Well, this was a spur of the moment kind of thing. I started writing this tidbit that popped inside my head just before going to bed and never stopped until daylight came. It is a good thing I work the night shift tomorrow. I have no idea where this is going, or if it is even going anywhere. Of course if you want me to continue, I could be given incentives to write more about this story. If you have any ideas about where this might lead, don't be shy and send them my way. I am always happy to read your reviews and to reply back.
Of course, I do not believe it needs to be said but for anyone in doubt, everything in this magical world belongs to the Master Tolkien. I just add superfluous and unnecessary details to a world and characters we all already love so deeply. Any names you do not recognize are my own. Are those characters mine? I believe so, even if Tolkien actually makes mention of them sometimes (like those unnamed wives). Yes, well. He just needed a baby incubator and I made them mine by giving them a name and personality.
I do hope you enjoy this. If not, well then it is for my own entertainment.
His brother in arms is now married to the elf maiden he has loved for decades; His sister will soon wed the captain of Gondor; And all Samwise Gamgee can speak of is his wish to ask for Rosie Cotton's hand. His uncle not even buried, he is advised to search for a queen. But Eomer has little interest in finding a woman to marry, until he slams into his new friend's daughter.
Chapter One
She is slowly pushing her way through the mass of people, having long lost her family in this crowd so big the likes of which she has never seen before. She is not surprised by the sheer number of people in attendance; it is surreal yet to be expected. After many centuries of Stewards watching over the White City, the long wait for the true King of Gondor is ending. The realm enters into a new era, starting with the coronation of King Elessar Telcontar. And everybody is here to witness such an historical day. Only a fool would willingly miss this.
It all started like any other formal ceremony, only it slowly became a celebration of so much more. The people all revelled when the coronation turned into an impromptu wedding between their King and the beautiful Arwen Undómiel. Not only that, but they honoured four startled hobbits who showed valiant courage in order to protect them all and put an end to the dark reign of Sauron once and for all. Last but not least, the two new Kings of Men renewed an old oath, swearing everlasting friendship between Gondor and Rohan.
Hence here they all stand, barrels of wine and mead spilling open, music playing loudly, people singing and dancing on the many levels of Minas Tirith. That is where Lothíriel is, on the uppermost level of the city, right next to the white tree of Gondor, glass of wine in hand and trying to find someone she knows; Anyone really, whether it be one of her annoying brothers or a friend. Usually, she finds her height very helpful when it comes to looking over shoulders, especially considering that her family is extremely tall as well and easy to recognize, but in this moment it is far from beneficial. There are just too many people here, all in their best apparel. She has to keep looking down to make sure she does not trip on anything and spill her delicious wine.
She awkwardly slides through the inebriated bodies of Lords and Ladies who all slightly bow their head when they notice her. She nods back to each and every one of them, lest she disgraces her family's good name by not following the prim manners her mother instilled upon her at an early age, manners she sometimes wishes she could toss to the wind.
Lothíriel steps around a fallen couple giggling on the ground, clearly not caring about any bystander. At that moment, a wobbling young man steps backward on the skirt of her dress, preventing Lothíriel from moving forward and away from his stumbling form. Of course, he splatters to the ground, dragging her with him in his poor attempt to keep himself upright. Any effort on her part to keep her wine in its cup was for naught because on his way to kiss the marbled ground, the young man knocked over the content of both his glass and hers, and onto her light blue dress.
As it is, she is currently sitting on the ground, inspecting the damage done to her dress with a laughing intoxicated fool sprawled on her lap. His friends are of no help as they just guffaw at the sight of them. They slap their thighs and stomp their feet while one is clearly trying to catch his breath. Lothíriel jabs him in the ribs, trying to get him off her but he just falls over again and hilarity ensues.
Well not for her. She abhors vanity, but her beautiful dress is now ruined and nothing will take the stain out of it. "Please, get a hold of yourself, stand on your feet and let me up."
