Tolkien Fan Fiction
| 13 |
| Chapter Thirteen |
| It was a few hours before dawn the following morning when the two men stirred. They found Lothíriel waiting for them by the pool in the great cavern. She looked lovingly at both men, grateful for their presence. ‘I thought it would be good to go out for a long ride today, assuming the weather stays fair, if you would like to go with me, Amrothos? Or I can go with Genting or Éowyn if they can spare the time?’ she asked delicately. ‘And what about me, Lothíriel? Am I not permitted to join you?’ Éomer answered with a gentle smile. ‘Éomer, much as I would like that, your Kingdom really cannot spare you and I have already been taking up too much of your time, and Éowyn’s to be fair.’ ‘That’s for me to judge, Lothíriel,’ he said calmly and firmly. She nodded and smiled at him. Amrothos felt increasingly self-conscious. He was finding it difficult to reconcile what inadmissible acts his eyes had seen his sister commit with the many acts of kindness she had also demonstrated. It was almost as though she was two entirely different people. Perhaps Éomer was right, and both he and Éowyn could see Lothíriel as she really was and not through the lens of prejudice that malicious gossip had so viciously created around her. His musings were disturbed by Éomer speaking. ‘I happen to have important business a few hours’ ride from here, it’s a pretty town and it is their Late Autumn Fair Day. I’d be happy for you both to join me. I warn you though, it won’t be a leisurely ride, but you are both more than capable of keeping up. In fact, I think you’d both prefer it at that pace!’ ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Lothíriel was finding it difficult to explain why she felt so elated. This was the nine-year anniversary of her rape and her mother’s murder and yet for a reason she did not want to explore too closely, she was almost happy as the King’s party approached the town of Elbrond. Her mind had simply blocked out all other thoughts except the enjoyment of the day. Her only disappointment was that neither Éowyn nor Trondig were with them, as they both had urgent tasks to deal with near Helm’s Deep. It had been an exhilarating ride, galloping across country by the most direct route. They clattered into the town festooned with bunting and hanging lanterns, which would be lit as it became dark in the late afternoon. ‘It is a shame we will have to leave by then as this Fair is most famous for its night lights. I hope you will both come back next year,’ Éomer said as he jumped down at the largest mansion of the town, which the Amrothians soon discovered was Erkenbrand’s family seat. Erkenbrand himself came out to greet them, giving Lothíriel a particularly warm welcome, which duly impressed her brother. He was followed by Delwine and the famous Marshal of the East-mark, Elfhelm, whom Amrothos had met a few times in Minas Tirith. The siblings were quick to realise this was no ordinary meeting Éomer had come for. After first seeing to their horses, Amrothos and Lothíriel quickly made their excuses and leaving her usual escort, Genting, with the Rohirric lords, they made their way into the town. It was strange for them both to be together like this. They made an impressive pair as they wandered about the town, making their way to the main marketplace. Before they reached their destination, Amrothos’s eyes wandered over to two attractive ladies, gossiping animatedly beside a fountain, sisters most likely, one with vibrant red hair. Becoming aware of his gaze, they eyed him back with equal interest. Lothíriel regarded her brother indulgently; Amrothos had always shown a preference for this distinctive colouring, which was much rarer in Gondor. She nudged him to go and speak to them. ‘I’ll be fine’, she told him, and she wandered further into the town alone. The town was visually very attractive, yet there was a strange atmosphere of tension Lothíriel could not quite grasp, as though there was a wariness behind the smiling faces of the townsfolk she encountered. This was unlike Aldburg, or even Edoras. She was mindful not to wander down any of the small alleyways which ran between the elegant townhouses off the main square. However, the feeling gradually crept over her that she was being watched. Surely it could not be Finglor? He had felt days away, but she could have been mistaken, it was possible he had got there sooner. She felt a little flutter of excitement and took herself away from the crowds to the edge of the town where the last houses gave way to open fields and gave a discreet bird call. It was answered. She looked around her to see if anyone could see where she was going. It was unlike Finglor to disturb her in this kind of setting, but she was in such need to see him that she stole away quickly to the source of the call, inside a small rundown stable just visible from the outskirts of the town. She slid cautiously through the open archway. Her heart told her that it was not Finglor who waited for her inside. The call had been his, but the tone was just so slightly different. A hooded figure stood in the centre of the hut, wearing the same cloak Finglor always wore, that of the Rangers of the North but the figure was smaller and less well-built. ‘Who are you?’ she asked calmly. ‘I’m not sure a Princess should be wandering into isolated places alone so willingly. Rohan is not as safe for you as you clearly think it is, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth,’ spoke the man conversationally. Lothíriel stiffened. ‘I mean you no harm,’ he continued. ‘Finglor has spoken of you often, but I did not expect you in Elbrond. Éomer has been rather rash in bringing you here of all places….’ ‘I asked you your name?’ Lothíriel persisted in a less kindly tone. ‘Amrod, my Lady, my name is Amrod,’ the man answered unperturbed by her rudeness. ‘Why do you say it’s not safe for me here?’ she asked sternly. ‘Things are moving in the East again, your part of the Prophecy has yet to be fulfilled and yet you are here, gallivanting with the Rohirrim and their admittedly very handsome King,’ he was still smiling but she could not see if the smile reached his eyes owing to the hood. Lothíriel was shocked at his mention of the Prophecy and his further insinuation. She strode over to him her eyes flashing fiercely. ‘What would you know about the Prophecy, Amrod, if that is really your name?’ Amrod laughed, not unkindly. ‘That is my name, my Lady, I do not have another, unlike you. Only no one has told you your real name, have they? Everyone wants to protect you from who you really are…’ Lothíriel looked back at him in consternation. Her eyes were looking through him. He knew she had understood the truth of what he had said. She took a step back. ‘Will you tell me? Will you tell me what I need to know?’ He looked down at her and said with compassion. ‘He will leave us soon… Finglor. This he has told me many times. I will miss him. I owe him a great deal. Within a year from the fall of Sauron, his time here will be over but that doesn’t mean the Prophecy will be fulfilled. I confess I don’t know what the Prophecy is, only that you are the final part of it. Sennebar must fall and yet you are here. In four months from now, the walls of Sennebar must be broken and that which was stolen returned. What are you doing here, Alatariel? For that is the name the Elves call you.’ Lothíriel had drawn breath at the mention of her Elven name. She knew he had spoken the truth. She who remembered everything had heard that name when she was only weeks old when the Dúnedain from the North had come to see her in Dol Amroth. ‘Do you know what it means?’ Amrod asked her. ‘It has a few possible meanings,’ she answered her mind already racing. Alatariel was the Quenya word for Galadriel, ‘radiant garlanded maiden’ but that could not be what it meant, and that name was most certainly taken. It could also mean ‘maiden of glittering reflection’ or even conceivably ‘daughter of Alatar’, none of which seemed appropriate. ‘Which do you think it means?’ she asked him after giving him the three choices. He walked over to her and gently rested his hand on her arm in encouragement. ‘It’s not for me to speculate, besides I don’t speak Quenya, but I believe it’s important for you to begin to understand who you are and why you were given that name. You have a duty as I see it, one which those who love you the most are doing their best to keep you from.’ ‘Why are you telling me this? What am I to you?’ she cried pulling away from him. His voice sounded pained but determined. ‘I cannot stand by and watch one I care about get his heart broken again,’ he answered. ‘If this evil is to end, you will have to accept who you are and embrace the power within you. Stop running from it or hiding it, become Alatariel, whatever that is. You cannot stay in Rohan, you know this,’ he cried out after her after she ran through the dilapidated doorway to make her way swiftly back to the town. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- She sped towards the town in turmoil, her heart pounding and her mind whirring with possibilities. He was right, whoever he was, she knew he was right. He had to be one of Finglor’s spies in Dunland, most likely the one he had told her about in whom he had the greatest trust and faith in his abilities. Finglor had never told her his name, but it would make sense he was here while the great war counsel was being held. The treaty that had been negotiated with the Dunlendings would be of crucial importance and must be upheld if Éomer was to empty his western lands to protect his east. She spotted Amrothos still enjoying the attentions of the two local beauties. He had barely noticed her absence, but he smiled at her when she came back into view. She needed time to think, she was still in shock. ‘Cellebriel!’ a voice cried out in Sindarin. ‘What are you doing here? This is a wonderful surprise.’ Amrothos only looked up when a huge, distinguished, white-haired man made so bold as to embrace his sister in an expansive hug, which caused her to laugh with only the slightest hint of embarrassment. ‘Bothrond, how lovely to see you again,’ she said more brightly than she was feeling. Turning quickly to Amrothos, who had speedily left the two girls, much to their evident disappointment and was now by her side looking threateningly at the man, she said playfully, ‘My brother, Amrothos, please meet Bothrond, one of Rohan’s most famous acting players’. ‘The most famous, if you don’t mind, young lady.’ Bothrond replied melodramatically. ‘I don’t suppose I can tempt you on stage for us again tonight, could I? I know old Hathellen won’t mind if you take her part – you were just so good, and our takings in Leeperton were the best of the year so far!’ he pleaded hopefully. ‘Bothrond, I am so sorry that I cannot. We will leave shortly after lunch, but if you could spare the time, I would happily invite you and the family to lunch. We are expected at the Old Watering Hole.’ Bothrond’s face fell. ‘That place is very expensive, Cellebriel, and I’m not sure that they, well, they would encourage people like us to be seen there….’ He was so downcast that Amrothos had for a moment thought the man would start to cry. ‘Well, then’, she said taking Bothrond by both hands, gladly and wilfully suppressing the disturbance Amrod had wrought in her mind. ‘Let’s see how much money we can make from these merry townsfolk in the next hour and then we will see if we can afford lunch there.’ ‘Lothi, no…’ Amrothos started to say, but backed off when he saw her glare of warning. ‘Lothi?’ Bothrond repeated eyebrows raised. ‘It’s a family pet name for me,’ she explained, directing Bothrond to the centre of the town where she knew the family would be setting up the stage in the main square. On the way, Lothíriel began to sing. She had such a rare voice; her range and power had no equal that Amrothos had ever heard. She could change the purity of her voice into a myriad of textures. It was a voice that stopped people in their tracks and drove them to follow it. As they entered the square in front of a gathering crowd, two adolescent children, a boy and a girl, ran towards her. The youngest, the girl, leapt into Lothíriel arms to be swirled around, their joy at seeing each other permeating the crowd. The boy who stood close by laughing at the scene was duly embraced with an affectionate kiss delivered on top of his head. Busy preparing the makeshift stage for the afternoon and evening’s performances stood a handsome middle-aged woman, clasping her hands together in joy at the sight and sound of her. Lothíriel ascended the stage to give the woman a hug and turned to speak across the square at the gathering crowd. ‘My dear townsfolk,’ she boomed dramatically. ‘I believe I know most of the songs of Rohan and of Gondor and I will sing any of them you choose to name for a shilling. If you name one that I don’t know, I will offer you back a shilling but then you have to sing it for me to keep the shilling, UNLESS I can repeat your song and sing it even better than yourself, in which case you will owe me two shillings. Does this seem fair to you townsfolk?’ The townsfolk, many confused, answered with cheers of yes and suggestions of songs. ‘So, a shilling to sing The Fair Maiden Awakes? My brother, the tall, rather handsome dark-haired gentleman standing over there, will be happy to take your coin, sir.’ Amrothos was not at all happy about this turn of events, but he dutifully accepted the shilling pressed to his hand. Lothíriel’s rendition of the requested song was delightful, not only in the notes but the expression and the hand gestures that accompanied the song. Amrothos could not help himself but to smile. More coins followed and more songs, the mood of the now crowded square was merry and festive. One man, who was quite noticeably drunk, came staggering up to the front of the crowd and jeered out leerily, ‘I have a song for you, my Lady…’ Amrothos’s demeanour snapped into one of wariness, ‘...a song you won’t know.’ ‘Go ahead, good sir, but please do remember that this is a polite crowd, and no one wants their children to hear anything bawdy or offensive,’ she warned, her eyes glittering dangerously. ‘Nah, that’s alright, they won’t understand it anyway. So, it goes like this…’ The crowd gasped as the man dared to sing in the Dunlendish tongue, but it was not a rude song, it was a strangely emotive melody. When he ended, he held out his hand to receive a shilling from Amrothos, who looked down on him coldly. Lothíriel smiled and said to the man in flawless Dunlendish, ‘Do you yourself understand the meaning of the song?’ His face jerked up at her in sudden confusion. ‘What? You speak that tongue?’ ‘I am afraid you will lose the bet and you will owe me two shillings’ she replied still in Dunlendish. ‘But… I will permit you to pay me only one shilling if you allow me to perform the song translated into Rohirric so the people here can understand the beauty of it properly.’ ‘Ha,’ cried the man, ‘if you can do that, I will give you three shillings!’ Lothíriel raised her voice over the murmuring crowd, saying in Rohirric, ‘Gentle townsfolk, we have a challenge. The challenger has said that he will give me three shillings if I can sing that song but translated properly into Rohirric, for it may be a song from your sworn enemies, but in truth it is a very beautiful song.’ Voices in the crowd shouted over the heads of those in front: ‘I’d like to hear you try that!’; ‘Gallend always was a Dunlending lover…’; ‘Traitor to his country!’ The man scowled back into the crowd. Lothíriel could see there were not many friendly faces in the crowd in front of him. She began to sing before the mood turned uglier. The tune was the same, only the words were changed. She sang of a love that had been lost to war, of a child which had been taken and of a longing so desperate that when the song ended, even Amrothos, who did not understand more than a few words of Rohirric, was moved. The man stood in front of her alone looking up, his face streaked with tears. She observed him more closely. He had dark red hair, a hooked nose and quizzical eyebrows which dominated his face. The overall look was one of intelligence and kindness, especially when he broke into a smile. He took the three shillings and held them up to her to take from him. ‘I am sorry you lost them,’ she said softly as she descended the steps from the stage to take the shillings in her palm. ‘Two daughters and a wife,’ he rasped. ‘She would sing that song to them, not thinking it would be me who would be left without them…’ she viewed him with great compassion and held out her hand to touch him on his arm. She looked beyond him, deeply into herself, jarringly realising something that had eluded her for so long. ‘You honour them with your grief, Gallend. I lost my mother nine years ago today and I have scrubbed all memory of her out of my mind rather than accept the pain of losing her. You are far braver than I could ever be,’ she released her grip on his arm and continued stoically, ‘I will have to finish on a more cheery song, I’m afraid. You understand, I hope?’ ‘Aye, you do that. I could do with it too,’ he replied candidly. She returned to the stage, stood tall and majestically with determination, and shouted above the noise that had built up. ‘Who would like to suggest the final song? Let’s make it a rousing one!’ A loud voice came booming from the back of the crowd over the clamour of requests, ‘What about the King of Gondor’s Wedding Song?’ She looked up startled. It was Éomer, he must have only just arrived. ‘Éomer King, this is an honour,’ she called out. The crowd excitedly turned their heads to see their new king, who was standing at the far back of the crowd, flanked by Elfhelm and Erkenbrand. ‘That song is in the ancient Elvish tongue, I think it would be best if I ended on a song everyone knew, unless I were to translate that too into Rohirric…’ Lothíriel advised. The rumblings of agreement from the crowd were in her favour. ‘Six shillings then, for the Wedding Song translated into Rohirric, and a last song of your choosing, as long as it is a merry one,’ he called back to her. The crowd roared their approval. Lothíriel laughed and nodded. ‘It’s not fair though, I had my father there to help me sing the first one,’ she shouted back to him in Sindarin. She realised she had just betrayed herself to Bothrond and Hathellan, who both stared at her in amazement. She looked at them both somewhat sheepishly. Lothíriel knew she could make up anything for the Wedding Song and few would be the wiser, but she remained largely faithful to the words. In later years, this became the song sang at all Rohirric weddings, but that day was the first time it had been heard in Rohan and those present would tell their children and grandchildren that they had been there when it had first been sung in Rohan by the famous Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. The throng of townsfolk all knew the last song Lothíriel chose and sang it along with her to great hilarity as it was a comic act presented in song, rather than a song on its own. Éomer strode over to Amrothos and handed him the six shillings with an amused twinkle in his eye. ‘I had heard she was creating a stir in the town and thought I had better ensure everyone’s good behaviour, given that you don’t speak Rohirric, and some do not speak Westron in these parts. But I must get back. We need to leave by mid-afternoon at the latest and I need all the time I can get here. Do try to keep her out of trouble, hard though I know that is!’ and he made his escape before Lothíriel made her descent from the stage to huge applause and cheering. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bothrond was waiting for her hand outstretched to help her down, not that she needed it. ‘Right,’ she said winningly, ‘that should be enough for a good lunch at least. Would you look after it for me, Bothrond,’ she said handing him all the coins Amrothos had just given her. ’There’s no point Amrothos keeping it as he won’t understand what they are charging him, his Rohirric is so poor. ‘Because he is Amrothos of Dol Amroth and you are his sister Lothíriel, who has been staying as a guest of King Éomer and Lady Éowyn. Gallend knew it when he called you my Lady….’ Bothrond replied to her in Sindarin. ‘Come, let’s go for lunch. I hope you don’t mind my deception when we met in Leeperton. I didn’t think you would have let me on the stage if you had known, and since you are originally from Lebennin, I thought you would rumble me too easily if I gave you my real name.’ They settled in for a hearty meal filled with laughter. Amrothos discovered that Bothrond and Hathellan were brother and sister. Hathellan’s husband was from Rohan and was visiting his mother nearby. Amrothos was regaled with the story of how Lothíriel had been staying in a town called Leeperton in The Wold with Lord Delwine when Hathellan had lost her voice. She had overheard the family discussing if they could get away with little Eldadreth playing the part of a grown woman when ‘Cellebriel’ as she had called herself, had offered to play the role instead. It had saved the family finances. The war had not been good for their business and it had been a very tough five years, but people were now in the mood to be entertained and they were optimistic, especially now that Rohan had a strong and good king, a comment which made Lothíriel glow. Amrothos was not used to spending time with anyone who was not a courtier or a soldier. He found himself surprisingly engaged with the animated chatter about normal lives, which came so naturally to Lothíriel. He studied his sister. She had given him some of her own coins on entering the Old Watering Hole and told him that he was to pay for the lunch in secret as soon as they finished the meal and the coins she had earned earlier were to be left with Bothrond. She was kind, she always had been. And as such she was a contradiction. His mind wandered back to the exchange he had had the night before with Éomer. How could she be so kind and loving, and so evil? Éomer was right. There had been a spy in their midst. The twins were the same age as himself. He had never liked Amedlan and was ambivalent about Galador, but the relationship changed when they were all about ten and Lothíriel five. It was after that disastrous visit to Minas Tirith when Lothíriel had easily beaten Denethor at Faradin. From then on bad things began to happen around the family and Lothíriel would get the blame for everything; items would be stolen and found in her room, all knowledge of which she would deny; nasty gossip would be attributed to her, although Amrothos himself never heard her say anything bad about anyone else. There had been a creeping