Smoke & Mirrors

Chapter 7

Arriving in Edoras, they dismounted in the square below the steps leading up to the hall just as the first torches were being lit. He stepped round to lift Lothíriel from her horse, enjoying the brief contact. At least he did not have to fear that she would bar her door to him, no matter how much he had put his foot in, he thought. Even if he still didn't understand what he had said to spoil the mood.

"My apologies if I have offended you," he whispered in her ear.

She sighed. "You haven't, Éomer. It's entirely my own fault, I'm sorry." As if to prove that she had forgiven him, she linked her arm with his.

Above them, the doors to Meduseld swung open as somebody stepped outside. Lothíriel looked up and stiffened. The next moment she gathered her skirts and rushed up the stairs. "Amrothos!"

Her brother laughed as she flew into his arms and swung her round. "Little sister!"

"It is you! I can hardly believe it." She hugged him.

A sharp stab of some undefined emotion ran through Éomer at the realisation that he had never been greeted so enthusiastically by his wife. Her whole face had lit up, her eyes sparkling. Was this the woman who lived behind all the fences and bulwarks she had thrown up? He pushed aside this uncomfortable thought; theirs was a marriage of convenience and it would be silly to be jealous of the sisterly affection shown to her brother.

Then something else occurred to him: what had brought Amrothos here? Lothíriel was so pleased to see him, she did not seem to realise that he might be carrying bad news.

He clasped Amrothos's arm. "Is all well with your father?"

"Yes, thank you," Amrothos replied. "Never better."

"When did you arrive?" Lothíriel interrupted them.

"This afternoon. I was told you were inspecting your horses, so I decided to wait here." He grinned. "You're turning into a proper little Queen of the Rohirrim, aren't you?"

"You're just envious because I have more and better horses than you now," she shot back.

Amrothos laughed. "Too true!"

"So to what do we owe your visit?" Éomer asked.

Amrothos shrugged. "This and that. Minas Tirith got a bit boring, so I thought I might come and see you." He nodded at his sister. "By the way, I've brought your kahva."

"What?"

He bowed extravagantly. "Word reached us that you were in dire straits and had nearly run out of the only thing that makes you remotely human in the mornings, so of course I threw myself into the breach." He grinned at Éomer. "Remember, you owe me a favour now."

Lothíriel put her hands on her hips. "Now why does such devotion not sound like my brother at all?"

"You have no faith in me!"

"Faith has nothing to do with it," she replied at once. "This is the voice of experience speaking."

"Oh, how you wound me!" Amrothos exclaimed, putting a hand to his heart.

Not impressed, she only lifted an eyebrow in answer. Éomer watched with bemusement as his wife revealed yet another side to her. Her friendly verbal sparring with her brother made him realise how controlled she always was with him.

But Wulfrith was hovering in the door to Meduseld and his stomach reminded him that their frugal midday meal of cheese and bread had been a long time ago.

"Let's talk about it after dinner," he suggested.

The meal was spent discussing innocuous topics, with Lothíriel enquiring after various acquaintances in Gondor and Amrothos regaling them with anecdotes about sailing and fighting corsairs. He managed to make even getting dismasted in a storm while being chased by three black dromonds sound like a lark. Perhaps Lothíriel was not the only one of Imrahil's family to have perfected showing a smooth facade to the world?