Flotsam (Chapter 2 of 2)

He had been abducted by a madwoman! “Now listen,” Éomer said. “That’s enough.” He half got up to take the tiller from her.

That moment she did something with the sail that made the boat buck. Alarmed, he had to grab the mast to keep from pitching over the side.

“Want to take over the steering?” the girl asked in a sweet voice. “In that case you’d better watch those sandbanks, they’re tricky. And there’s a nasty current sweeping you in towards the cliffs.”

Éomer hesitated. In truth he had no idea how to handle a sailing boat. Choppy and streaked with brown, the sea no longer resembled a smooth mirror, but on the contrary looked decidedly uninviting.

He sat back down and crossed his arms on his chest. “Fine,” he drawled. “Show me what you can do, shark-girl.” Never let it be said that he would not accept a challenge.

She lifted her chin in answer, but was too busy dealing with the sail and adjusting the tiller to reply, scrambling from one side to the other. Twice more he had to duck out of the way of the piece of wood at the bottom of the sail. The girl was truly lethal with that thing.

The moment they passed the mouth of the bay, the sea changed. A long swell lifted them up; above them the sail flapped, then filled when she adjusted the angle.

As the boat shot forward, a wave of spray doused him, sending cold water down his back.

“Sorry,” she said without contrition.

Éomer shook saltwater from his hair. How had the girl reached the age of what – twenty? – without being strangled? The pink scarf clung like a clammy shroud to his buttocks.

But as the sea opened up before them, the boat settled down into a steady rhythm, taking the waves like a spirited horse jumping over a fence. The water rushed along the hull in a smooth curve and behind them a white wake formed on the deep blue of the sea.

He squinted his eyes against the sun sparkling on the waves. Ahead of them lay a chain of small islands, the sails of the fishing boats scattered amongst them. Gulls shot by with hoarse cries, diving past the bow and racing them across the waves. Taking a deep breath of the bracing air, he laughed. It was exhilarating.

Looking back at the girl, who was perched on the side rail, he found his joy echoed in her face. She gave him a sudden grin. “Want to go even faster?”

“Always.”

“Then sit on the high side too.” She pointed to the left. “It helps stiffen the boat. But make sure to hold on tight.”

When he did as told, she released a rope, slowly letting out more sail. The boat began to cant, at the same time picking up even more speed.

He saw what she meant. Their weight help to counterbalance the wind in the sails. Leaning out further, he whooped out loud at the way they flew along. This was glorious!

Too soon they drew near the islands, and she eased off, until they coasted along under a light breeze.

“So what do you say, horse-lord?” she asked.

He settled back in his place in the bottom of the boat. “I would not mind doing that again, shark-girl. It’s as exciting as a horse race.”

She chuckled. “I suppose that is high praise, coming from one of the Rohirrim.”

All the bad mood blown away by the wind, they grinned at each other.

She got out a basket stored under her seat. “Are you hungry? I’ve got some food along, nothing special, but–”

“I’m starving,” he interrupted her.

The basket held a loaf of bread, a couple of ham sausages, a jar of olives preserved in oil and small parcels of crumbly goat cheese wrapped in wine leaves.

“It’s what the guards get for their midday meal, so I took one when Cook wasn’t looking,” the girl explained. “She’s always telling me I’m too thin and should eat more, so she won’t mind.”

Éomer said nothing, but he didn’t agree with the cook’s assessment, for he couldn’t help noticing enticing curves underneath her oversized clothes. She was quite a small thing, but held herself with absolute assurance; the presence of a strange man did not seem to faze her at all. But then, he thought ruefully, she could brain him anytime she wanted to with a shift of the sail.

Further rummaging around also produced a wineskin. She held it up triumphantly. “Now we won’t die of thirst either. It’s a good thing I remembered. But ever since my brothers and I got marooned on an island for a night when we were children, I made it a rule not to set out without emergency rations.”

