The sheer scale of the task ahead began to overwhelm him. He looked around the Hall at the men and commanders who had proved so loyal, and he drew comfort from their steadfastness. Foremost among them were Elfhelm, the doughty Marshal of the East-mark, responsible for The Wold, and Erkenbrand, the new Marshal of the West-mark, long a key military leader in the Westfold, one who spoke the language of the Dunlendings and understood their politics well.
Erkenbrand had been devoted to the previous Marshal, Éomer’s older cousin, Théodred, who should have been King in Éomer’s stead. As Éomer took his place as King in the Great Hall for the first supper without his esteemed guests, seeing Erkenbrand occupy the seat that had been Théodred’s, he missed his cousin in more ways than the bonds of love he had had for his surrogate brother. The Kingship was not a responsibility Éomer had wanted and it weighed heavily upon him.
Not even the knowledge that the woman he loved, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, only daughter of his great friend Prince Imrahil, would remain with him and his sister Éowyn in Rohan until Yuletide was enough to lift his deflated spirit. During the weeks of mourning the old King and laying him to rest in the royal burial mounds just outside Edoras, Lothíriel had proved as elusive as ever.
Admittedly, with the eight remaining members of the Fellowship of the Ring, Lothíriel’s father and her cousin Faramir, the Elven lord Elrond and his three children to make welcome and attend to, his own time had been heavily occupied with affairs of state. The bonds between the allies, already close, had been immeasurably strengthened over the last weeks of honouring the old King, and would become even more so with the marriage between his sister and Faramir, the newly appointed Prince of Ithilien of Gondor, in seven months’ time.
It was no secret to Faramir nor Prince Imrahil that Éomer had hopes for a marriage of his own which would only further these ties, but she had been holed up with his chief advisor, the elderly Lord Delwine in the Record Room, where all the accounts of the realm were kept. Indeed, it seemed to Éomer that Lothíriel had barely left the Record Room, only to have an early morning ride, to eat briefly and to do some sparring with Legolas and Gimli later in the day in the training grounds.
Gimli took great delight in telling his host that he had taught her how to wield two axes at a time in the style of the dwarves. He marvelled at her prowess. She had in turn tried to teach him how to wield the castatas, two wooden batons held together with a chain, seemingly innocuous but lethal in the right hands. Éomer had seen Lothíriel fight with these before and eyed Gimli suspiciously.
‘And?’ he queried the dwarf with a glint of a smile.
‘Ach well, they are no match for an axe!’ Gimli answered with just a hint of touchiness.
‘How many bruises did she give you?’ asked Éomer trying not to laugh. Gimli glanced up at his friend bristling.
‘We dwarves do not bruise easily…’ he began to posture.
Éomer’s lips quivered in suppressed amusement. ‘I heard that she managed to persuade Legolas to practice with her after complaining that no one else was yet good enough to give her a decent fight…’
Gimli harrumphed at this slur but quickly saw the funny side of Éomer’s teasing and laughed out loudly. ‘She told me that her companion, Cissy, is an even greater expert with the weapon, but refuses to fight her. These women of Gondor would make worthy dwarf women!’
It was Éomer’s turn to laugh at the thought especially given how unusually tall both women were for their sex. ‘Cissy is originally from Rohan, Gimli, and aye, I think these two would make any race proud,’ he agreed whole-heartedly.
Éomer had received reports that with his Elven speed and strength, it had not taken Legolas long to master the technique of wielding the castatas and prove more than a match for Lothíriel’s level of vigour, which protected him from her innate violence with her favoured weapon, and they were both attracting much attention in the training grounds outside of the main entrance to the town.