After struggling to find his footing still laughing like a deranged hyena, he finally manages to remain somewhat standing long enough to notice her. Amid the laughter she discerns a few words here in there that resemble an apology. She nods in a fake acceptance of his less than sincere apology and turns around on her heels, grabbing her skirt in hand lest someone else decides to use it as a carpet.
Leaving behind the babbling band of idiots, she hurries toward the few steps leading to the citadel where she supposes her family is. That would be the most logical place for them to be, being acquainted with the King. There are no less people inside the walls of the Great Hall of Feasts but they appear a little more civilized. Barely. She heads toward a banquet table to grab a new cup of wine.
"Lothíriel! There you are!" She turns around, a new drink in hand to see Faramir waving a hand her way. She takes a few steps toward him and sees his eyes leave her face to look at the state of her dress. "Oh no, what happened to you, my dear cousin?" He is barely able to contain his smirk.
"Oh, it's nothing really." She says sheepishly, tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear.
"Have you had too much to drink already?" Éowyn smirks not even trying to hide it.
"No, someone decided to get personal and get me on the floor." She adds before taking a sip of her much deserved wine.
"What?" The young lady of Rohan is clearly shocked by her answer, only to be even more astonished when Éowyn does not see outrage marring Faramir's face as she expected, but rather an arched eyebrow as he chuckles softly.
"Can you repeat that properly this time?" He knows Lothíriel so well.
"Allow me to rephrase that for you then. Gravity decided to work its pull on a young man who, in his drunken stupor fell on me and decided I should be wearing my wine instead of drinking it.
After a moment of silence, both Éowyn and Faramir start laughing at Lothíriel's expense and she lets them have their fun while she drinks her wine, all the while staring at them over the rim of her glass. Faramir is holding his own glass of wine in his left hand. Éowyn bends forward a little in her laughter. Her hand is on his forearm, his right hand coming over to rest upon her own. Lothíriel cannot help the tug at her lips.
She met Éowyn the day she arrived in Minas Tirith with her family. The moment they had received word in Dol Amroth that Sauron had been defeated, they all left eagerly their palace by the sea to make their way to the White City. It had been weeks since Lothíriel and her family had seen her father and her brothers as well as her cousin. It took them but a moment to all jump into action and prepare their week long journey. Her mother Uileth took whatever food she could bring with them that would not spoil; Her aunt Ivriniel took care of little Alphros and grabbed everything they could need to take care of a toddler; His mother Aradel, filled bags with gowns, tunics, cloaks, brushes and shoes; and Lothíriel prepared the horses.
The first person the family encountered when they reached the city was Faramir. He was looking off into the distance, leaning near the end of the rock ledge around which Minas Tirith is built. They would later learn that her uncle Denethor died jumping down from the edge of that towering bastion of stone. Upon seeing the family, Faramir's eyes which moments before held melancholy were now filled with happiness at being reunited with kin. He quickly informed them that the troops had not yet returned from Morannon, but news had reached him that none of their friends had been gravely wounded. When the family left to get settle in their guest quarters, Lothíriel remained with her cousin. They spoke while she held his hand, her own way of reassuring herself that despite his injuries, Faramir was going to be fine. She knew he was still gloomy and mournful, but still she held on.
And then, his stance changed. She looked at his eyes, although his attention was no longer on her, and she saw hope and awe. Lothíriel followed his eyes and saw a young golden haired woman. Her arm was wrapped as if she had sustained a fracture and her skin was unnaturally pale. Yet, her own eyes reflected those of Faramir as she glanced their way. Faramir sprung up on his feet, with Lothíriel's hand still in his, he led her to where the new comer stood.
He introduced them, explaining that Lothíriel was his cousin and instantly, she saw relief on Éowyn's face. They spent that afternoon getting acquainted, talking of nothing and everything. And Lothíriel knew. In that very moment she knew that a few hearts were going to be broken when people realised that the young captain of Gondor had set his eyes on the White Lady of Rohan, Shieldmaiden and the one who had killed the Witch-King of Angmar.
