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Minas Tirith Forums » The Green Dragon » Unrest in the Riddermark - RP (Page 1)
Author Topic: Unrest in the Riddermark - RP
Nelyafinwë
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 5247

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Lothíriel sat in her bedroom, staring out the small window at the rain falling on the thatched roofs of the huts below her. She felt a small movement in her stomach, and put her hand gently over it, desperately wanting to feel happy at the thought, but unable to force the joy.

She had lived here in Edoras for nearly a year now, since her father had brought here here from Dol Amroth to wed the king of Rohan. She had been but seventeen then, and the idea of being the queen of any kingdom was a brighter and more beautiful idea than any she could imagine. She had been raised in Gondor, and the culture and society she had been raised to expect was completely absent here in Edoras. Instead of stone houses with glass windows, she was forced to accept small square windows in the buildings, with shutters through which the many insects which prospered on the plains could easily squeeze. The stone walkways of her home had been replaced with dirty paths, which turned to mud whenever it rained, and she found herself turning away from her delicate shoes to thick boots whenever she ventured outside. The smell of horses was endemic, and one had to be careful not to step in their waste - something that thoroughly disgusted Lothíriel, who so far had refused even lessons from Éomer on how to ride. Those soldiers most loyal to Éomer slept in a common room, where during the day they ate, bundled up in a noisy, snoring mess on the floor before the fire. She had not yet mastered the complexities of the language or the culture, and she usually stayed quiet while at dinner, out of fear of saying the wrong thing.

While her husband was good to her and treated her well, she had yet come to love him. He was so different from everything she knew - gruffer, broader, easier with anger, but also easier with laughter. It was a different culture here in Edoras, far from the sophistication that was Gondor. It was not to say that it was bad, it simply forced her to break with tradition that she had been trained to follow her entire life. And despite all, her life was unsatisfying. She yearned for more, for an adventure to pull her out of the duldrums she found herself sinking into.

Lothíriel sighed. This was not the exciting, fulfilling life her father had alluded to when he told her of her impending nuptuals. She had dreamed of the elegance and culture she saw embodied in Queen Arwen, but what she recieved was far different. She told no one of her unrest here, she would not hurt Éomer's feelings for the world. He had done everything he could to make her time her happy, and he was good to her. Still, she wished she could tell him how desperately she wished to go home.

Home! She never could go home. This was home, until the day she died. She slammed the shutters with rather more anger than she intended, and went back to bed. It was still early in the morning, and the patrols had just gone out. Éomer had risen early this morning, and his side of the bed was already cold.

Rising uncomfortably from the bed, she called her ladies' maid and was dressed; her hair made to fall in ringlets around her face. She then made her way to the Great Hall, taking her breakfast alone, surrounded only by silent guards.

If only she had known her dream would turn this sour so quickly...

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
The Swordmaster
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Arylia hurried up the steps into the Great Hall, smoothing her mass of hair back into a tight braid, and straightening her dress. She knew she had been foolish to spend time in the stables before meeting the Queen, for she knew that Lothíriel did so hate the smell of horses, but she had hoped to catch a glimpse of one of the patrols returning to Edoras, and once in the stables, she had found it nigh impossible to drag herself back to her duties.

When she reached the Great Hall, she paused for a moment, scanning the hall for the Queen. She saw her finally, breakfasting alone, at the far end of the room.
She hurried towards her, smiling at those soldiers that she recognised, and nodding a brief greeting to the guards as she passed them.

"My Lady?" she said softly, dropping a small curtsy. "My apologies for being late...I..." she shook her head slightly, Lothíriel really didn't need to know the reason for her lateness. "Do you have any duties for me, My Lady? Perhaps we shall complete the tapestry today?"

