Imrahil's Daughters

Chapter 13

A knock on the door of his study made Éomer look up from wrestling unsuccessfully with replying to some minor enquiry of Elfhelm's. It annoyed him that he should find it so difficult to concentrate. All because of that woman!

Hild, the elderly housekeeper of Meduseld, entered without waiting for his invitation. "The Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth to see you, Éomer King," she announced in sonorous tones. Then her voice turned solicitous. "Do come in, Child." She crossed to the fireplace where a fire burnt merrily – Éomer had actually wondered what he owed that to – and pulled a chair forward. "Sit down here."

Princess Lothíriel hesitated in the doorway and shot him a wary look before obeying the old woman's command. He blinked in surprise at seeing her wearing a traditional Rohirric dress, consisting of a gown with a close fitting bodice worn over a white blouse. Lavish embroidery covered the dark red fabric of the split skirt, which provided a glimpse of long legs clad in leggings. Surely the riding dress belonged to one of Hild's daughters, kept for special occasions?

The housekeeper pressed the princess down on the cushioned seat. "There. That will keep the chill away and allow your hair to dry completely." She spread out Princess Lothíriel's freshly washed hair to fall loosely down the back of the chair. "You poor thing, getting totally soaked."

Éomer gritted his teeth at the reproachful sniff accompanying that last statement. The princess had only herself to blame for getting caught in the rainstorm! "Thank you, Hild," he said, "you may leave."

But it was difficult to cow somebody who had caught you filching sweetmeats as a boy. Hild completely ignored him. "Godwulf," she called, "are you coming?"

His squire entered bearing a tray of pastries, two goblets and a pitcher, which he set down on a low stool by the princess's side.

"You must be starving," the housekeeper said. She poured her a drink and pressed the goblet into her hands. "This will revive you, though it might not be as good as what you brew yourself," she nattered on, "or at least old Beadu tells me so. The man might be a fool, but he knows his mead."

Mead! Éomer pushed back his chair and rose. "That's enough," he said. "I wish to speak to Princess Lothíriel alone now."

Hild rested her hands on her hips and switched to Rohirric. "Now don't you frighten the poor child–"

"She is no child," he snapped. Less than an hour under his roof and already she was suborning his staff!

The housekeeper rolled her eyes. "Men! She needs a meal and a rest after that horrible soaking, not you barking around."

"It's all her own fault," he pointed out. After all she could have been nice and dry in one of the guesthouses.

Not one to concede defeat easily, Hild opened her mouth to make a reply, but at that moment Princess Lothíriel cleared her throat and they both looked at her. "You've been most kind," she said to Hild. "But I will be fine with King Éomer."

"If you're sure...?"

"I am." Princess Lothíriel softened the dismissal with a smile. "Thank you so much."

"Very well, but try to rest." She faced Éomer. "You ought to show your lady the bonfire later on. And the horses, of course." The housekeeper bustled out, sweeping Godwulf along before her.

Show her the horses – and on midsummer day! He had to remind himself that the old woman had waited half her life for a lady to preside over the hall and children to once again fill the empty nursery. And now that her own daughters were grown and had their own households to run, she had nobody to mother anymore. Although even before the war, she had urged him more than once to find a wife – somebody to add a bit of clutter to your life, lad, she had told him once, clucking her tongue over his room, which was unnaturally neat in her opinion.