Fan Fiction ❯ By the Sea ❯ New Acquaintance ( Chapter 3 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

The reflection of the woman staring back at her was unrecognisable. The corners of her mouth twitched as she gazed at herself curiously, turning and twirling in front of the mirror like an excited child.



Yards of cream satin and silk draped down her curved form as though she had been bathed and swaddled in pale moonbeams and starlight. The embroidered pearls and emerald jewels in the brocade of her dress glinted merrily against the warm candlelight of the silent room, adding to the majestic beauty of the dress she wore. Her eyes caught sight of the white garlands that had been woven within the loose curls of her hair, mirroring the image of twinkling stars against the ebony blanket of a midnight sky; they smelled divine.



Lothíriel could not believe that it was her reflection she was looking at. She was not vain by nature, but for that moment, she truly felt pleased with her appearance–she felt beautiful.



The dress, made from Elvish fabric had been a gift from her husband, given to him by King Elessar and Queen Arwen Undómiel as a silent blessing for the newly bound couple. When Éomer presented the dress to her, she had been too awe-struck to speak any words of thanks. He had simply smiled, nodded and left the room so that she could prepare for the evening celebration that marked her marriage to the King of Rohan.



"Lothíriel?"



She turned at the sound of her husband's stunned voice, coming from the doorway of their chambers. Blushing profusely, she faced him with a shy smile tugging at her lips, that surprised her greatly.



"Do you approve?"



He nodded dumbly at her question, "You look... Stunning."



Biting her lip, she turned back to the mirror, "What will your people think?"



Éomer strode into the room purposefully and came to stand beside her as she continued to stare at her reflection. "They will think that I am the luckiest man in Arda."



Lothíriel almost winced at his words. She should have known that he would speak in such a generous fashion. There was never a moment when her husband did not compliment her.



Earlier in the day, they had been bound according to the laws and customs of Rohan. The morning had been bright and cheerful, but for Lothíriel, the day was simply another reminder that she was inextricably bound to a man she did not love–and that she would be his for the rest of her life. Her husband had been correct; Rohan was a beautiful country but that did not detract from the heavy heart she carried within her breast during the ceremony.



She had seen much of his lands as they journeyed towards Edoras; the green fields and rolling hills were breathtaking to behold but she found her heart constricting at the sight of the grassy ground and flat plains–this country would be her home from this day forward... And that thought was utterly frightening.



As amazing as Rohan was, it held no candle to the sea and, as she spoke her vows, she yearned to feel the minuscule grains of sand between her toes and hear the roaring waves of the sea crashing against the white cliffs of her home...



She blinked as Éomer suddenly grasped her arm and pulled her close into an embrace, lowering his head to place a gentle kiss upon her forehead.



Lothíriel swallowed the hardened lump in her throat, knowing that she did not deserve his affections, but continued to receive them nonetheless. Without waiting or asking for permission, he caught her lips and kissed her deeply, his mouth lingering upon hers as he tasted her with such ardent fervour that it made her head spin.



A crystal tear formed with the corner of her eye, threatening to spill from it's lidded cage.



"What is this? Why do you cry?" He asked worriedly as he pulled away, touching his calloused finger to her eye so that he could brush away the pearled tear.



Shaking her head, Lothíriel backed away from his enveloping arms. "Nothing."



The dubious expression on his face did not disappear, "You are lying to me," his voice was stern yet gentle. She wondered how he had perfected such a contrasting mix of emotions, "Are you unhappy with something?"



So much weight lay in his question and so much pain would be garnered if she told him the truth. Instead, she opted to misguide him. "I am simply overwhelmed by this day; it has been extremely tiring."



The Rohan King nodded slowly at her words, "Do you wish to forgo the feast? I am sure that the guests will understand your exhaustion."



An appalled expression marred her youthful face, "Nay, I could not do that! So much time and preparation has been gone into these festivities, it would not serve me well to miss them. I am sure the merry-making will liven my mood." Why did he have to be so thoughtful? Lothíriel cursed his gentle manners and the love he generously bestowed upon her. She would have called him love's fool, had she not pitied him so greatly.



"As you wish," Éomer reluctantly conceded. He paused before reaching down to his side. "Here," Lothíriel stared at her husband solemnly as he pulled a velvet pouch from the holder on his belt. "This is for you."