[ 01-03-2006, 08:17 AM: Message edited by: The Swordmaster ]

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Nelyafinwë
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 5247

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Lothíriel placed her fork on her pewter plate as her servant approached her, leaving her food half-eaten. Her illness from her pregnancy was easing, but she still found it difficult to eat the hearty breakfasts that were served in Rohan. She supposed that such excess was necessary for those spending their days in rigorous physical activity, but she was not one of those, and feared as well for her figure were she to endulge herself.

Turning her attention to the girl, and trying to ignore the rather obvious aroma of horse (one could not escape it in this place anyway and there was very little point in trying), she stood, addressing the girl in a voice she tried to make kind and interested, but in reality sounded rather flat.

"Ah, yes, the tapestry. It is nearing completion, is it not? Perhaps we may have it finished before my husband's patrol returns. I am certain that he will be impressed by it."

Even Lothíriel could not deny it was a lovely tapestry. Depicting the Battle of the Pellenor Fields, it centered on Éomer, blonde hair flying, surrounded by the enemy and ready to go down in a blaze of glory. All alive now knew the story of Éomer's bravery on that battlefield, and how Aragorn would soon arrive and together the Rohirrim and the men of Gondor would save Minas Tirith from the forces of Sauron. It had nearly become the stuff of legend already, with children learning ballads of the heroes.

How proud she had been the day she heard she was to marry King Éomer of Rohan...

Lothíriel's features twisted slightly before she smoothed them again with some effort, and forced a smile at the girl who stood awaiting her direction.

"Yes, indeed. Let us complete the tapestry today. Then perhaps we can start work on a new gown for me to wear during my pregnancy. I am afraid this one is already becoming too tight."

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
The Swordmaster
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Arylia frowned slightly as Lothíriel put down her fork, leaving half of her meal uneaten. She thought it such a waste of good food, and the slim frame of the Queen could certainly do with a little more flesh, or at least, so Arylia believed.

At the mention of King Éomer, Arylia's face brightened, and she nodded enthusiatically. For she had only suggested the subject of the tapestry to the Queen all those months ago, with the vague hope that when the King saw it, he might reserve for her a small smile or look of congratulations for the work she had done on it.

"There is little left to do, My Lady, a few hours work is all it will take to complete it I think. Perhaps," she added, glancing around the hall, "A place will be made for it here..." her voice trailed off, and she smiled apologetically for her over eagerness. "As to a new dress, of course My Lady, once the tapestry is complete I shall take some new measurements...perhaps you would favour something more...traditional...this time?"

She bit her lower lip nervously, perhaps she had been too forward? She tried so hard to be as deferential to the Queen as possible, for she knew that it was what Lothíriel expected of her, but occasionally, no matter how hard she tried, she managed to speak out of turn.

[ 01-03-2006, 09:13 AM: Message edited by: The Swordmaster ]

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Nelyafinwë
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 5247

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Lothíriel cocked an eyebrow, unsure of what to make of her statement. More traditional? She stole a quick glance at her gown, and saw nothing "untraditional" about it!

"Is there something wrong with what I have on?" she snapped, a bit more sharply than she would have liked. She instantly regretted it, but it would not do for her to take it back. She knew what the girl meant - her gown was very much in the style of Dol Amroth, a very different style to the somewhat rustic gowns that ladies wore in Rohan.

She closely studied the girl's expression as she spoke of Éomer, and felt tension stretch her young face. Her servant's eyes were bright; excited. Perhaps there was something more, even...Lothíriel banished that thought from her mind. She would not accuse this girl of that. Éomer was a hero in Rohan, it was normal for one to think of their king in such a way.

She only wished she could.

He was her husband, and she gave him the respect and submission that required. He was good to her, took care of her, met her needs. But she did not love him. Perhaps...perhaps when the child came, things would change?

She broke her reverie and looked back at the girl, watching her eyes as she made the next statement.

"Éomer and I are hoping for a boy. I do hope my child looks like him."

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
The Swordmaster
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Arylia stared abashed and silent at her feet when the Queen snapped at her, it had of course been completely disrespectful for her to speak to her Queen in such a manner.