sense of distrust around her. Galador would defend her, so he was tarnished with the same brush and they became ever closer. Amedlan had always been sneaking around, always telling on them, even before they returned from Minas Tirith. Elphir had been openly wary around Amedlan, scrupulously polite but deliberately distant. Given his status as the heir and being seven years older, he was beyond her manipulations; not so Erchirion. His resentment towards Amahlia had made him an easy target; he was easily goaded by Amedlan to behave badly towards Lothíriel and inevitably provoke a reaction from Galador and vice versa. Being honest with himself, Amrothos acknowledged that he had chosen simply to ignore the vindictiveness he saw inflicted on both Galador and Lothíriel. There were many examples of Amedlan’s spite against the pair looking back. There was so much he wanted to discuss with his sister, but this was not the right moment, and her worst night of the three was upon them, the day it was believed their mother had been killed. Suddenly the joy left him. He looked up to find his companions regarding him curiously, and Lothíriel with sadness. ‘I am sorry,’ she said to the others. ‘Our mother died nine years ago today, so while it is truly wonderful to be able to spend this time with you, and it has been a most welcome distraction, this is never far from our thoughts… Please forgive us both, neither of us are on the best form. So, tell me, what play are you performing tonight?’ she asked with forced cheeriness, changing subject. It was only when Hathellan’s husband came in the inn hesitantly to find them that they realised they needed to make haste back to their horses for the ride back to Helm’s Deep. The goodbyes were heartfelt and even the usually reticent Amrothos found himself enveloped in a huge bear hug by Bothrond. Only as she was leaving through the door did she tell them that lunch had been paid for and she wished them good luck for that evening’s performance. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- As they entered the courtyard to the great house, Lothíriel was surprised to find Gallend deep in conversation with Genting who had the horses ready. Genting spied them and came over to greet them. ‘We were just about to send for you,’ he said, shielding Lothíriel somewhat from his companion. Lothíriel looked at Genting enquiringly, who responded with an imperceptible shake of his head in warning not to investigate further. Whatever his conversation with Gallend had been, it had affected him profoundly and his mind was clearly troubled. Éomer was walking determinedly towards them followed by Elfhelm and Erkenbrand. He looked grim. Erkenbrand stopped close to Gallend, Lothíriel felt almost protectively. Her interest was piqued. She looked more closely at Gallend. He was indeed very handsome, or she could see that he would have been had the signs of hardship and pain not been so etched in his demeanour. ‘Lothíriel, Amrothos, are you ready to depart?’ Éomer barked at them. Both nodded simultaneously and leapt from standing onto their horses like true Rohirrim, causing an impressed murmur of approval from those watching in the courtyard. Gallend had been striding over to Lothíriel to offer her his help but broke into a genuine smile of admiration as she turned to him in the saddle. He helped steady her stirrup for her foot and looked up at her expressively. ‘Thank you,’ he said still smiling, ‘Thank you for your kind words and your song today, my Lady Lothíriel. I will remember them. I will learn to sing that song in my native tongue. It sounded almost as good.’ Éomer was getting impatient, making Firefoot skittish. Lothíriel was intrigued, the undercurrent in the courtyard was palpably charged, Éomer was glaring at Gallend in ill-concealed dislike, yet the loyal Erkenbrand had come to stand protectively beside Gallend, all the while Genting was surreptitiously glancing over warning signals to her. Propelled by some innate need, Lothíriel spoke to Gallend, ‘I have no answers for either of us, Gallend. I remember too little and perhaps you too much. We are both trapped.’ She was surprised that she felt such a connection with this man and his grief, which seemed to tear through them both as they looked into each other’s eyes. ‘Others suffer losses just as deep as ours and they find a way through. Perhaps we should both look to them and their strength to overcome this. I will try harder if you will,’ she told him, holding out her hand, which he took and held to his lips briefly before letting her go. Éomer, his face thunderous, had already turned Firefoot to the courtyard entrance and kicked him off into an immediate fast canter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- As they had left later than they had intended the last leg of the ride was in deepening shadows into nightfall. They had had to switch to the main paths as it was too dangerous to ride across country in the gathering darkness. It was therefore far into the evening before they rode into the keep at Helm’s Deep. There had been no opportunity for Lothíriel to ask Genting during the ride about Gallend’s history and why there had been such tension surrounding him, but she had understood that any mention of his name in front of Éomer would not be wise. She sought Genting out in the stables when she had the chance before she had to go to change for supper. Éomer had taken himself off to dine in his quarters, leaving Lothíriel and Amrothos to dine with Éowyn, who was keen to find out about their day. Lothíriel’s mood was sombre after her brief talk with Genting, she had much to think about from what he had revealed. Her mind flitted back to the end of Genting’s