She blinked in confusion as he held out the pouch to her. Taking it from his outstretched palm, she weighed the object and looked at the Rohan King with suspicion. "What is it?"



He smiled encouragingly, "Open it and see."



Pulling the white cords, she kept one eye trained on his unmoving form as she reached in and pulled out the contents. Lothíriel's breath caught in her throat as she gazed at the tear-dropped emerald that sat in the centre of her palm, inlaid with glittering diamonds around the circumference of the deep green jewel. The mithril chain of the necklace glinted against the candlelight, offering her promises of untold fortune and misplaced love.



"It is spectacular," she murmured, inspecting the delicate lines of the necklace carefully.



"Then it shall be yours. It is my gift to you."



Her head snapped up at his words. The Princess of Dol Amroth could not help but gape at her husband, "Gift?" She parroted.



Éomer held back a grin at her evident surprise, "Yes, a gift... For you."



"But why?"



He frowned slightly, "You do not like it?"



"Nay, I do–very much so!"



The Rohan King breathed a sigh of relief before offering an explanation, "It is an age old tradition of Rohan for the bride and groom to trade gifts on the eve of their wedding feast. That necklace you hold was given to my mother on her wedding day; a present from my father. I thought that it would be fitting if I gave you this gift on my behalf."



Lothíriel stared thoughtfully at the necklace entwined between her fingers, "You said trade, but I do not have anything to give to you," she said in a small voice.



"There is but one thing that I wish from you," Éomer said lowly, taking the necklace from her hand to place it around her neck. Assisting him with the task, Lothíriel pulled her wavy locks away so that he could easily clasp the piece of jewellery around her neck. She shivered as she felt his warm breath tickle her temple before he kissed the area in warm tenderness.



"And what is that?" She asked, returning her hair to its' rightful place as he pulled back.



His sturdy warrior hands grasped her shoulders, forcing her to look deep into his luke-warm eyes. "I wish to see you smile."



Fluttering her lashes, Lothíriel looked down at the emerald pendant that sat at the base of her throat. Could she smile for him? How much of it would be real and how much would be forced? The princess sincerely wished that he would not dote upon her... It made things all the more difficult to tolerate. Unconsciously, she fingered the precious stone as her husband's rough hands moved to cradle her cheeks.



"Lothíriel?"



Taking a deep breath, she slowly raised her eyes and offered her spouse a hesitant smile. It was the best she could do at present. "Thank you for the necklace. It is truly beautiful," she spoke with honesty in her words. She was grateful for his generosity; she would be loathe to throw it back in his face.



The King of Rohan beamed from the pleasure her words wrought. "It is not as beautiful as your smile," he whispered before sneaking in a kiss to her cheek. His lips felt warm and moist, sending a strange tingle through the bone of her cheek. It was not all that unpleasant, and the gesture seemed far to innocent for a man of his strength and calibre.



Silently, Éomer offered Lothíriel his arm and together they made their way to the golden hall of Meduseld without speaking another word.




T he sound of music, mirth and merry-making of their esteemed guests had done nothing to alleviate the nervous knot that had been growing within Lothíriel's stomach throughout the evening. The thought of returning to bed with her husband continually plagued her thoughts.



However, once they had entered the Golden Hall, Éomer's cold and aloof countenance had appeared with a vengeance and all too soon, she was left all alone to accept the formal well-wishing and congratulations of their guests with a fake smile plastered to her face; she was alone–again. And not even the boisterous antics of her brothers served to lighten her mood. Éomer's frigidity throughout the evening had been extremely unnerving. The double side to his personality was frustrating and utterly vexing.



As the evening drew to a close, his unyielding manner had begun to grate on her nerves. She wished that he would choose what he wanted to be; a cold, unfeeling King or the endearing man that he was to her behind closed doors. Lothíriel was not surprised to learn that she preferred the latter. Although, it was too soon in their marriage for her to be picking out his many faults, it seemed that she was doomed to her fate for the rest of her living days.



Which was one of the reasons she was now brooding in the windy courtyard outside the Golden Hall, gazing at the clouded sky, rather than enjoying herself inside with the other guests.



"My lady?"



Lothíriel was startled from her thoughts by the unfamiliar voice. Turning her head, she found herself looking upon an older man with golden hair, hidden in the shadows of the night. "You startled me," she accused softly.



