The Lion and his Lady

Joust - Chapter 2

Truce

In the evening, Éomer decided to visit the Dol Amroth encampment. Rumour had it that the ships that morning had brought foodstuff, musicians, jugglers and other entertainers, so it was only natural to want to go and see. It had nothing at all to do with a certain slim, dark eyed girl, he told himself.

Imrahil had set up camp near the Anduin on a meadow encircled by trees. Lanterns hung from their branches and there were tables of food and drink dotted about. One entire end of the meadow though was taken up by a newly erected stage, screened by curtains hung from trees either side. Just as they joined the crowd, the curtains were drawn back, revealing a forest scene with a woman in a long, flowing dress and a man kneeling at her feet. Another man stepped to the front of the stage and began to narrate the story of Beren and Lúthien.

Éomer had never seen anything like it and watched in fascination when the curtains were drawn closed, only to reveal the next scene at Thingol's court a little later. As the story continued, some of the changes in scenery needed more time, so to divert the audience, a succession of musicians, boys on stilts and tumblers displayed their skills in front of the stage.

Suddenly he spotted a movement that seemed familiar. Half a dozen girls wearing feathered masks and with colourful scarves sewn onto their sleeves had come forward to much cheering of the crowd. They probably would not have needed to do much at all to garner applause, but without a pause they launched into a complicated routine of walking on their hands, turning cartwheels and somersaults. The masks showed nothing of their faces except the eyes, but Éomer honed in on one of them at once: he recognised that extra flash of exuberant confidence the little figure radiated.

Exchanging a glance with Éothain, Éomer began to move forward through the crowd towards the stage. This time he would discover more about her and at least learn her name. Could it be the girl was just a dancer and acrobat? Yet he could have sworn her accent marked her for a noblewoman. One who had fallen on hard times? He frowned, remembering Amrothos putting his arm around her waist with far too much familiarity. Yet he would have sworn his friend was not the type of man to take advantage of a woman's hardship.

"Éomer, my friend," somebody hailed him that moment.

Looking round, he found Imrahil beaming at him. "Have you come to admire our tableaus?" the Prince of Dol Amroth asked him.

"Tableaus?" Éomer asked, momentarily distracted. After a last round of somersaults, the dancers were disappearing behind the stage and the curtains opened again. She was getting away!

Imrahil took his arm and motioned at the stage. "Look, the Halls of Mandos. Isn't it wonderfully done? So lifelike! My wife organises it all," he continued, before Éomer could even think of a reply. "She believes in educating people in our history and culture."

Éomer had to admit the home of the Judge of the Dead looked suitably dark and gloomy. "Very lifelike," he agreed dryly.

Imrahil looked pleased at his praise. "Yes, Aglarel puts a lot of effort into it. Every year we do a different story and they tour Belfalas."

"They do?" Éomer tried to inch away, but his friend would not let such a sympathetic audience escape.

While Imrahil explained in great detail how the scenes were changed over, Éomer discreetly craned his neck, but to his disappointment the troupe of dancers did not come on again. Very soon Lúthien and Beren reached Ossiriand and the curtains came down on the final tableau.

"My friend, you have to meet my wife and young daughter," Imrahil said, drawing him towards the stage. "They only arrived this morning."

"I really don't want to intrude on your family reunion," Éomer protested. By the time he would be able to excuse himself, the girl might be gone! Out of the corner of his eye he encountered a sardonic look from Éothain, who no doubt guessed his thoughts.