They took turns sipping from it. Éomer was surprised at the quality of the wine. “I salute you for your foresight,” he said, earning him another grin.

His stomach rumbling, he began to make inroads into the food, breaking off chunks of bread. She dribbled olive oil on hers, he noticed, the way they spread butter on it at home. Combined with the salty goat cheese and washed down with red wine, it made a tasty meal.

Well, he would definitely be too late for breakfast with Imrahil and his family now, but he could not regret it, least of all missing out on making stilted conversation with his friend’s daughter.

With a sigh of contentment, he leant back against the mast. “Nothing like fresh air to give you an appetite.”

Her thoughts seemed to have run along similar lines. “This beats being cooped up inside, doesn’t it?” She was studying the distant shoreline dominated by the castle of Dol Amroth and gave a little shrug as if at some inner thought. “Yes, it’s worth it.”

Worth what? But he didn’t want to pry into her private concerns.

Even while they had eaten, she had adjusted sail and tiller occasionally, and now they were passing between two islands, overgrown with scraggly bushes. When he looked over the side of the boat, he could see the bottom of the sea below them, the water was so clear. Any desire to go for a swim had deserted him, however. He would stick to bathtubs from now on.

Braver than him, the girl trailed her fingers in the water. Her black hair had come undone from its strict bounds, and she brushed it back with a sigh. “I wish we could stay out all day.”

“What’s stopping us?” Éomer asked.

Surely he was owed some time off for once? With a slight pang of guilt he thought of Éothain, who might worry if he could not find his king. On the other hand it would serve his captain right, lately he had fussed over Éomer as if he was as helpless as a baby, unable to take care of himself, instead of the survivor of all major battles of the Ring War. Besides, Éomer could not remember the last time he’d had a day to himself.

“You’re right,” the girl agreed. “It won’t make any difference if we return now or later, so we might as well enjoy it.”

Éomer took a gulp of wine. “I like your attitude, shark-girl.”

She accepted the wineskin from him. “I like yours, horse-lord.”

***

The man reminded her a bit of her youngest brother, Lothíriel could not help thinking. Amrothos had the same gift of living in the moment. Perhaps it was because they were both warriors, never knowing what the next day would bring.

But the current day offered them brilliant sunshine, a sea with a gentle swell and enough of a breeze to let Carach prove what a gallant little racer she was. Even this unwelcome companion had turned out to be unexpectedly enjoyable company. It was a good thing she had appropriated that basket of food from the kitchen though. Lothíriel grinned to herself. He had an appetite like a hungry shark. Not surprising, really, with that large frame, but didn’t the King of Rohan feed his men properly?

They were passing out from the wind shadow of the island and Lothíriel adjusted the sails so they would run a course parallel to the shore. The rider was observing her movements with interest.

“Want to have a go?” she asked impulsively.

“I’d love to.”

 So she showed him how to handle the tiller, to watch out for the leech beginning to flutter and how to trim the sheet for the new tack after gybing. He was a fast learner and fearless – no surprise there, the man swam with sharks. Every time the boom whistled by he gave a chuckle, as if at a joke.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Oh, I can’t wait to take my friend Éothain sailing.”

Lothíriel felt a stab of alarm. “You’re not ready to go out on your own. Don’t even think about it.”

“I know. But maybe we can do this again. I’d enjoy that very much.” He looked down at her with a smile.

Suddenly she became aware of his hand against hers on the tiller, his face close enough to touch, the sheer mass of almost naked man next to her…

Intense blue eyes sharpened on her. “On second thought, maybe we’ll leave Éothain behind,” he murmured.

She pulled on the mainsheet at random. Carach bucked and in the ensuing scramble she managed to wedge the basket of food between them. That was better. For a moment there she had felt rather breathless.

Trying to assume the kind of steely poise that her aunt habitually displayed, she began to point out different nautical objects, from the forestay over halyards to beckets. Her distraction worked, with him repeating the terms meekly. Surely she had just let her imagination run away with her there?