The man stepped out of the shadows and bowed politely. He was tall and broad, much like Éomer and the other warriors of Rohan. The man's eyes were green and they flashed dangerously in the pale moonlight, alerting her to his strength of character and charming personality. Her eyes roved the contours of his face, taking in his proud jaw and stubborn nose that was slightly crooked–perhaps a reminder from one of the many battles that he had fought in. He was old, but not too old... And Lothíriel found him somewhat attractive. But she felt that her husband's brown eyes were aa tad more appealing than this man's jade green orbs, for they seemed to hypnotise draw her in with their perceptiveness.



"Forgive me, my lady. It was not my intention to frighten you," the stranger said.



Lothíriel's jaw twitched as she gazed up at the inky black sky once more, "I said that you startled me, not frightened."



The golden-haired man laughed, his green eyes twinkling with respect. "I see that my lady has a way with words."



"I am not your lady," she retorted.



"Nay, you are Rohan's lady, and it's Queen."



"What is you name?" Lothíriel asked as he came to stand beside her, to look at the open plains at the base of Edoras.



"I am Elfhelm, Marshal of the East-mark," he replied softly, bowing at her once more.



"You needn't do that," the princess pointed out dryly.



"Do what?"



"Bow after every sentence."



Elfhelm chuckled in amusement, "My apologies, it is not everyday that I am in the presence of a Princess and Queen."



She shot him an annoyed glare, "You are teasing me."



"Perhaps so," the mischievous smile upon his face did not fade as she looked at him from beneath her lashes.



"Elfhelm..." Lothíriel spoke his name thoughtfully, "I have heard your name before."



"You have?" The Marshal voiced, clearly surprised.



"Yes... Are you a close consort to Éomer?"



"I have known him since he was a young lad. But I fear that we have not been formally introduced as of yet. It appears that Éomer has been rather forgetful of this old man."



"Ah," Lothíriel shivered as another cool breeze washed over. "You do not look old, yet you speak of him as younger sibling or nephew."



"I am not yet forty," Elfhelm confirmed, "But I am dangerously close."



She laughed, "Then you are much older than your lord-king!"



"Age cannot contend with wisdom, my lady, and I am afraid that Éomer surpasses me in that aspect." The Marshal paused, looking at her profile as they stood shoulder to shoulder. "May I ask why the lady is standing out here in the cold with an ageing man, rather than inside with her husband, enjoying the festivities?"



Lothíriel chewed her bottom lip nervously, "It was growing far too stuffy," she finally said.




Elfhelm narrowed his eyes but did not speak his thoughts, "I see... Why do I sense that there is more beneath your words?"



"You are far too bold, Lord Elfhelm," Lothíriel warned.



"Forgive me," he replied automatically, schooling his features into the epitome of coolness.



She sighed, "Nay, I am to blame. It seems that I have worn myself out."



Elfhelm hesitated, uncertain as to what he should say. "Would you like me to escort you back to your chambers? I will have a message sent to my lord-king."



The Princess of Dol Amroth pondered his offer before shaking her head. "I shall retire by myself, please see to it that Éomer has been informed about my absence."



The Marshal of the East-mark acquiesced, watching quietly as his old friend's wife and Queen of Rohan retreated her steps into the shadows.



Her poignant words belied the sadness that lay deep within her stormy blue eyes... Elfhelm was intrigued by the woman that he would now call his Queen–far too intrigued for his own good. The rumours had been correct; she was absolutely beautiful with her raven hair and deep blue eyes, and she was incredibly witty.



He could see how his friend and king had fallen in love with her... It was all too easy for a man to lose himself within her charming jibes.



Elfhelm looked forward to speaking with the new Queen once again. But if he knew what was best for him, he would endeavour to keep their meetings brief and formal, lest he too fell under her alluring spell.



That road would only lead him to heartache, for she belonged to another–more specifically, Éomer, his dear friend and king.




< b>Added Notes: Oh dear me, this chapter has not gone to plan! Forgive me, but things will hopefully pick up in the next chapter. I have the general chapter-plot written, I just need to type up the words so please bear with me! I wasn't planning on making this a long story... But I will wait to hear your opinions on this matter.


Thanks to everyone that reviewed!
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