The people of Edoras found these two beguiling women, who had arrived with the royal contingent of Gondor, quite intimidating: the statuesque, distracting blonde, Cissy, always poised and elegant; and the dynamic, forceful dark chestnut-haired beauty, Lothíriel. However, on hearing nothing but praise from those Riders the two women had treated in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith after the great battle, the people of Edoras and its surrounding area soon came to trust the pair to help them when they needed urgent medical attention. Cissy in particular, as a native Rohirrim whatever her past and unusual looks, was often in demand.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
When Aragorn, King Elessar of Gondor, left Edoras with Queen Arwen that morning, he had handed Éomer a new manuscript, bound in leather and beautifully illustrated with colourful drawings of the exploits of the Riders of Rohan in the story of the War of the Ring, from the awakening of King Théoden from Saruman’s evil thrall to his final burial in the tombs of his fathers. It could only have been completed in the last few days, which was a source of wonderment to Éomer and Éowyn when they leafed through it at the time of its offering. Éowyn had spent part of the morning reading it and came into his study to tell her brother to stop what he was doing and come to take a longer look through its exquisite artistry. It was the most personal of gifts and would become a family heirloom, a great treasure of the House of Éorl.
‘Aragorn must have written parts of this himself, only an eye-witness would know of these details and it is written in such flowing Rohirric, none of his own scribes would know our language well enough to put it into this beautiful verse. The drawings alone show knowledge of all the characters and whoever drew this must have been present at the funeral,’ Éomer marvelled.
‘Can you think of no one else who has the linguistic ability and the artistry to produce this? Who knows all the people in the story, who oversaw the washing and embalming of Théoden, who has been largely absent from our midst?’ his sister asked him, her eyes twinkling.
‘Lothíriel. Of course. Of course.’ He nodded his sudden understanding.
His sister continued, ‘And how typical of her that she would insist Aragorn present to you on behalf of Gondor, not herself. Only he is too honourable take credit for it. He very pointedly said, remember, that it came “from all the people of Gondor as a sign of our gratitude to the great realm of Rohan”. That is exactly her style, and his. He will have known we would work out from whom it really came, and she will have asked him not to mention it to others. I wonder if even her father or Faramir knew about it, they seemed as surprised as we were to see it,’ she thought back.
‘Delwine will have known about it though, I wager, unless he thinks that she genuinely has been going through all the accounts of Rohan!’ he guessed wisely.
‘Are you glad she is staying, Éomer? I know she is herself very nervous and unsure of her welcome. Have you seen the mysterious Finglor yet? I’ve been keeping a keen eye out for him, but I have seen nothing. Cissy seems to be making friends though, she is clearly delighted to be back in her homeland. She is very beautiful, but I do worry that some here might find her… err... past… difficult. And then we will have to deal with Lothíriel’s reaction to anyone who treats Cissy with the slightest disrespect, may Béma help them,’ Éowyn said sincerely concerned.
‘They will have to be more worried about my reaction if anyone is disrespectful to my honoured guests, Éowyn,’ said her brother pointedly.
Éowyn looked at her brother carefully, seeing that he was sensitive to any doubt as to his authority. ‘Yes, indeed, brother. You are right. And you have far more pressing concerns to think about than this. Tell me what I can do to help?’
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Only now did Éomer understand why Lothíriel had always come late to supper during the time his esteemed allies were in Edoras. Frustrated though he had been that she had taken a place away from the head table, he could see that it was appropriate as, although she was of high rank, she had not fought on the field with his uncle and the occasion of his funeral was to honour both the fallen King Théoden and those who had fought and died with him. Yet his eyes strayed to her the moment she entered the great hall of Meduseld. He hoped he was not imagining that her gaze had seemed to him to unconsciously turn in his direction as often.
It was some comfort to him that she was always accompanied by the highly-regarded Lord Delwine, a man who had been of the same generation as his uncle’s elder sisters and had been a close friend of the royal family. He too hailed from Aldburg and had been a much beloved and frequent visitor to Éomer’s family home in his childhood. His marriage to a woman many considered unworthy of him had caused a rupture in the relationship with his uncle many years before Éomer was born, but he had been always welcome at Aldburg, albeit without his wife by his side. Indeed, Éomer could not recall ever having seen her.
It had been Delwine who had brought the family the news of his father Éomund’s death in a skirmish on the eve of Éomer’s twelfth birthday. It had been Delwine who, together with his mother’s much older sister, Morwyn, provided comfort to the distraught Théodwyn and her two children; it was he who had taken control of family’s fortune and with his uncle’s blessing had managed it astutely until Éomer and Éowyn came of age. Éomer never knew what had caused the rift so long ago between the two men, who had once been the best of friends, but Éomund’s death had briefly brought some semblance of reconciliation, only to have Gríma Wormtongue steadily undermine the friendship once more when Delwine returned to Aldburg.
