Black Eyes

Suspension of hostilities

He who can modify his tactics in relation to his opponent and thereby succeed in winning, may be called an exceptional captain. For it is precisely when a force has fallen into harm's way that it is capable of striking a blow for victory.

(Thorongil: The Way of Strategy)

***

Lothiriel woke up early the next morning after a night not restful at all. She had retired soon after returning to the Great Hall with King Éomer, her headache not entirely feigned, but sleep had been a long time coming and had been troubled by confused dreams.

With a groan she rolled over and buried her head underneath her pillow. She didn't really want to face a new day. Her brilliant plan, so well thought out and almost foolproof, looked a lot less convincing now that it had been put to the test. She still didn't know what had possessed her to utter those last fateful words to the King of Rohan. What sort of woman he now imagined her to be she did not even want to consider and she shuddered at the thought of what her father would have to say if he ever found out about her appalling behaviour.

In fact it might be wise to consider a tactical retreat and make herself scarce this morning, just in case King Éomer did talk to her father. She sat up and cast a look out her window. The first pale fingers of dawn were only just stretching across the sky and if she made haste she could have her mare saddled and be on her way before the stables truly woke up.

A few minutes later she had dressed in one of her simple riding habits consisting of a pair of soft leather trousers and an unadorned linen tunic, had braided up her hair and slipped out of her rooms, a sleepy but faithful dog at her heels. To her surprise when she reached the stables she nearly ran into old Hathol, the head groom, who was just latching the door behind him. They both jumped.

"My lady!" he exclaimed, "you're up early."

"You are up early yourself," she replied, "is something the matter?"

He slowly shook his head, "Everything's fine. Just one of the guests going for a ride."

Lothiriel had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Which one?" she asked, trying for a nonchalant tone and not succeeding.

"The King of Rohan himself," Hathol replied, speculation filling his eyes. Lothiriel had no doubt that by now rumours would be flying thick as to the real reason for King Éomer's visit to Dol Amroth.

"Which way did he go?" she asked.

"Down to the beach I believe," the groom answered and Lothiriel hesitated, unsure what to do. Éomer was truly the last person she wanted to run into, on the other hand she felt like she very much needed a bit of solitude to order her thoughts.

"Lady Lothiriel?" Hathol asked questioningly and she made up her mind.

"Saddle Snowflake for me, please," she ordered him.

There were many paths along the shore and if she took one of the lesser-travelled ones along the cliff top it would be highly unlikely that she would meet him. No doubt he wanted to have a look at the sea close hand, almost all their visitors did.

Her mare already had her head turned their way when they entered the stables and gave a pleased whicker in welcome. Lothiriel stroked her soft white coat and felt comforted by the familiar smells of horse and hay.

"King Éomer had a look at her this morning, he was pleased with her condition," Hathol said proudly, smoothing out the saddlecloth.

Lothiriel froze. "He did?"