She kept her eyes downcast even as Lothíriel stared down at her. She knew that she had to learn to control her emotions. She had been given her position at the King's request, although she knew that he did not know her personally, in fact she doubted that he even knew her name, but her father had been one of his soldiers in the battle before the walls of Minas Tirith, and had died to protect his future king. Payment for his loyalty had been made to her, in the form of a position that she could not have dreamt of before. She would not dishonour her father's memory by being dismissed for a lack of respect for those above her.

Still abashed by her forwardness, she carefully kept her expression neutral when the Queen spoke of thier hopes for a male child.

"Of course, My Lady. It is right that King Éomer should wish for a son and heir," she said carefully, lifting her chin to look Lothíriel in the eye. She allowed herself a small smile, and attempted to make amends for her earlier mistake. "Though were you to have a daughter, should she look as fair as you, My Lady, she would be blessed indeed."

And that was true enough, for next to Arylia's plainness, the Queen was truly beautiful, and Arylia saw many of the soldiers admire her as she passed them, with her stiff posture, and haughty gaze.

[ 01-03-2006, 04:22 PM: Message edited by: The Swordmaster ]

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Nelyafinwë
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 5247

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Lothíriel smiled politely at the compliment. It was kind of the girl, indeed, but she tired of praise on her physical appearance quite quickly.

Yes, she knew she was beautiful, and rather exotic for Rohan. Her hair was black and shiny, falling in thick waves past her shoulders, in contrast to the yellow-blonde that was so prevalent in Rohan. She was taller, and more slender than the average Rohirrim, who tended to be bulkier and shorter. Her skin was very pale; she had not been exposed much to the sun, and lacked the callouses on her fingers and hands that many of the women here had. She was softer, more refined, and it was something of which she was proud.

But there was more to her than that.

Not that anyone here was interested in what she had read, or the music she had studied. The culture of Gondor was considered a bit haughty and effete here in Rohan.

"Well, then," she said softly, standing and smoothing out her dress. "I supposed we had better get started if we are to finish?"

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
The Swordmaster
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Arylia nodded quickly, and as the Queen rose from her seat, she followed her from the room, as always keeping a respectful distance behind, but the distance grew fractionally larger, as a young soldier Arylia knew smiled at her from across the hall.

She knew him only through his mount, a soft, quiet bay mare, who none the less always rose to the challenge on the battlefield, and who always welcomed the small treat of carrots that Arylia often took with her to the stables. He often met Arylia there, feeding his horse, and whilst they had yet to exchange more than a greeting, he was always quick to smile in her direction if he ever saw her in the hall.

She paused slightly, and smiled back, but even as she did a heavy weight settled in her stomach. He had not the power, strength and physical appearance of King Éomer, although he was a distant relation, and she despised in herself the fact that she saw no other man in the same light as she saw King Éomer, a man she could never have.

Turning away sadly she hurried after Lothíriel, picking up her skirts to move more quickly, and she almost walked into the Queen when she stopped before the door to thier work room. The door was open, as were the shutters opposite, but they shed little light upon the tapestry, for thick, heavy rain clouds had gathered, and a light drizzle was growing steadily heavier.

They stepped into the room and Arylia began shifting through the many spools of thread that sat by one wall, selecting those of the correct colour and thickness for the final touches.

[ 01-03-2006, 06:25 PM: Message edited by: The Swordmaster ]

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Nelyafinwë
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 5247

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Lothíriel went to the window, looking down over Edoras and the people who scampered back and forth below.

Horses, horses, everywhere.

A bit angrily, she slammed the windows. How cruel that she would be stuck here, in the middle of nowhere, with no culture and only the endemic smell of horse to get her through the night! She was but eighteen years old, and the thought of spending the rest of her years here was bleak.

She looked over at her maid and the weaving she was setting them up to work on.

"I don't think I want to do this now, Arylia."

She didn't want to work on a tapestry of the man who had raised her hopes so high, and then dropped them to shatter like glass on the stone floor of the Golden Hall.

