.

When her last question came his eyes widened in anger. He stopped suddenly and turned around, his eyes narrowed in danger as he took several steps towards her and her cousin, doing his best not to let his anger take control over his voice or actions.

“How dare you speak such things. I still mourn the loss of my king, my sister lies in the Houses of Healing. She suffered a wound of which I am not certain it will ever fully heal. The pressure of leading the people of Rohan is something no one but the kings that preceded me understand. Do you honestly think I would have time to play part in any jokes? I respect your brothers and they respect me, they would never ask such a thing of me. Especially not after a battle in which all lands lost lives. As rulers and commanders we honour the dead by not filling the world with our laughter. The people celebrate while we mourn those that gave their lives for the peace we now enjoy.”

Eomer turned around and continued his walk towards the city ahead, his hands, only several seconds ago balled into fists, now relaxing and resting at his sides.

[Lady Lothíriel]

“And in Dol Amroth children are taught not to trust strangers no matter who they are or claim to be.” Lothíriel retorted in her defence, her usually calm grey eyes burning with anger. She would not have him intimidate her with his abrupt change in conduct.

As the tension between the pair mounted Lothíriel was reminded of her nephew’s presence by a small tug on her hand. She had almost forgotten the small boy as she walked side by side with the King, her guard trailing behind, no doubt looking wearily on their unpleasant exchange. With this reminder, Lothíriel was forced to cave to what duty demanded of her as a princess of the realm. It was not often that Lothíriel could neglect her duties with such reckless abandon. For despite her spirited nature she had been born a princess and raised accordingly, becoming a refined and exquisite young lady under the direction of her governess and persistent Aunt Ivriniel. Lothíriel knew that fighting with the future King of Rohan was not only unacceptable on all terms, but also not the kind of behaviour likened to a good role model for her nephew. And it certainly wasn’t considered appropriate for a princess, who realistically should have been more than welcoming to the man whom her country owed so much to.

Hiding her reluctance with a downward tilt of her head, her large eyes grazing the floor that passed beneath their feet, the princess slipped into her rightful role with a learned ease, welcoming the few lingering moments of silence before her defeat. Through the power of his speech, the emotion that clung to the skeleton of his language, and the feelings that glowered in his eyes Lothíriel knew that the words Eomer spoke were not lies. And despite bearing an unfortunate male arrogance and unwillingness to loose, she also knew that she would have to admit to defeat, something she’d never been able to do gracefully.

When her eyes returned to seek out his gaze once more they were pleasantly neutral. Her composure had returned and her demeanour, graceful and deliberately calm. In the depths of her eyes lurked an apology, which Lothíriel wasted no time in voicing.

“Amin lava. Please, forgive me my Lord. It was not my intention to anger you. If you are willing I wish to start again.”

Without waiting for a response Lothíriel came to a halt, bringing Alphros to a stop beside her and hoping the King would do the same. Not daring to release her nephew’s hand for a moment for fear of loosing him, she gave her best curtsy given the strange circumstances, surprising herself when she delivered it with a most uncharacteristic elegance. Despite being spirited and determined, Lothíriel knew that this was something she had to remedy before her father caught wind of her disrespectful actions. Or worse yet, her eldest brother Elphir, who whilst may have forgiven her before for borrowing his son, would be less than obliging if he learnt of her misbehaviour towards their friend and ally.

Head still inclined, not daring to look up in case her eyes betrayed the fact that she was desperately clinging to the fraying threads of her dignity, Lothíriel addressed him softly.

“I am Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth and daughter of Prince Imrahil. Yours to command.”

If her brothers had been there, she would have never had heard the end of it.

--
Slight modification made due to Thranduil's much appreciated help.

Amin lava -- I yeild.