When the disarray had dispersed a little and people could see a little farther than their own jubilation at surviving this ordeal, it was not hard to notice that Éowyn held Faramir's heart, and he had hers in return. Indeed, a few maiden wailed in despair, much to Faramir's embarrassment. Lothíriel just stood in the background and snorted like a pig at his own mortification.
When the troops came back from the Black Gate, everybody welcomed them with euphoria. Men kissed their wives and mothers sobbed in their sons' arms. Aradel, with Alphros on her hip was quick to reach Elphir who barely had time to dismount his horse before being attacked by his wife and son. Uileth fussed over her sons and husband, looking for scratches and bruises. Lothíriel for one almost chocked to death all three of her brothers before latching onto her father who simply smiled indulgingly as he stroked her black hair gently.
While Lothíriel greeted her family with open arms, Faramir had some explaining to do of his own. When he later recounted the conversation he had with the new King of Rohan about his intentions regarding Éowyn, Lothíriel couldn't help but snicker at her cousin's expense. Having never met the man before, she could only imagine a stocky blond Rohirrim threatening to remove certain body parts from Faramir's person should harm ever befall his younger sister. The black haired woman knows her cousin is an adept fighter, so she could not understand why he seemed truly shaken by the man's warning. She knows when the time comes for her to accept a man as her husband, her brothers will take great pleasure in bullying her intended. But it is all in good fashion. Despite being formidable warriors, they wouldn't really act on their threats unless warranted. And Faramir can stand toe to toe with any of them, why not a Rohirrim? After thinking about it, she realises that maybe he does not fear the man so much as he fears his Kingship and all the Éoreds at his command. After all, should Faramir truly harm Éowyn, Lothíriel doubts the new King of Rohan will challenge her cousin face to face. All he would have to do is set his stampede of horse lords after her doomed cousin.
Yet, Faramir would never dare lift a finger to harm the woman he seems to love so immensely. Lothíriel loves her cousin, her only remaining cousin, and she wishes him all the joy in the world. He seems to have found it. That makes her glad.
"Ladies, you wait here. I will get you both another drink." Faramir raises both of the ladies' empty cups before walking away, Éowyn's gaze never leaving him.
"You two are sickening, are you aware of that?" Lothíriel grins at the blushing woman next to her, unable to resist teasing her.
"Don't start." Éowyn glares playfully at her friend, before quickly looking back at the man who had just left their company.
"Start what? It is not my fault you can barely look away from each other."
"You exaggerate." Éowyn's hand goes quickly to her hair, making sure her wild mane is still perfectly in place.
"Exaggerate! You wear your emotions on your sleeves. Any fool can see the two of you are counting down the days until your wedding night."
"Lothíriel!" Éowyn shrieks, looking around to see if anyone heard the younger woman's comment.
"What?" Lothíriel giggles madly loving the color red on her friend's cheeks. "Nobody is listening to us. They are far too drunk to care about what either of us has to say."
Éowyn angles her head a little as she stares at Lothíriel, a sort of understanding passes between the two of them. Éowyn must see in her what she had always seen in herself. The will to be more than what society wants for them. She wished to become a Shieldmaiden and fight for the freedom of men, and she seized her opportunity when it came. Never again will she go back to the way she was before. She may now be willing to settle down with a man she loved, but Faramir knows better than to try and contain her. And should he forget, she will simply remind him.
Lothíriel for one wants more in life than simple devoid-of-meaning conversations with elitists who only see her as the Prince of Dol Amroth's only daughter. Her father will never force her to marry anyone not of her choosing; neither will he stop admirers from requesting a walk with her in order to gain her favours. But Lothíriel wants more than that. Those... pretenders for her affection do not care about her, they only care that she is the highest ranking available lady in the entire realm.