"Éomer can wait for his tapestry. I think he gets honored plenty enough as it is."

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
The Swordmaster
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Citizen # 1302

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Arylia sent her spools of thread skittering across the floor in surprise at the Queen's words. There was a note of anger in Lothíriel's voice.

Éomer can wait for his tapestry. I think he gets honored plenty enough as it is What did that mean? Arylia frowned ever so slightly, but nodded.

"Of course, My Lady," she moved quickly to collect up the threads again. "If you do not wish to weave today." she paused and glanced around. "What do you wish to do? Perhaps a walk...the rain is not so heavy..." she thought of the rain on the streets of Edoras, which surely would only worsen the already strong aroma of horse, for even she was willing to admit that wet horse was not a pleasant smell, and one which Arylia knew the Queen to despise. "Perhaps not..." she cast her mind about desperately, "Your dress, My Lady, would you like me to take the measurements now?"

[ 01-03-2006, 06:27 PM: Message edited by: The Swordmaster ]

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Roll of Honor Éomer
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Citizen # 2824

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"I hate this accursed country," Berethorn spat through cold, shivering lips. He sat huddled atop his horse, with a long and heavy cloak wrapped about his person to shield it from the cold and wet rain, but still it managed to sink through. He thought back to Minas Tirith, which even in the worst weather always seemed beautiful and comfortable, so very different from the plains of Rohan. Everywhere he looked there was naught but thick, rain-soaked grass, and what passed for a road was now a pathetic stretch of mud thanks to the downpour. If King Elessar had intended for this mission to be a punishment, it was certainly succeeding.

The young Gondorian wrapped his arms closer around himself, though he was forced to keep them somewhat separate in order to maintain his hold on the reins, and let out a slow, aggravated sigh. He watched his breath mist in the cool morning air, and he shook his head angrily, scattering raindrops all around. Then he cast his verdant eyes ahead, and for the first time since before he crossed the Mering Stream he smiled. Ahead lay Edoras, home of Éomer, the King of Rohan, and apparently the only place in the country besides Aldburg that could pass for a city.

Eager to get out of this miserable weather, Berethorn kicked his heels into his mount's sides, urging it to go faster. "Come along, Vórimon," he called over his shoulder, glancing back at his companion and old friend. "We're nearly there. I'd like to get out of this rain and have a warm bath and a hot meal as quickly as possible." It was probably presumptuous of him to assume that he'd be accommodated here, but he knew King Éomer to be kind and hospitable, and doubted that he would refuse hospitality to a lord of Gondor.

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Nelyafinwë
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 5247

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Lothíriel sighed.

"I think we can do that later, Arylia. I'm not feeling so well just now. I'll call for you if I need you."

With that, she left the room and returned to her chambers, throwing herself down on her bed. She had not heard from her father in a week. There was a time a week did not seem like long, but now, in this place, every second seemed endless, and she wished for news from Gondor as if it was the very air that kept her alive.

She buried her face in her pillow and cried deeply, as she did almost every day, her heart breaking from the loneliness of this horrible place.

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
The Swordmaster
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Arylia sighed as the Queen left her, and before doing anything else, she flung back open the shutters at the window. She sat down to sort through the scattered, and now unravelling spools of thread, listening with a fond smile to the splashing of people as they past the window, and the chinking of chain mail and tack as a patrol came back into the city.

Her smile faded slightly though, as she thought of her Queen, and the sadness that never seemed to leave her face. She liked her new Queen, although perhaps they did not always see eye to eye, and she had been brought up a loyal citizen of Rohan, to love and respect her rulers, and so it saddened her to see the Queen so unhappy. She tried her hardest to encourge Lothíriel in the traditional Rohirrim pursuits, in the hope that she might befriend some of the other Ladies of the court, but nothing seemed to work, she seemed to only anger, or upset the Queen further.