They had followed the line of islands in a long arc, but now she took over the helm again to slip into the channel between two of them. This was as far as she intended to go, for the southernmost island sported a harbour and garrison, which guarded the approach to Dol Amroth. Her brother Amrothos commanded Revenge, the dromond stationed there, and would certainly recognise Carach and decide to investigate. She was not really supposed to take the boat this far out on her own.

“Where are we going?” the rider asked.

“Back to the landward side of the islands.” She cast a searching glance up at the sails. It was past midday, the breeze would probably soon die anyway. “I know a pleasant place where a small spring empties into the sea, let’s anchor there for a while. We could even catch some fish and build a fire. And if all else fails, there’s always cockles and crabs to forage for.” They would need to eke out their meagre provisions, the rider had made short work of her basket of food.

“Sounds like a good plan, shark-girl,” the man said, flashing her a grin.

At ease again, she grinned back. It suddenly struck her that she didn’t even know his name. She was just about to ask him when her eyes got caught by something ahead of them. Carach was nearing the exit of the channel and there…

Her mouth fell open.

***

“Kraken’s tits!” the girl breathed.

Éomer shot her a startled look. Had he heard aright? He slewed round to see what she was looking at. Out in the open sea, a galley was sweeping past with all its oars going, throwing up a white bow wave.

“What is it?” he asked. “Surely it can’t be corsairs this close to Dol Amroth?”

The girl threw him a harried look. “Worse.” She did something to the sails that made the boat come almost to a stop. “Try to look busy, drag the fishing net in the water or something. They might take us for simple fishermen.”

What could possibly be worse than corsairs? He cast around for a weapon to defend her with, but all they had was a small iron tool in the form of a spike. Grabbing that, he did as told and pretended to be busy with the fishing net, all the time keeping a close eye on the galley. Surely that was Imrahil’s swan ship banner? Of course it might be a clever ruse.

But it seemed they had evaded detection, for the galley continued on its way without paying them any attention. Slowly the girl relaxed.

“That was a close call,” she said. “Luckily they didn’t recognise Carach. I was sure Amrothos would spot us, but perhaps he was busy below deck with the rowers. What a telling-off I would have got from him.”

“From Amrothos? Why?”

She shrugged. “This is his boat. I’m not supposed to borrow her without asking. But how could I, when he was out on patrol? I suppose I could have had Erchirion’s, but it’s a slug, and Elphir does not consider sailing a proper pastime for a lady.”

Éomer stared at her, a horrible suspicion dawning on him. She spoke of Imrahil’s sons as if she knew them intimately. And though she was dressed very simply, there was her highborn accent and that unconscious assurance that not even a half-naked stranger could shake…

Looking at the galley, she frowned. “Hold the tiller.”

When he obeyed, she ran forward on bare feet, balancing on the rocking boat as if it were firm land. Distracted for a moment, Éomer could not help admiring her slim, graceful silhouette. Holding on to a rope, she studied the shore. Following her eyes, he caught a glimpse of something flashing in the sun.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s the signal mirror on top of the citadel. They’re calling in our warships.”

His worry returned. “Why would they do that? Is it corsairs after all?”

“Oh no, in that case we would go out to meet them in battle.”

Surefooted, she returned and shooed him out of the way. “I want to get a better view.”

Taking command of the boat, she piloted them through the narrow channel and out into the open. Rocked by gentle waves, they drifted along. The galley was halfway to the mainland by now, its oars beating a frantic pace. A smaller ship had come out to meet it and even as they watched, the galley changed course.

“What does Revenge want?” the girl muttered. “She seems to be heading for the bay.”

“That’s where we came from, isn’t it?” Éomer asked, his heart sinking.

“Yes, but what are they doing? There’s nothing there except Tol Draugaer and a few seals.”

