Yours to Command

The Slayer of the Witch King

At that moment the first sentries posted around the camp of the Rohirrim hailed them, sharp and alert even in peacetime. However, they recognized Elphir, welcomed them courteously and guided them further into the camp, to where their king's tent was situated.

He was already waiting for them and greeted them warmly. Lothíriel's slight nervousness vanished when she heard the genuine pleasure in his voice at the sight of them and she smiled down at him when he offered to help her dismount.

"If you would be so kind, my Lord King," she answered, expecting him to give her a hand so she could slide off the horse's back.

Instead, he took hold of her round the waist and simply swung her down in one smooth motion. For a heartbeat she was completely helpless in his powerful grasp, but to her own surprise found the sensation not unpleasant. Her pulse speeded up.

He set her down gently. "Thank you," Lothíriel stammered in confusion.

"My pleasure, my lady," he replied. "May I offer you my arm? My sister is very much looking forward to meeting you."

She nodded, still feeling unaccountably unsettled. He offered her his shield arm and she could feel the powerful muscles flexing under the thin fabric of his tunic. Fortunately, at that moment he was distracted. The rustle of a gown indicated a woman coming up on his other side.

"King Éomer," she exclaimed in a soft voice. Lady Wilwarin, Lothíriel recognized her straight away. "I hope you'll excuse the imposition, but indeed it is such a lovely day that I couldn't help begging a place accompanying my sister."

"You are always welcome here," the king assured her. Lady Wilwarin thanked him with a charming, silvery laugh. Her voice, golden and satiny, reminded Lothíriel of liquid honey.

Lothíriel had not forgotten Amrothos's words that the King of Rohan was thought likely to offer for the beautiful and accomplished Lady Wilwarin, but although she listened carefully, she could hear nothing more than polite admiration in his tone. If only I could see his face, she thought suddenly, and then told herself sternly that it was none of her business.

"Well, Éomer, are you going to take all day?" a new voice enquired to her left, making her jump.

King Éomer must have noticed her startled reaction, for he briefly put a reassuring hand on hers. "Princess Lothíriel," he said, "let me introduce you to my sister, Éowyn, who is as impatient as ever. Éowyn," he added, "you've met Lady Wilwarin, haven't you. She is joining us as well."

"Delighted," his sister replied in a tone devoid of all emotion.

"My pleasure," Lady Wilwarin said. If anything, her voice had gone even gentler. Was it Lothíriel's imagination or had the temperature just dropped considerably?

"If you'll come to the pavilion," Lady Éowyn said, "you can have a drink and something to eat and we can have a nice chat." To her brother she added, "Let me have your other arm, Éomer, and do hurry, your guests are waiting for you."

He laughed, but obeyed her meekly. On the way, King Éomer introduced Lothíriel to a couple of the lords and ladies present, but she could not exchange more than a polite greeting with them. In no time at all, she found herself seated in a small chair to one side of the open pavilion, with a couple of slices of bread and what a cautious nibble revealed to be a small selection of cheese on a plate.

"Do you like wine?" Lady Éowyn asked her and when Lothíriel nodded, she had a glass thrust in her hands. All around her, people were speaking Westron with that particular musical lilt common to the Rohirrim.

"At last," said the slayer of the Witch King, the chair creaking as she sat down. "You know, I've been dying to meet you."

Lothíriel felt rather startled by this announcement. "You have?"