As she placed the last of the spools carefully back in the box she let out a low sigh, and left the work room, walking slowly through the corridors back towards the Great Hall. Perhaps she would return to the stables, for if a patrol had just returned, they would welcome another hand to feed and groom the horses, even if it was not one of her duties. Her duty was of course to do as the Queen bid her, and no more or less, but Arylia knew that boredom would soon set in if she simply sat around waiting for the Queen to instruct her in a task.

She paused when she reached the hall, perhaps one or two of the soldiers were in the mood for telling a story or two.

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Roll of Honor Mahanaxar
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Rain matted down Éomer's sandy blond hair as his horse rode back towards Edoras. It was but an hour past dawn and he was leading the first patrol of the day just as he did every day. It was a task more fit for a soldier than a king, yet Éomer was both. He is the first in the third line of Rohan's kings, a title he accepted proudly... yet reluctantly. Théoden was like a father to him and in his passing passed a burden that weighed heavy down on Éomer's shoulders. So many depended on him and so much was expected of him and he was determined to rise to the greatest challenge he had ever face despite any feelings of inadequacy, that was just his way. He longed, however, for simpler days. That is why Éomer, king of Rohan, rode at the front of the morning's first patrol. It was an escape and one that none of his horsemen dared question. He had little time to himself or to spend with his wife.

Éomer was convinced that Lothíriel was the most beautiful woman in all of Middle Earth. He could recal the first moment he saw her as if it were yesterday. It was at Aragorn's Corronation ceremony in the white city. Many had come from all over to attend including Lothíriel, princess of Dol Amroth. Her sweet smile was a saving grace in his time or mourning for his deceased uncle. He had never been happier than when they were wed in the Golden Hall, yet that happiness seems to have waned. It was not that his love for her was in decline, but there seemed to be a distance between them that only increased in size with every day. He did everything he thought he could to please her yet she seemed so... complacent. It was rare, even, to see her smile. He held desperately onto the hope that perhaps the child she carried would bring them closer together.

He let out a sigh as he led his company into the stables. He handed his faithful mare to one of the hands and forced a smile to the young man that beamed back at him. Éomer never really was comfortable with all of the attention he recieved. Doing his best to avoid as many people as possible, he removed his drenched armor and took off his muddy boots. After a moment's hesitation, he walked slowly into the great hall.

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Nelyafinwë
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 5247

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Lothíriel heard the bugle call welcoming Éomer back to Meduseld and forced herself from the bed. He would be looking for her, and she did not want him to see her like this; her hair messy and her eyes red from tears.

She stood and washed her face, brushing her hair and applying a bit of powder to her tear streaked cheeks.

Then she made her way down to the Great Hall, smiling as sincerely as she could as she saw her husband. For a moment, her heart leapt as she remembered what she felt when she first met him in Minas Tirith. He was so incredibly handsome, so manly...

She blushed slightly and lowered her eyes, curtseying deeply.

"My lord."

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The Swordmaster
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Éomer had reached the hall. Arylia sunk back into the shadows of the hall as the King stepped through the doors, her eyes flicking only briefly to Lothíriel as she entered the hall and curtsied, before moving back to Éomer, so proud, and noble, and stong.

She let out a soft sigh, guilt bubbling up inside her, but she pushed it down. It was only right that she admire, and respect her King, or so she told herself each and every day.

She contemplated for a moment taking her place by her Queen's side, but she disgarded the thought, and remained instead with her back against the wall of the hall, watching jealously the scene before her.

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Roll of Honor Mahanaxar
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It was moments like these that set her apart from all other ladies in the Riddermark. She had a grace about her that seemed out of place, yet refreshing. Éomer took her right hand and raised it to his lips in a light kiss. "Good morning, my sweet," he greeted her with a smile. "I would come closer but I feel this unyielding rain has rendered me damp still."
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Nelyafinwë
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"You shall catch your death, my lord," she said, with a bit of worry in her voice. "Arylia, fetch me a pint of ale at once, and see that the King's servant is ready with a fresh set of clothing."