That moment another galley nosed out of the harbour, followed by a flotilla of smaller ships. The girl caught her breath. “I don’t believe it, that’s Surprise. But she’s supposed to be victualling.”

The second galley too headed straight for the entrance to the bay. Éomer’s heart felt like a lump of lead. It was a miracle their boat didn’t sink under its weight.

There was one more thing in that bay: his clothes on a ledge by the beach.

***

The rider cleared his throat. “Perhaps we ought to go back.”

Absentmindedly, Lothíriel nodded. “I agree. However, it will take a while.”

“What do you mean? It was quick coming here.”

“We had the wind in our favour,” she explained. “Now we’ll have to go against it.” Though conditions might improve as the afternoon wore on and the land warmed up.

She was still watching the shore. What was going on? They had to be emptying the harbour, surely that was her father’s state barge with its blue canopy, while behind it came the old tug that was used for dredging the entrance. Was it even properly seaworthy? Revenge had started to row to and fro outside the bay, as if seeking something.

“I really think we should return.”

Something in the man’s voice finally caught her attention. He wore a pained expression, as if suffering from a stomach ache. Tall and powerfully built, he sat there, his rich blond mane fluttering in the wind. If it weren’t for the pink shawl with its silly bobbles…

Her stomach flipped. She had picked up this rider of Rohan in the very place her father’s men were frantically searching. “Who are you?” she whispered.

He bowed to her from the waist. “King Éomer, yours to command, my lady.”

She clutched the tiller, even her brother Amrothos’s favourite expressions failing her. “No. It can’t be.”

“I’m afraid it’s the truth.”

Incredulity was replaced by outrage. “Have you lost your mind? You went swimming near Tol Draugaer! What if you had drowned or the sharks had got you? You have no heir.”

He sighed. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” she snapped. “My father would have blamed himself for the rest of his life!” Her father… “He’ll forbid me to ever go sailing again,” she wailed. “Or worse, send me to Aunt Ivriniel.”

“Imrahil is your father?” he asked, though he did not sound surprised.

She gave him an ironic salute. “Yes, indeed. I’m Princess Lothíriel. Honoured to meet you, my lord king.”

They stared at each other, at a loss for words. What a disaster. And here she had begun to enjoy the day.

Lothíriel came to a decision. “You sit there,” she said, pointing at the waist of the boat. “Keep your head down and do not lean out.” She held out her hand for the marlinespike he was still clutching. “And give me that. You might hurt yourself.”

Obediently he handed it over. “Look, I never meant to get you into trouble.”

Making sure the boom did not get within a foot of her precious cargo, she adjusted the sails to catch as much of the breeze as possible. Slowly Carach began to respond. Not an ideal angle, but a couple of tacks might get them close enough to hail Revenge, which was still quartering the entrance to the bay.

“Won’t your father be grateful that you picked me up?” the rider – King Éomer – asked.

“He might have been, had we returned to the harbour at once,” she agreed. “But we didn’t.” Instead she had practically abducted the King of Rohan. If her father ever found out about that…

“We could say that we got swept out to sea.”

Lothíriel drew herself up straighter. “Certainly not. What kind of sailor would that make me?” She had her pride.

“Would it help if I sounded exceedingly grateful for my rescue? And suitably distressed, of course, though unfortunately I didn’t manage to lose a limb.”

When she shot him a quelling glance, she found him grinning at her. Reluctantly, she grinned back. “It’s easy for you to crack jokes. You don’t risk being sent to my aunt’s seminary for the education of Gondorian maidens.”

He gave a sage nod. “No, probably not.”

Involuntarily, the thought of him at Ivriniel’s school, learning deportment, made her choke on laughter.

“That’s better,” he said. “Anyway, what’s so bad about your aunt’s seminary?”

“They turn you into the perfect lady.”

He shuddered. “That would be a shame. If ever they send you there, let me know and ten thousand spears will be at your service.”