explanation of Gallend’s history. ‘While Théodred readily forgave Gallend, Éomer could not, Lothi, and this is not his fault. Théodred and Gallend kept Éomer in the dark about what happened, and I am bound by oath to do the same. As such I cannot tell you all I know,’ he told her, his frustration evident. ‘Surely Théodred trusted Éomer beyond all others? Why would he not trust him on this?’ she demanded. ‘It is not in Éomer’s nature to dissemble. It is one of the reasons people love him so much,’ he answered closely observing her reaction to his words. He noticed a change in her face when he mentioned the word love. Something was holding her back from allowing her to admit her feelings for Éomer, even to herself. Of this, he was sure. As much as he had tried to prise the reasons from Cissy in the past, she had been steadfastly faithful to her dearest friend. Lothíriel smiled wanly, Genting thought, almost longingly. ‘And he has been unable to love another since… How sad,’ she added sincerely. ‘Until now, Lothíriel, until now…’ Genting replied meaningfully. Lothíriel froze. ‘What do you mean by that?’ her voice managed to squeak out as her throat constricted in unexpected emotion. ‘You cannot be unaware of how he feels about you,’ he answered incredulously. ‘It is not for the likes of you to speculate about your King’s feelings, Genting,’ she rounded on him with a ferocity that shocked him into hurt silence. ‘Nor I…’ she added more contritely. ‘You men, you may love where you will, with no consequences. It is not the same for women. We bear the consequences with our bodies, and only we bear the shame…’ she cried out in resentment. ‘I speak not just of love, Lothíriel, but of marriage…’ Genting had taken Lothíriel by both shoulders to make her face him. ‘I cannot marry anyone, Genting!’ Tears were forming in her eyes, her lovely face trembling from a deep pain. ‘You don’t understand. I am not free. I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have come to Rohan. I see that now. Éomer is… has been… too great a distraction and that is all he can ever be for me. You know people in our position do not marry for love. He deserves someone who… someone… someone who can devote herself to him and to Rohan, and this cannot be me,’ she ended sounding defeated. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- At supper in Éowyn’s chambers, Amrothos was disturbed by Lothíriel’s sudden downcast attitude. To change the mood, Amrothos regaled Éowyn with the tale of Éomer’s challenge to Lothíriel in the singing contest in the market square in Elbrond. Éowyn excitedly demanded Lothíriel sing for her the King of Gondor’s Wedding Song in Rohirric. ‘Éowyn, it’s not a song that lends itself to a small room such as this. I fear I would deafen you with my screeching,’ Lothíriel laughed half-heartedly. ‘It’s hardly screeching, Lothi,’ her brother interjected, ‘but she is rather loud, Éowyn, I have to confess. I’d prefer it if she sang it for you from the battlements.’ Éowyn observing that they were both quite serious, went to a side door, which opened up to a small courtyard outside facing south towards the White Mountains. ‘What about here then, no need to go fully outside, just aim yourself towards the Thrihyrne peaks and you will avoid disturbing the garrison.’ Lothíriel began softly but still very clearly, and the song far from being absorbed by the mountains seemed to be amplified by them. It was a majestic song which spoke not only of love but also of honour and duty. Éomer heard it from his rooms and stopped his pacing. It pierced him through the heart and made it ache all the more poignantly. It was a song that stirred strong emotions in the listeners and great pride. Those in Helm’s Deep and the villages beyond who heard it echoed through the valleys listened in wonder at this beautiful song. The meaning behind the song was filtering through Lothíriel’s consciousness as she sang it and the power of the music began to affect her profoundly. As the words seeped into her understanding, she felt a deep change within herself, like a mist clearing from her mind. When Lothíriel ended the song, she turned from the mountains back into the room to see Éowyn’s eyes sparkling with wonderment. ‘That was… that was beautiful, Lothíriel,’ her future cousin-in-law said, overcome with emotion. ‘I would be honoured if you would sing it at my wedding to Faramir, please. In Rohirric, just as you have sung it now.’ ‘Of course, I will, Éowyn. The honour would be all mine,’ Lothíriel answered with tears in her eyes, not knowing whether it would be her fate to live long enough to be there for her beloved cousin and his bride. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- A messenger knocked on the door shortly afterwards asking if Lothíriel and Amrothos were ready to join the King at the entrance to the Glittering Caves. A pensive Éomer was waiting for them, which set them both on edge. ‘I am sorry we kept you waiting, Éomer King,’ opened Lothíriel, addressing him more formally than she had been used to recently. He looked up at her startled that she had been so on ceremony. ‘My apologies to you both for not hosting you tonight. I had much to think about following the meeting today,’ he replied stiffly. An uncomfortable silence ensued as they made their way to the Great Cavern and waited for Lothíriel to go to her chamber to change into more suitable nightwear. She came out to join the two men in a warm cloak. ‘Finglor will be here soon and we will leave for East Emnet and the lands to the south of The Wold if that would meet your approval, Sire?’ she enquired, maintaining the formality, while Amrothos went to change. ‘Lothíriel….,’ Éomer began to say intensely. She regarded him guardedly, not wanting to hear what he might say next. ‘If you would prefer that I leave and return with Amrothos to Dol Amroth from Edoras, then of course I will comply,’ she interrupted him. He drew a sharp breath. ‘Is this what you want?’ he asked her abruptly. ‘It’s never a question of what I want, Éomer King. It’s whatever duty I have to perform,’ she answered heatedly. ‘Is that all this has been for you – a duty?’ he demanded forcefully. ‘What else could it be? I am not yet free, and I cannot be free until I accept what happened to me and stop this childishness. I don’t want to do this anymore; I don’t want to hide what I am anymore.’ She had taken both Éomer and herself completely by surprise with the intensity of her answer. She pulled back and continued more chastely. ‘I am sorry. I am sorry the duty of care for me fell to you and Amrothos this year. I am sorry…’ she was trembling. He wanted to take her in his arms, but he could not. Seeing her with Gallend had confused him. Amrothos had emerged from the cavern and had put his arms around his obviously distressed sister. He looked quizzically at Éomer, who left them to go and change himself. She clung to Amrothos, who smoothed down her hair and held her close to him while she calmed. Éomer came out again. ‘I apologise, Lothíriel, I did not mean to upset you,’ he said with feeling. ‘Please, Éomer, do not dwell on it. I am always over-emotional around this time. Please forgive me,’ she sniffled. ‘I will try to go to sleep although I think it will elude me for a while. If I do walk tonight, I am apt to be rather violent and I apologise in advance if I try to attack you. I believe you have been told it’s best if you don’t even look at me and then I will leave you alone?’ The two men nodded their understanding and let her leave. ‘I’m sorry, Amrothos. I had not meant to upset her. I am too distracted at the moment to pay her the attention she deserves,’ Éomer explained. ‘She expects none, Éomer. Indeed, I think you have overwhelmed her with your attention. She is not used to such… kindness. I have done nothing but think of…. to think back to some of the incidents of our childhood. It has raised far more questions than I can deal with alone. I must speak with Elphir. Do you know if Vadamir and Hella are still in Aldburg?’ he asked. Éomer nodded. ‘Lothi will accompany me there from Edoras the day after tomorrow. We have some business there to attend to together and then I will leave straight for Dol Amroth.’ ‘Aye, they are still there. My aunt insisted that they stayed on for the whole winter and has installed them in her gardens to provide entertainment for the town. Since you intend to return through Aldburg, you should meet with my aunt too. She has a great deal more to tell you of her suspicions and to get to the truth, I think you will need all the help you can get. I will send her word tomorrow.’ He hesitated before continuing tentatively, he was uncomfortable with any kind of deceit. ‘It’s best if we do not let Lothíriel know you are to meet my aunt, if you don’t mind. This is a subject about which she is most sensitive, and I suspect she will continue to try to obscure the truth of it.’ ‘I understand… I will take first watch, Éomer,’ Amrothos offered. ‘I do not have such heavy burdens to bear as you and you need sleep. I know this will be distressing for me, but I want to at least try to understand what happened to Mother. Lothi has never spoken of what happened, neither when conscious nor unconscious, not even apparently to Finglor. Faramir’s version is one he surmised from the weeks he spent with her immediately afterwards when she would re-enact her memories in her dreams.’ Éomer nodded his assent and gladly took to his bed. He fell asleep as soon as he closed his eyes. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Lothíriel by contrast could not sleep. She spent hours taking her memory back to when she was very young, the words of Amrod were weighing heavily on her. Alatariel. She had heard that name before. She tried to recall every snippet of every conversation she had overheard which she had not at the time understood. Her mind went over and over trying to create a fuller picture from the jumble of puzzle pieces in her memory. A new determination rose within her as the picture assembled in her mind. Eventually she rose from her bed and came stealthily into the second chamber where she could hear the Éomer’s deep breathing as he slept. She could see that Amrothos was not abed, so she crept through the second chamber to go in search of him. She raised her hand to him when he saw her to let him know she was conscious of herself and came over to sit beside him on one of the rocks overlooking the pool. ‘I cannot sleep,’ she said speaking quietly so as not to wake Éomer. ‘I want this to stop, Amrothos. I have to overcome this.’ She sighed deeply. ‘I must be better than this. I have to stop hiding behind Father, behind Tuor, behind Finglor. It’s what I do, isn’t it? I find the strongest man around and seek refuge. Seeking refuge from what? Myself. It’s myself I am running from. That song, today, that damn Wedding Song. I adapted it a little as the original is even more about duty and honour than love.’ She paused with tears in her eyes and reached out for his hand to hold. ‘I think that I felt soon after it happened that such love would be denied to me, so as a child does when denied something, it becomes ever more important to them…’ she began softly. ‘Lothi,’ Amrothos interrupted, ‘I do not need to know this…’ He was struggling with the memory of seeing her being taken by the stranger on the battlements of the Palace gardens, the man shouting her name as he came inside her and her moans of pleasure. It had sickened him then as the memory of it did now. ‘I must speak of this, Amrothos. Éomer asked me earlier if everything I have done has been out of duty. I realise now that I have done everything but my duty. Every decision I have made has been to help someone else, because I so desperately needed them to love me. Every action I took was in the hope that they would love me. When you are responsible for the lives of others, you don’t have the luxury to indulge your own desires or needs. When I look at Éomer and Éowyn and I see how they conduct themselves, the sacrifices they make, I feel so ashamed of my own failings. And I have a responsibility, Amrothos, whether you believe in it or not. Mother ran away from it. I cannot. I must not.’ Lothíriel held her head in her hands struggling for control over her emotions. She clasped them in front of her in determination and continued. ‘For me to do so would be to insult the sacrifice her mother made to put duty over love and the sacrifices of all my ancestors, so many of whom were hunted down and murdered because of this. I am sorry, Amrothos, I have to grow up, I have to take responsibility for myself.’ She moved to take his hand in hers and looked at him imploring him to understand. ‘I cannot search for Mother anymore. I cannot give you the answers you seek. I must and I do accept her loss, I will struggle no more to find her. I hope you can understand. To keep trying is selfish of me because I too want the truth, but I must free my mind and leave this trap. It has ensnared me too long. No one can set me free from this except myself. I will have no more of these night terrors. I will no longer have them inflicted on those I love.’ Amrothos watched in wonderment at the change in his sister. No longer did she seem the volatile and yet vulnerable child/ woman. She had grown in stature, an inner glow of majesty was emanating from her, she seemed… Elven almost. ‘You sleep now. I will not need you tonight. But I did need you, Amrothos, I needed you, and not Father, not Finglor, I needed you to come, and you did. Beloved brother. Thank you.’ She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it before letting it go. ‘Will you not also come to rest?’ he asked overcome by a sudden emotion he had not felt since they were children. ‘No, not yet. The cloud covering has blotted out the stars, but I feel music in the water of the stream, and it is asking me to dance. I cannot really explain this to you, Amrothos. I must answer it.’ As one enchanted, she walked over the glistening boulders to the large flat smooth rock face on the other side of the pool and listened to the sound of the water echoing through the chamber. She began to sing quietly in tune with the flowing water and slowly the power of the song cascaded through her body as she moved from song to dance. Amrothos felt himself transported to another world, watching his sister dance so gracefully amid the shimmering rocks. It was as though he was seeing her for the first time. The whole chamber was filled with her presence, which became ever more ethereal as the clouds gradually dissipated while she danced, allowing the moon and starlight to seep into the Great Cavern and ignite the seams of mithril and gemstones. The tempo of her dance wove itself into the flow of the light filtering through the clouds. Sometimes she would sing in Elvish while she danced. Amrothos belatedly accepted why she had been named ‘Elf Child’; he would have thought her an Elf had he been seeing her for the first time. He became conscious of Éomer standing behind him watching in equal wonder. Her singing must have woken him. Amrothos had the feeling that they were being watched but by what he could not tell. The whole cavern seemed alive as the dance and the song intensified. She seemed to draw the light to her, and she glowed as it reflected almost through her. The effect was… magical. And then she leapt, twirling into the water, only the waters did not envelop her but supported her as she continued to dance over the water. She was dancing with the water itself. She danced until she was exhausted, and the water took her gently in its embrace and carried the now sleeping woman to their feet at the pool’s edge. Amrothos picked her up and took her to her bed. He wrapped her up in warm blankets and went to find Éomer who was sitting on his bed just staring at the wall. ‘She is one of the Half-Elven, isn’t she? She must be, to be able to control the water like that. She is not just of the race of Men,’ he said awe-struck. ‘No, Éomer, she cannot be one of the Half-Elven, our Elven ancestry lies centuries before. But she is special, she is not the same as we are. She told me tonight that she will no longer hide what she is and whatever that turns out to be, Éomer, I will stand by her. We must set ourselves free from the trauma of the past. We can both sleep. She will not need us tonight. And you, if I am any judge of the mood I have felt since leaving Elbrond today, are readying for another battle,’ Amrothos surmised. ‘Aye,’ Éomer replied unhappily, ‘our Eastern border is threatened. We are gathering those we can and must trust our peace with Dunland will hold. We will be leaving Edoras in three days’ time. I expect to return by Yule, which we hope to celebrate with your sister and Finglor before they depart back to Gondor to report to Aragorn. You would be more than welcome to spend it with us if we can tempt you to a snowy Yule!’ Amrothos smiled pensively. ‘Let me see where my investigations lead. I would gladly experience such a Yule; we have not seen snow in Dol Amroth for centuries. Let’s sleep. We both have a busy few weeks ahead.’ |