Yet it had been to his former friend King Théoden had turned to on the evening before the host of Riders departed for Minas Tirith and his final battle on the Pelennor Fields, entrusting Éowyn to his care, to advise her on the final defence of their lands were her kin not to return. When Delwine found her missing after the departure of the Riders, he first thought she had returned to Edoras without him, not wanting him to see her grief. Only upon discovering her absence in Edoras did it dawn on him that she had joined her uncle and brother in battle, and he had sat immobile in the Great Hall of Meduseld and wept bitter tears of despair.
He was ever a reluctant visitor to Edoras but now he would willingly sacrifice his life in Aldburg for Éomer and Lothíriel, a lady who fascinated his erudite yet highly practical mind. Born of a culture dependent on trade, commerce came naturally to her, and she in turn absorbed all she could from her more experienced and knowledgeable mentor on Rohan’s natural resources, which differed so much from her own land’s. While the great lords of the realm of Rohan gathered to pay their last respects to their late king, Delwine had skilfully introduced each to Lothíriel and had her by his side as he probed them on the state of their domains. They were most forthcoming to this acknowledged advisor to the new King, while generally ignoring this disconcertingly beautiful, young Amrothian woman listening by his side.
Gradually however, the more intelligent of the lords of the realm began to pay credence to the rumour that Lothíriel’s place in Edoras was not merely as friend and companion to the King’s sister, but indeed, as the rumour implied, was there as an unofficial emissary of the new King of Arnor and Gondor. Her reputation was confusing. On one hand, there remained deep suspicions concerning her past, and yet, she was held in high esteem and favour by their new King, his favoured courtiers and those Riders who had been in her care. Those who met her were won over by her grace, intelligence and humility and found little evidence of the lewd, crude caricature they had been told of by others. Slowly, the high-born men of Rohan began to accept the probing questions of this strange creature.
Although all outsiders except Lothíriel and Cissy had left Edoras that morning, there remained many guests from the regions of Rohan. The main hall was full of Rohirrim expecting great things of their new King, or, for those less kindly in nature, keenly watching for signs of weakness and failure. Éomer felt the full force of their expectation on him for the first time and he was even more thankful to have Éowyn by his side to support him in his crucial first months. She had purposefully delayed her wedding to Faramir so she could help her brother through the winter, at great personal sacrifice. Faramir was still fighting orcs and roving bandits from Mordor in his new lands in Ithilien and there was always a danger he could be hurt, or worse. But her brother too faced threats to his lands and he could not be expected to deal with governing a ravaged land alone as well as fight. Éowyn and Faramir had both agreed that Éomer’s need was the greater and they should delay their union.
But that first evening was marked by the air of disquiet and uncertainty. Lothíriel felt it quite palpably when she appeared in the main hall for a more informal supper than in previous evenings. There was a hush of low murmurings, with no spark of energy or enthusiasm. As she glanced involuntarily over to him, she noted with concern that Éomer was withdrawn. Éowyn, on the other hand was clearly waiting impatiently for Lothíriel’s arrival. She beckoned her over to sit next to her. ‘Now that Aragorn and the other dignitaries have left, you must sit here with us, I beg you. Éomer is in need of distraction as much as everyone else here. Please do not deny me my request when I make it. I believe it will give hope to our beleaguered people who feel insecure about their future after such a desperate fight. They doubt themselves and they need some of your spirit. Please do not deny me when I ask,’ Éowyn begged of her friend.
Thinking Éowyn was going to ask her to sing or play some music, Lothíriel readily agreed ‘It would be a pleasure for me to perform any task you ask of me as long as it is not to dance. I don’t think that Rohan is ready quite yet for my style of dancing,’ she answered with a smile only half in jest.