"I do wish you would look after yourself more, my lord," she said softly, placing her tiny hands in his, and finally looking up at him, making eye contact.

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Roll of Honor Mahanaxar
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Éomer laughed a little and replied, "I appreciate your concern, but it's just a rainstorm. I've seen much worse; these clouds will pass as they always do." He mentally kicked himself for how arrogant he sounded, especially for as much as he hated the misplaced glorification. Perhaps a part of him still found it necessary to try and impress Lothíriel even if with meager boasts.

Before anyone in the room could ask him for some retelling of what worse things he had seen he sat down with the mug of ale that the girl brought him, took a quick sip, and said softly, "You needn't call me that, you know: 'my lord'. You are my wife, not my servant." Éomer smilied before taking another drink. "How has your morning been?"

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Nelyafinwë
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Lothíriel forced an uncomfortable smile at Éomer's question, and decided to smooth over the question with a sidestep.

"I am very well, thank you."

She sat down across from him at the table, hands folded neatly in her lap.

"I have had no word from my father for some time. I don't suppose you have heard anything?"

Her eyes glinted with hope and expectation as she looked at him, knowing as she did how unlikely it was that he had heard anything from Gondor while on patrol. She felt a bit guilty as she asked him, knowing that he could see in her eyes her desperate desire to receieve any news at all from her home; fearing that he would take it as her being desperately lonely here. Which was, in fact, the truth. But it would not do for him to know the extent of her misery. He had always been good to her.

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The Swordmaster
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Having brought the ale to Lothíriel, Arylia retreated once more, and set off in search of the King's man servant. She found him at last in the King's chambers.

"Gethwyn," she said greeting him with a smile. "King Éomer has returned from patrol, have you clean clothes prepared for him?"

Gethwyn, a small man in his third decade, smiled across the room at her. "Are you sure that you do not wish to prepare the King's change of clothes." There was a hint of mocking in his smile.

Arylia made a face at him and shook her head, accepting with good grace his good humoured teasing. "He's in the hall, taking a drink with the Queen, I'll let you do your duty, I've done mine now by telling you."

"Right you are," Gethwyn said with a smile. "Off you go back to your Lady now."

Arylia nodded and hurried back out of the chambers, and back towards the hall.

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Roll of Honor Mahanaxar
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A look of longing filled Lothíriel's beautiful dark eyes: the same look that followed any mention of her former home, Gondor, either by her or someone else. Éomer had taken notice of it many times before and each time it made him question if he was doing enough to help her adjust to life in Rohan. It was her home now after all, but he supposed it was natural to miss the land of your birth. Éomer knew he'd certainly feel the same way if he was to live out of sight of the rolling hills of the Riddermark. He felt a bit of this with every visit to the grand, yet overly crowded, streets of Minas Tirith.

Éomer smiled as he thought back to the letter he recieved weeks ago. He had wanted to wait until the last minute to reveal the upcoming events, but perhaps it would do good to give his wife something to look forward to over the next few days.

"I may have heard something of interet," Éomer said, barely able to contain his grin, "but first I desire to rid myself of these wet garments." He took another quick drink before standing and saying, "I shall return shortly."

Éomer left the great hall and headed down the hallway to his chamber, beside himself with anticipation as to how Lothíriel would react to the news. He was so distracted, in fact, that he nearly ran over a young woman walking in his direction.

"Oh, how clumsy of me," he offered as he searched his mind for a name. "...Arylia, is it?"

From: pants | Registered: Jan 2002  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
The Swordmaster
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 1302

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Arylia looked up in shock as she stumbled and then regained her balance.

"My apologies Your Majesty,"she said softly, casting her gaze quickly downwards. "It was my fault!"

She stared with apparent great interest at Éomer's mud encrusted boots.

"Gethwyn has prepared some clothes for you, King Êomer," she said finally.