The princess scuffs, annoyed at her own line of thoughts. Her friend steps forward and wraps her arms around Lothíriel, crushing her with a hug that pushes her sorrow away. Éowyn and Lothíriel, they could not look any more different than they currently do. Where one is golden sunlight, the other is the midnight sky; where Éowyn is short and sturdy, Lothíriel is uncommonly tall and slender. Despite their physical differences, they are soul-sisters in a way.
As she leans back a little, Éowyn lifts her head to stare right into the eyes of the taller woman. Éowyn's hand tucks a strand of black hair behind Lothíriel's ear with all the kindness of an older sister. "You will see. One day, you will understand."
"Pff..." is Lothíriel's disbelieving answer.
"What will she understand?" Faramir is back with three drinks in his hands. Éowyn quickly takes two cups and hands one over for Lothíriel to take.
"Men." That is Éowyn's simple answer, to which her friend simply rolls her eyes.
Faramir looks oddly at the both of them, "Do I even want to know?"
"No." The two women both answer at the same time, gulping on their respective wine. Faramir nods and raises his glass in a small salute to them before taking a sip of his own drink.
- xXx -
Amidst all the festivities, Éomer keeps trying to evade his friends Éothain and Aragorn. A few days ago, when it was decided that they would all return to Edoras to officially entomb King Théoden in August, they insinuated that upon his return, some of the advisors in Meduseld might firmly encourage him to take a wife and that those very advisors might throw a few young ladies at his feet in encouragement, including their own daughters. It does not help that, despite warning him about his advisors' intent, both of them were clearly of the same mind. One now married and the other barely willing to wait for their return to Rohan to wed the woman he loves. The two want him to open his eyes for the maiden who will undoubtedly fall into his awaiting arms, if only he would allow it. Both of his friends meant well, he knows, but they could have chosen a better time to bring up the subject. His uncle was not even buried yet and already he had to worry about fending off maidens.
He has little wish for a wife at the moment, having just been thrust into Kingship. Éomer is no fool. He knew it was coming, he only wished it had not happened so fast. He, unlike Aragorn who admittedly only learned of his heritage when he turned twenty – nigh on seventy years ago –, was not raised to become king. It was always supposed to be Théodred. He was born and bred to be a magnificent king. Éomer only ever knew and aspired to be a Marshall of the Mark. And he excelled at that.
But when Théodred died, everything changed for Éomer. He knew he would eventually rule over Rohan even before the King named him his rightful heir. Still, Théoden was possessed and Éomer banished; then Helm's Deep happened; the Beacons were lit; the Rohirrim rode to Gondor; and his uncle perished. They never really spoke about it. Théoden never really had the time – or took the time – to bestow any advice upon his nephew. And Éomer never asked questions.
So here he is, at a loss really. But today, he does not want to think about it. Actually, he wants to forget it all. That is why, at his friend's coronation and wedding, he is promptly avoiding him. After all, he still has two months before they ride to Edoras. He can ask for advice later on how not to ruin a kingdom.
After quickly downing the flimsy beverage those Gondorians so like to drink, Éomer goes in search of something stronger. On his way to the barrels of mead, he finds that the people tend to make a path for him everywhere he goes. In Rohan, he knows the people do so out of respect, yet in this place he does not know if they do so because he is now a king or if his stature simply foists deference. He is far more imposing than any Rohirrim; but here, a few men are as tall as him, only his built differs. Whereas men of Gondor rely on speed and agility, the men of Rohan are trained in strength and vigour; meaning Éomer is about twice as wide as any Gondorian.
Arriving at the table, he does not waste time in pouring himself a pint and taking a gulp out of it. Turning around he locates his sister smiling adoringly at Faramir. When he came back from battling the monsters behind the Black Gate of Mordor, the last thing he expected was to be approached by a man asking his permission to court his younger sister. After all, when he left her, she had been slowly recovering in the Houses of Healing, not flaunting herself about. He had seen Éowyn easily pine for the attention of men who did not deserve or warrant it. Had her affection not been ardently flung at Aragorn not so long ago?