At the end of supper, Éowyn rose and addressed the guests in the main hall. ‘Many of you will not know this but this morning we received a great gift from the people of Gondor. It will, I believe, become one of the great tales of our people…’ Lothíriel’s face had become pale as she realised what Éowyn was about to ask of her. ‘…. it is the epic of the last Ride of Théoden King to the aid of Gondor. As a representative of Gondor, I would like to ask Lothíriel of Dol Amroth to recite the tale to us, so we may begin to transmit throughout the realm the part played by our people in overcoming the evil of our times.’
All eyes were focused on Lothíriel, who remained seated impassively, while the manuscript was brought to the table. She smiled hesitantly, swallowed and looked up at all those facing her in the hall, then stood to address the room.
‘The people of Rohan did so much to win this war that it might take some time to recite,’ she began in a strong, clear voice. ‘The whole tale will take over an hour if you feel you have the patience for it. It is not just the story of the great, it is also the story of the less well recognised, for all played their part. The seemingly insignificant farm hand died just as bravely as the great lords, the small folk turned the tide of battle as much as the those bearing more expensive arms. Stop me at any time or leave if you have need, I will not take offence. It is a story to be told and re-told by better narrators than myself, so you will hear it again.
It is fitting that it is one from Dol Amroth who narrates this first in Rohan. My people suffered little in this fight because you, brave people, protected us. We will not forget this. This will be translated into my home language of Sindarin and also into Westron so all in Middle-earth will know the story of your valour and the debt owed to Rohan by my people. Please forgive my poor telling of such a mighty tale. I will do my best.’
She signalled quickly to Cissy and went to stand in front of the main table to one side. The manuscript lay untouched in the middle of the table; she did not need it to see the words. She began to speak. Her rich voice resonated through the hall as the tale unfolded from where it began, in that very hall in which they sat or stood now, with the release of King Théoden from the yoke of Saruman’s malign will by the wizard Mithrandir, who then had been known as Gandalf the Grey. There were those present who had witnessed the event and they felt that they were re-living that moment in time so real were the words.
The listeners soon became enthralled as many recognised either themselves or those they knew well in the details of the tale. Éomer and Éowyn were somewhat uncomfortable as their renowned deeds on the Pelennor Fields outside the city walls of Minas Tirith were graphically lauded, with Éowyn’s defeat of the Witch-King of Angmar dramatically evoked as Lothíriel grabbed her own sword proffered discreetly by the unerring Cissy. She swung the sword to decapitate the Nazgûl’s foul winged fellbeast Éowyn had faced defending her beloved King and uncle. Yet Éowyn had not faced this evil alone. The hobbit Merry had ridden into battle with her and, in defence of his friend Éowyn, had inflicted the first wound on the chief of Sauron’s ringwraiths. His witness of this moment made the re-telling so realistic that when Lothíriel finally plunged the sword into the face of the Witch-King, Éowyn went visibly pale at the memory, so pale that Éomer gently reached out protectively to his beloved sister.
As the tale ended with the burial of the great King Théoden in the Barrowfield just outside the gates of Edoras, Lothíriel raised her glass to give thanks from her people for his sacrifice which had given all there a future.
‘What we do with it is our responsibility, but we owe it to all those, from the least to the greatest, who gave their lives for us, to work hard and make them proud. Rohan, we salute you, Théoden King, we salute you, Éomer King, we salute you.’ All there cheered as they toasted each other, recognising that they needed to stand together to secure the future. The bonds with Gondor and their new friends in the northern lands would be fruitful but only if they made it happen together, and the mood in the hall shifted from deflation and self-doubt to optimism and a new determination.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
While all those present were busy toasting their new king, Lothíriel made a quick escape down into the main section of the hall ostensibly to mingle with the other guests, leaving Éowyn and Éomer to receive their well-wishers without her. She left the hall as quickly as she could slip away unseen and made a discreet bird call. She was not surprised when a hand reached out to her and pulled her into the shadows. Finglor held her close to him.
‘That was charmingly done, Lothi,’ he said proudly.
She smiled lovingly and said, ‘Well, I learned from the best. Can I sleep with you tonight? I am feeling a bit lost with everyone gone,’ she asked hesitantly.
‘No,’ he replied calmly. ‘We cannot make that a habit because you are feeling lonely or because you find his presence disturbing, Lothíriel.’