Was there getting no serious word out of him? Yet he looked quite sober. Surely he couldn’t mean that? She had picked up a madman!

They had to tack, and reluctantly she allowed him to sit on the side rail, to stiffen the boat.

“I won’t lean out far,” he promised. The corners of his eyes crinkled. “But I have to say it was more fun when you just thought me an obnoxious rider in need of a salutary lesson.”

“You’re still obnoxious,” she shot back.

“I know, all my best friends think so. Tell me, Lothíriel, if I dissuade your father from sending you to that dreadful school, can we go sailing again? You promised to show me how to forage for crabs, remember?”

“Perhaps.”

He gave her another of those extremely hard to resist grins. “Then leave the talking to me.”

It took them another tack to get within hailing distance of Revenge. This King Éomer did with the kind of voice that carried effortlessly across a battlefield. The result was instantaneous: the galley’s oars churned the water and she turned ponderously towards them.

Her throat dry, Lothíriel began to lower the sails. In another minute the galley was alongside them, the oars were shipped and a rope ladder lowered over the side. Two sailors with boat hooks ran down it and drew Carach in close.

King Éomer regarded the ladder, which dipped in and out of the water, with some misgivings. “Is that quite safe? Have you used one of these before?”

“Oh yes, but you have to watch your timing and be quick about it. I’ll show you how it’s done. Hold on there.” She pointed out the side ropes.

“You had better go up first.”

She was about to argue when she recalled his less than conventional attire. Perhaps he had a point. As if he could read her thoughts, he gave her a wink.

So on the next rise of the waves, she stepped over and then quickly climbed up. Once she reached the railing, the sailors waiting there helped her over.

“Kraken’s tits, Lothíriel, it is you!” To her surprise Amrothos caught her up in an embrace. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“Why yes, of course.”

From behind them came a Rohirric curse, then King Éomer heaved himself over the railing. He was soaked from the waist down. Lothíriel bit her lip. He would have to work on his timing a bit more.

Her brother’s mouth dropped open as he took in the King of Rohan from his bare chest to that extremely inadequate pink scarf, its bobbles swinging coyly in the breeze. Did he recognise it? When Amrothos sought her eyes, she could only give a helpless shrug.

However, this was the Lion of Rohan, a man who had faced down the hordes of Mordor. “Ah, Amrothos, my friend,” he said. “What a pleasure to meet you.”

***

“…and so your son and his men picked us up and delivered us safely to the harbour.”

Éomer leant back in his chair and took a sip of wine. What a wonderful thing clothes were, he thought, stretching out his legs in front of him. And even better when they were his own. He had never before quite appreciated how much dignity a simple pair of trousers leant.

Imrahil, who had invited him to his study for this little talk before dinner, had listened in silence to Éomer’s heavily edited version of events. Now he stirred in his chair. “What an unfortunate affair. I blame myself, for I should have warned you not to go swimming.”

“Not at all, it’s my fault entirely,” Éomer protested. “I’m so sorry for all the anxiety and bother I’ve caused you.” He had felt thoroughly guilty when being met by Éothain, grey with worry, upon their return to the harbour. His captain hadn’t even commented on the pink shawl.

Imrahil sighed. “It’s a shame Lothíriel did not bring you back straightaway.”

“Please don’t blame her. I convinced her to demonstrate the boat’s speed.” Never mind about his methods. “Lady Lothíriel had no idea who I was.”

“That doesn’t exactly make it any better.” Imrahil drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Of course you pick up anybody in distress, but it’s hardly fitting behaviour for a princess to take off for the day with a complete stranger.” He hesitated. “You must understand, she is unconventional and has been given a lot of freedom. Some people might get the wrong idea…”

“Not me,” Éomer said quickly. He decided to be frank. “I give you my word nothing improper happened.” His friend was underestimating his daughter, he could not help thinking. “Anybody who tried to take liberties with Lady Lothíriel would find himself swept overboard or brained by that boom thing pretty quickly, anyway.”