Still, he listened to Faramir and what he had to say. And quite frankly, had he been any other man, Éomer would have probably refused Faramir's request. But he once knew Boromir when he had travelled across Rohan to reach Rivendell and admired him for his qualities. The elder son of the late Steward briefly spoke of his little brother who was apparently the best of him and yet more. For that reason, he decided to allow the courtship between Faramir and Éowyn. Having since learned a great deal more about the man, and just looking at the two of them across the room in this instant, Éomer does not regret his decision. And he hopes he never will.
He turns his glance looking for his new friend, Imrahil. The Prince of Dol Amroth and his Swan Knights saved many lives on the fields of Pelennor that day and he fought valiantly alongside his men and his sons. He led them into battle, coming to the Rohirrim's aid just in time to overturn the tide against their enemy. And then of course, Aragorn arrived with his army of the Dead, a frightening yet welcomed sight. Fighting side by side, Éomer and Imrahil both earned each other's respect; even more so since the Prince is the one who perceived that Éowyn was still alive – cursed but alive – and brought her to the Houses of Healing.
Not seeing the middle-aged man anywhere, Éomer continues to roam the room and his gaze lands on another group, four Hobbits gathered together, sprawled on the floor, pints in hand and mirth in their eyes. He decides to slowly make his way to them. Their merriment in everything has always both astonished and fascinated him. Despite all they have endured for such a peaceful people, they still retain their light and joy to live.
"Ah, Éomer King!" Merry calls raising his pint in greetings to him. He cannot help but do the same with a genuine smile.
"Holdwine." This earns him a glorious smile from Merry who so loves the title awarded to him. "Pippin. Frodo. Sam. You are all enjoying the festivities I hope." Éomer might get a few looks thrown his way, but propriety be damned. He makes the split decision to join the Hobbits on the floor.
"Pints" Pippin says showing his drink. "Friends" he adds pointing at his fellow Hobbits and the King of Rohan. "Beautiful women!" he exclaims, moving his arm in an arc motioning to the countless women in attendance.
"And pipe weed?" Éomer asks knowing full well the love his little friends have for their pipe weed.
"Ah, we'll keep that for outside later tonight!" Merry laughs and Éomer joins softly, shaking his head unsurprised.
"So... Faramir and Lady Éowyn?" Pippin asks with a smirk.
"Apparently." Éomer does not say anything else for there is nothing to say. It is quite obvious to anyone with eyes what is really going on between the two.
"I have grown quite fond of him in my time here. He is a good man." Pippin adds, obviously trying to put weight in favour of the captain of Gondor.
"Why do you think he is within arm's reach of my sister?" They all chuckle at his response. "You have no need to vouch for your friend, Pippin. Had he proven himself less than worthy, Faramir would not be in the same room as my sister. That happened once with Grima, never again."
None of the Hobbits met Grima Wormtongue before his death, Merry and Pippin only caught a glimpse of the man. But they heard stories of the traitorous snake who snivelled his way inside Meduseld to poison the mind of the late King, hereby banishing Éomer and his Éoreds. They all shivered at the thought of such a man living in close proximity to the White Lady of Rohan, a woman whom they all admired, even Frodo and Sam who have only recently made her acquaintance.
He sighs. Here he is again, bringing gloom to an otherwise lively conversation. Him and his thoughts. "None of that now. This is a day for celebrations! Gondor has a new King and he married an Elleth of unimaginable beauty. The very same man I was once told you believed to be no more than a ruffian when you first encountered him." The four Hobbits look somewhat sheepish before laughing at the reminder. "What are your plans now that we have vanquished this evil? You will go back to the Shire, surely?"
"Oh yes, and when I step foot inside my home, I will do nothing for a month!" Merry cheers before joyfully taking a gulp of his mead.
"I hear you, Merry!" Pippin agrees with a clang of his pint against his cousin's.