She hanged her head and sighed. ‘I know you are right, you always are…’ she said in acknowledgement.
‘It takes more than the limelight and reciting a tale to make you walk in your sleep and this isn’t the right time for us to dance. You should go back in and let them see you. They will want to say thank you. And more than for the reading alone.’
She snuggled up to him for comfort before she allowed him to disengage from her. ‘I love you,’ she said her hand finding his cheek hidden within the hood which covered his head and face.
‘I love you too, little Princess,’ he answered before pushing her gently back towards the hall.
She knew Éomer and Éowyn would be looking for her but she had been trained well by Finglor, not just in story-telling but also in avoiding detection. She slipped past those hunting for her and made it to her room which was in the same section of the great Golden Halls of Meduseld as Éowyn’s chambers. Cissy was waiting for her.
‘That was thrilling,’ she exclaimed. ‘Everyone was spellbound. It was as though we were all there at Helm’s Deep or on the battlefield itself! Éomer and Éowyn are both looking for you, I told them that you had probably gone down to the kitchens as you hadn’t eaten much and were probably exhausted after telling the tale. Were you with Finglor? Is he alright? I took him food earlier, but I didn’t see him.’
There was a knock on the door. Cissy went to let Éowyn in. Glowing with pride at her friend’s success, Éowyn gave Lothíriel a strong heartfelt hug. ‘I should have warned you, but I didn’t think of asking you to do this until I realised through supper how low the mood was in the hall. You know how important the first impression is of his leadership…’ she started.
Lothíriel hushed her. ‘You were right to ask this of me and I was honoured to do it. Are you sure that Éomer was himself happy? I thought it best for me to hide away so you could both take the full glory of your achievements. I know that Éomer does not enjoy being the centre of attention, but it is something he will need to get used to; practice is all he needs.’
‘He’s waiting for us all in the antechamber to his quarters and has requested your presence if you are not too tired? To say thank you,’ Éowyn informed her.
‘Oh. There is really no need, Éowyn. I would be embarrassed for him to thank me. I would rather not,’ she pleaded.
‘Nonsense,’ Éowyn replied. ‘We both know that it was you who wrote the tale and illustrated the manuscript and since we had to endure our exploits being so lauded to all, the least you can do is to endure a simple thank you from friends!’ she insisted.
Reluctantly Lothíriel allowed herself to be taken to the antechamber on the condition that Cissy joined them. Éomer had been pacing up and down impatiently. Lothíriel was wary. Unlike Éowyn, Lothíriel could see the potential problems of her becoming too prominent in the eyes of the courtiers of Rohan. She had endured too long the negative reactions to her immense talents in her home city and even more so in Minas Tirith. Not that Éomer himself would be jealous, he was the sort of generous man who appreciated the gifts of others. But she could sense that he was insecure in his new role and she was all too familiar with the effect her abilities had had on her elder brothers not to see the dangers here.
This was the first time she had ventured to the King’s quarters, it was the only section of the royal buildings she had not explored, even in secret. Trained in the art of hiding her presence at will by Finglor, there were few places she could not dare to roam, but his quarters held dangers for her she was not willing to acknowledge. She was curious to see how they were furnished, what artefacts he might cherish, what insights she might devise from his surroundings. As she entered the antechamber, her eyes absorbed all she saw and imprinted it indelibly in her memory for her to peruse at her leisure later. Her mind and emotions were however held suspended as her eyes alighted on the King, until she wrested them under control and she became wary. The tension between them may have been masked overtly but it exuded from them both like an intoxicating scent.
He hesitated, he had felt her withdraw from him. He fought against his desire to take her fully in his arms and hold her close, as he had done in Minas Tirith. He wanted desperately to caress her lips with his own, to feel the thrill of her closeness, but she gave him no encouragement and he could only respond in kind.
He simply took both her hands in his and held them, but while he thanked her sincerely for gift and her reading of it that evening, she felt he remained closed to her. She drew comfort that Cissy was there as she was more in control of herself in her calming presence. She politely took her hands away from his and smiled weakly. ‘I assure you, Sire, the gift truly comes from the people of Dol Amroth, the part of Gondor to have suffered the least thanks to your family and to Rohan’s sacrifices.’