Imrahil blinked. Perhaps he wasn’t aware into what a deadly weapon his daughter had honed her sailing skills. Then suddenly the corners of his mouth twitched. “Do you know, I met my wife when she beat me in a boat race. She had dressed up as a boy and outsailed us all, with timing, cold nerve and sheer guts.” His smile faded. “Idril was so full of life, she lit up any room she entered.”

Like her daughter, Éomer thought. He very much meant to keep Lothíriel to her promise to take him sailing again. And not with Éothain along either.

“You won’t send Lothíriel to her aunt’s school, will you?” he asked in a carefully neutral tone.

“She told you about Ivriniel’s seminary?” Imrahil sounded amused again. “Certainly not. My sister keeps asking, but I think that Lothíriel would drive her into a nervous breakdown within a week. Or else simply run away.”

Éomer breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like he would not have to raise those ten thousand spears to rescue his rescuer after all.

A knock sounded on the door and Lothíriel entered. However, it took Éomer a moment to recognise her, for she was transformed. Gone was the girl dressed in disreputable looking trousers and with her hair in disarray. Instead he was faced with a princess in a flowing gown of ivory silk, her black tresses piled high on her head.

She swept them an elegant curtsy. “King Éomer, Father.”

This was the kind of woman he had expected to meet at the breakfast table. But then she shot him an impish grin, and he was reassured.

“Ah, Lothíriel,” Imrahil said. “Éomer here has just been telling me about your adventure and how grateful he is to you. We all are.”

She lowered her eyes demurely. “Not at all. It was a pleasure to introduce King Éomer to sailing.” She brushed back a strand of hair and cast him another look out of the corner of her eye.

Éomer’s glance sharpened on her. What he had taken for pearls were in fact small shark’s teeth woven into her hair! Seeing the realisation on his face, she cast him a smile brimful of mischief.

Imrahil cleared his throat. Guiltily Éomer turned towards his friend; he had forgotten about his presence. “Ah yes… sailing,” he said. “It was most instructive. The princess taught me how to raise the mainsheet halyards.” He hoped that was a thing, but the tiny choke from Lothíriel’s direction made him doubt if he had got it quite right.

“Indeed?” Imrahil took a long sip of wine. “Well, Lothíriel,” he said to his daughter. “It’s early for dinner yet. I was thinking that perhaps you would like to show our guest the gardens.”

“It would be an honour.”

Éomer jumped up and offered her his arm. “The honour is mine.”

Outside in the hallway, his guards awaited him. Like an anxious mother duck, Éothain seemed determined not to let his king out of his sight. They all beamed at Lothíriel, the princess having earned their eternal gratitude for singlehandedly preserving the line of Eorl.

But when they would have followed them, Éomer gave a shake of the head. “The princess is showing me the gardens. We’ll be fine.”

A spasm of agony crossed Éothain’s face, but then he bowed his head. His eyes alighting on Lothíriel, suddenly he looked a lot more cheerful. “Of course, my lord.”

***

As they walked down the hallway, Lothíriel shot King Éomer a look out the corner of her eye. She had never before quite appreciated how much of a difference a shirt and pair of trousers could make. Though he was dressed plainly, there was so much natural authority in his bearing, she marvelled that she had ever taken him for a common rider.

In fact, if it weren’t for the warm twinkle at the back of his eyes whenever he looked at her, she would have found him rather intimidating, a warrior and leader of men through and through. Of course it helped that she had a vivid picture of him in that scarf with its silly bobbles.

“Do you really want to see the gardens?” she asked impulsively. At this time of the day they would be crowded with courtiers taking the air and admiring the sunset.

He looked down at her. “Why, what do you propose?”

“It’s a surprise.”

King Éomer flashed her a smile. “In that case I put myself in your hands, my lady.”