"What of you Frodo?" Éomer looks to the little ring-bearer, the one who carried the Ring across Middle Earth to the fiery pits of Mount Doom.
"I do not have much planned. I wish to go back to Rivendell on our way to the Shire to see my uncle. And then, I wish for peace. I might even write a book."
"Like Bilbo did about his adventure with the Dwarves?" Merry inquires excited while Frodo acquiesce quietly.
"That would be quite the tale, Master Baggins." Éomer voices "but a tale worth telling."
"We shall see." Frodo adds softly. "Sam?"
They all turn to look at Sam Gamgee who is slowly turning every shades of red, until he takes a gulp of pint and affirms quite sternly that he will return to the Shire and marry a certain Rosie Cotton.
"I would love to see that." Pippin quips teasingly.
"Rosie Cotton?" Éomer asks reluctantly.
"She is the most beautiful Hobbit lass in all the Shire. She is fair and kind and I love her!" Oh, another infatuated lovesick dolt, Éomer thinks to himself.
"Yes, and Sam here has been pining for her for years, never daring to say a word to her. And now you say you are going to march up to her the moment you see her and ask her to marry you? I want to be there when that happens!" Pippin laughs.
"I will! Mark my words, Peregrin Took. I will tell Rosie Cotton I have loved her for years! And I will ask her to marry me!"
"Good for you, Sam!" Merry cheers. "Admit it Pippin, you would not say no to a beautiful wife of your own. Nor would I."
"I guess not."
Why does everyone want to marry so suddenly? Éomer cannot understand the marriage frenzy that seems to be spreading like weed; this craze that seems to affect so many of his peers. To bind yourself to another until death, to be absolutely certain of the choice in partner... it seems so unfathomable to him. He understands Aragorn and Arwen. They first met when he was twenty years of age and knew instantly and that faith never wavered in the sixty-seven years they have loved one another. Them, he understands. They have stood the test of time.
But Éowyn and Faramir? Samwise Gamgee and Rosie Cotton? Éothain and Eadnignes? How will they know what they feel is no simple fleeting fancy? How will he know when one of his advisor's daughters assuredly catches his interest for a moment? Will they just take the leap and hope for the best? That does not seem logical to Éomer. He is a man of honour. Should he ever marry, his vows would be sacred and he would be honour bound by them. But what if he does not love her? Or she does not love him? Or they grow weary of one another?
That is why Éomer does not want to marry at the moment, and he desperately hopes his advisors will heed his wish; to leave him be, to give him proper time to adjust to being King – a right and just King. And then, maybe he will have grown into the idea of having a wife, someone to be by his side until either one of their death. He has not yet met a woman that would fit those shoes, and he will not settle for less, no matter what his advisors say.
His attention returns to the four Hobbits only to realise they are still discussing the chances of Sam ever marrying this Rosie Cotton. He sighs and looks around for a reason to end this conversation without outright saying he does not want to hear anything about marriage for the remainder of his stay in Gondor. Gratefully, he spots his friend across the room.
"I am sorry my friends, but I must take my leave. I see Prince Imrahil and I wish to converse with him. Samwise?" He puts his hand on the Hobbit's shoulder squeezing gently. "Good luck on your venture to win Rosie Cotton's heart." Éomer adds with a smile before rising to his feet. He may not wish to saddle himself with a wife at the moment, but if that is what Sam wants, then Éomer truly hopes the Hobbit gets the courage to ask that girl to marry him. And that she says yes, of course.
He nods to the group before walking in the direction he saw Imrahil, but he is no longer where he was standing just moments before. Having lost sight of him, he makes a beeline to the casks of mead to replenish his pint and returns to the floor in search of the Swan Prince... until he notices Éothain inspecting the crowd, undoubtedly looking for him. Éomer crouches down a little, trying his best to avoid being seen by his long-time friend. In doing so, and keeping his eyes on where he knows Éothain to be, he does not see the young woman until he turns around in an effort to sneak out the Hall and slams squarely into her, spilling his pint all over the two of them.