Éomer found their formality and her seeming coldness quite disturbing. He turned to Cissy and asked her how she was settling in and whether there was anything he could do to help her find her family.
‘Lord Delwine has already been good enough to make enquiries, Sire. He tells me that judging from my accent, that I probably originated from The Wold and he has directed his enquiries there. I am hopeful that he will at least find the village I came from, even if I might not have any relatives left living. It would bring me great peace to go back and pay my respects. I always dreamed of the meadows and rolling hills of my childhood while I was enslaved, even if I was too young to remember them well. Already just being in Rohan, I feel I have come home,’ she answered him joyfully.
Lothíriel smiled lovingly at her and went to take her hand. Giving it a squeeze, she said gently, ‘When we do find her village, I hope to take her there myself. Delwine and I will need to begin our travels around the realm soon in any case. With your permission, I thought to start with the Pass of Rohan and work our way eastwards, up to the north through The Wold and then loop down through East Emnet back to Edoras and ending in Helm’s Deep by Hithui, but I understand this depends on many changing circumstances, so I will listen to your advice on what you think is best for your country.’ Lothíriel ended, unsure of Éomer’s thoughts. She knew that he was concerned that war was coming with the Dunlendings and as such he would not allow her to go anywhere west of Helm’s Deep, never mind through the Pass of Rohan, and probably no further north than the middle of West Emnet.
‘I will discuss this with Lord Delwine, Lothíriel. I thank you for your consideration,’ he answered formally and a little strained, knowing he did not want her to leave the safety of Edoras and the Eastfold for the duration of her time in Rohan if he could entice her to stay rather than prohibit her wanderings.
‘We are all very tired after so much entertaining, would you mind terribly if Cissy and I retired for the night? I have persuaded her at last to train with me tomorrow after our early morning ride until such a time as I can find another to take Legolas’s place,’ she said laughing.
Éomer frowned and said abruptly, ‘Do you have to train so?’
Shocked by the apparent anger in his tone, a defensive glean came over Lothíriel’s face. She took a step forward closer to Éomer. A worried Éowyn made to intervene, only to be cautioned silently by Cissy.
Lothíriel raised her head slowly to look directly into Éomer’s eyes. ‘If you feel my behaviour is encouraging the young ladies of Rohan to behave in a way that is unbecoming, then I apologise. I have never made any pretence to be a lady. Cissy had such concerns herself. If you can suggest a more discreet spot for me to practice, then I will gladly keep my warlike nature hidden from those who may find it offensive. But I will not give up the right to know how to defend myself. I have learned not to rely on a man’s protection alone, welcome though it is,’ she uttered her words deliberately and with tempered restraint.
Éomer looked wretched. ‘That is not how I meant it Lothi..riel. It came out badly,’ he said quickly. Lothíriel arched one eyebrow indicating her disbelief. ‘In truth, I think that you are discouraging many of the men from training, as I think they feel somewhat inadequate, that is what I meant to say.’
‘Oh,’ said Lothíriel, stepping back from him, somewhat bewildered.
‘I was going to suggest that we did find you somewhere else to train,’ he continued, ‘as some of the women have approached me to ask you if you might show them how to fight with the castatas, although I am not sure how many of the men will support that!’
‘Oh,’ she reiterated, quite taken aback by this request. ‘I am not sure I will have a lot of time, Éomer. I am still overseeing some of the more injured of your Riders and I need to devote much of my time to learning about Rohan’s strategic trade routes,’ she countered.
‘I can train them,’ Cissy interjected. ‘It makes more sense for me to show them the basics as this is not a good use of Lothíriel’s time. And I have the added advantage of being able to show them how to fight in a dress and in a more ladylike fashion,’ she added teasingly, lightening the tension, much to Éomer’s evident relief and not for the first time most grateful for her soothing, sensible presence.
‘Good, Cissy. I will ask Findhalf to organise it directly with you. I thank you again.’ He bowed his head to both ladies, as Éowyn speedily ushered Cissy and Lothíriel out with her before any further miscommunication could arise.