She grinned and at the next intersection steered them towards the corridors and back staircases used by the housemaids and pages. The servants of Dol Amroth were well accustomed to seeing their princess in these nether regions, but the King of Rohan elicited many a surprised stare.

Cutting through the kitchen, noisy and already extremely busy in preparation for the banquet later that evening, she led him along back passages up to the ramparts and then to the foot of the tower overlooking the harbour. As she had thought, the men were just getting ready to light the fire at the top.

Recognising her, old Mahtan, the captain of the tower guard, smiled at her. “Ah, Lady Lothíriel, have you come to–” Spotting King Éomer, he abruptly drew himself to attention. “My lord?”

“Please, Mahtan, may we light the fire?” Lothíriel asked. “I wanted to show the King of Rohan the view.” She loved the vastness of the heavens and the solitude up there.

Mahtan handed over the torch. “My lady, you will be careful, won’t you. If anything happened to King Éomer…”

Lothíriel had to hide a grin. A man who went swimming near Tol Draugaer clearly could not be trusted to be sensible. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him.” After plucking him from the sea she did actually have a bit of a sense of ownership.

King Éomer said nothing, but as they ascended the winding stairs, he gave a deep sigh. “I’m afraid my reputation has suffered greatly. Éothain too is treating me as if I was a baby.”

Not fooled by his doleful tone, she chuckled. “Yes, it will take a while to live down.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever manage to do so. Clearly I need a responsible adult to look after me…”

Lothíriel cast a look over her shoulder. What did he mean by that? His face held nothing but a bland expression, but the staircase suddenly seemed very warm and close, making her feel breathless. Luckily another turn brought them out onto the platform at the top of the tower. King Éomer exclaimed in surprise as the sky opened up around them.

On a raised plinth the fire was laid out ready, sheltered by a slender stone canopy. A polished bronze mirror, used during the day for signalling, magnified the light, so it was visible from many leagues away. With King Éomer’s help, Lothíriel lit the fire, then stepped back.

Suddenly she felt shy. Dol Amroth was famous for its elegant gardens, but this was her favourite place in the castle. “So what do you think?”

He turned slowly to take in the view of the sea on one side and the land rising in gentle waves towards the Hills of Tarnost on the other. “It’s beautiful. In fact it reminds me of home.”

Seeing her puzzlement, he motioned at the sea. “On the grasslands you have the same vast expanse of space, as if you could take wing.”

Lothíriel beamed at him. It was exactly what she loved about the tower. His eyes warmed as looked down at her. “You would like it in the Mark,” he murmured.

Definitely feeling breathless now, she cast around for a distraction. Out in the bay, a ship caught her attention. “Look, that’s Revenge. Amrothos must be returning to his post on the islands.”

King Éomer listened politely as she pointed out the galley’s salient features and probable course. Perhaps she had only imagined that intense look in his eyes.

“So does that mean that we can borrow your brother’s boat again tomorrow?” he asked.

She hesitated. “He has forbidden me to take Carach out…”

The smile he gave her held a challenge. “Since when do you do as you’re told, shark-girl?”

Lothíriel decided that her imagination had not run away with her just now after all. And that she rather enjoyed feeling breathless.

She inclined her head. “Very well, horse-lord. I’ve heard there are interesting bits of flotsam to be found out there.”

A/N: Revenge is taken from real life: "Out-gunned, out-fought, and out-numbered fifty-three to one", whereas Surprise is borrowed from Patrick o’Brian.

A/N: as always many thanks to my beta Lady Bluejay and the Ladies at the Garden for their feedback. Also thank you to my reader actiasmaenas for the discussion on the geography of Dol Amroth, which sparked the idea for this little story.

This will probably be my last foray into fanfiction for a while, but if you want to read more of my writing, I’ve published another original story, Wind Weaver, which involves even more sailing than this one. You can find me on all major sites (Amazon, Apple, Kobo, Scribd, etc) under ‘Lia Patterson’.