From: Paphos, Cyprus!!! | Registered: Dec 2001  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
Roll of Honor Mahanaxar
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 1540

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Always with the appologies. Is a king so incapable of making mistakes that his subjects refuse to acknowledge as little a thing as a misstep into someone? His victim seemed determined to stare the mud off his shoes. She seemed like a sweet girl, but despite being his wife's attendant he knew little of her other than her father who was a noble rider slain in the war. She never did seem to like making eye contact with him. Éomer simply shrugged, smiled, and said, "Very good, thank you," before heading off to his room.

Éomer quickly changed his clothes and did his best to dry and straighten his matted, wet hair. With great care, he stooped down to the floor and removed a small wooden box from beneath the bed he and Lothíriel shared. Upon opening it he removed a single piece of gently folded paper. Putting the box back into place, he rose and made his way back towards the great hall. There Lothíriel sat, just as he left her. Éomer walked over to where she sat as all eyes focused on him as was per usual.

"I had wanted to surprise you," he said, "but it seems we could all use a bit of excitement given the bleak weather." With that he slid across the table to Lothíriel the folded paper which read:

'Aragorn Elessar, King of Gondor and Arnor, to Éomer, King of Rohan, greetings.

I hope you are well, my brother. Elrohir and Elladan told me about your expected heir - that is good news! I hope your lovely wife is well, too. That is not a given, you know ...

I have a request for you. Elrohir and Elladan brought me an old friend, an Elf called Barufiniel. She is close kin to Elrond, and related to both Celeborn and Galadriel as well. She has lived in Rivendell for several centuries, and I have always known her - only for years I haven't seen her often. She and Arwen would be second cousins once removed, I believe they said the other day. You can easily see that they are close kin. She's staying with us now, and will stay here until Elrohir and Elladan go back.

And then comes my request. Three hundred years ago her parents lived in Rohan for a while, and she herself passed briefly through the country. Now she would very much like to see the country again and to get to know it better. Would you take her as your guest? It would be more than a brief visit, but she might like to visit some of the ordinary people as well, when she has learned some of the language.

It might even be a small diversion for your wife. Barufiniel has studied old Elven lore at Rivendell a lot, and I think she will want more time in our libraries as well, on a later occasion. She speaks both Westron and Sindarin, and Quenya too, if she can find some other Quenya speaker. Her grandmother was of the Nandor, so she has a very good voice and loves to sing.

Please let me know as soon as possible whether it is convenient for you to have her stay or not. Elrohir and Elladan want to go home soon, but they will wait here until they know whether they may escort Barufiniel to Rohan on their way back. I wouldn't like to let her travel on her own after they have gone home.

With brotherly affection,
Aragorn
'

Éomer smiled broadly as he said, "Perparations have long since been underway and she is to arrive within three days. We will greet her by way of a banquet at the week's end."

From: pants | Registered: Jan 2002  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
Nelyafinwë
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 5247

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Lothíriel nearly jumped to her feet in excitement at the contents of the letter.

"Oh! We have but three days to prepare for her arrival? I do hope you have sent hunters out to find the best beasts for the feast, and I will have to have Arylia finish my new gown post-haste!"

Her face was alight in excitment, the extent of which embarassed her a bit. She did not even know this strange Elf - they had never met - but it was a welcome distraction, and she was certain to be someone with whom she could discuss the finer aspects of life - perhaps even someone with whom she could discuss the latest news from Gondor! After all, it was reputed that her family had some of the Eldar in them, perhaps this Elf would even see her as Kin.

She smiled and leaned over to kiss Éomer's cheek tenderly.

"Oh, thank you, my lord," she cooed with sincerity before rising, placing a hand on her growing belly as she did. Her eyes had lit again, and the passion and excitement that had dimmed during her time in Rohan had again ignited. Deep inside she felt a pang of guilt at the fact she became so animated whenever Gondor was mentioned. Surely Éomer had noticed that she never became this excited over anything concerning Rohan...

She smiled at him again, this time a bit more restrained.

"Thank you."

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
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