He automatically grabs a hold of her right arm to stop her from toppling over. Obviously not expecting the collision, her feet are hilariously getting tangled in the blue flurry that is her frock. In an effort to remain upright, she puts a left hand on his arm.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, I was not look–" She starts only to stop abruptly when her eyes meet his.
They both stand there, frozen for a moment in time, neither moving nor speaking. Everything around them seems to slow down to a full stop as if they just paused on life. They are not in a Great Hall filled with people surrounding them; they are alone in this stationary environment. A moment. An instant. A slice in time. That is where they stand; on a fragment of time. To both Éomer and Lothíriel, it seems to last a lifetime. But it is only a moment. As time seems to restart slowly, without moving their eyes, they notice little things: His golden hair, so unusual in these lands; Her height, taller than any other woman he has ever encountered; His shoulders, broader than she ever thought possible; Her neck, so long and slim he could easily curl his fingers around it; His brows, a darker shade than his hair and beard; Her nose, straight and narrow...
They notice it all. As time moves faster, the background moves forward. They are back in the Great Hall of Feasts surrounded by people, celebrating the coronation of a King, his wedding, four Hobbits, and the ride of the Rohirrims. The interlude is over with a blink of an eye.
"Éomer! My friend." Éomer distantly registers that the person he has been looking for the entire evening is currently standing right next to him. "I see you have met my daughter, Lothíriel."
It has been brought to my attention by a friend who has only seen the movies that some things in this chapter can be confusing. All right then, I will no longer assume that everyone has read the books or are somewhat familiar with them, so I will give some information that could help understand where I am going with this story.
Imrahil (who was completely ignored in the movies) is the prince of Dol Amroth (a city by the sea in the Kingdom of Gondor) and in The Return of the King during the Battle of the Pelennor Fields he ventures outside of Minas Tirith with his Knights to help the Rohirrim in defence of the City. While Faramir was wounded and healing, Aragorn gave the position of Steward to Imrahil. Then, there was the Last Debate in which it was decided that everybody should go dance the Hula like Timon and Pumbaa in front of Sauron. Contrary to the movies, Legolas, Gimli, Merry and Pippin were not in attendance; they were all by Merry's bedside because he was gravely injured when he stabbed the Witch-king of Angmar. In truth, the Last Debate of the Captains of the West was a meeting held by Aragorn, Gandalf, Éomer, a few Gondorian lords here and there, probably Elladan and Elrohir (Elrond's sons) AND IMRAHIL. Then, leaving injured Merry behind, they all left to fight the Battle of Morannon (where the Black Gate is) and Pippin actually rocked and killed a freaking Troll.
Taking all of that into consideration, I will probably mix both movies and books together to create one mash up of the two, because it is really hard to just stick to one storytelling, for both are epic in their own rights. But, one thing that is for sure, Imrahil is important in this story.
And now back to him... He has an unnamed wife (which I named Uileth) and three sons and a daughter:
- Elphir (32 years old) who is married to an unnamed woman (Aradel in this case) with whom he has a son named Alphros (2 years old)
- Erchirion (29 years old)
- Amrothos (25 years old)
- Lothíriel (20 years old)
Imrahil (64 years old), had two older sisters:
- Ivriniel, the eldest who is still alive and kicking at 72 years old
- Finduilas, who was once the wife of Denethor and mother to Boromir and Faramir (36 years old)
By the way, those are their actual ages as of the end of the War of the Ring T.A. 3019. And they all have Dúnedain blood in their veins, so they don't really grow old. They retain their strength and youthfulness longer than normal men and they also tend to live longer, depending on how pure and dominant their bloodline is. I mean, Faramir actually dies at 120 years old. And let's not talk about Aragorn!
SPOILER ALERT: well, obviously... if you don't know that tidbit of information yet, I truly believe you have been living under a rock or you have just been initiated to the amazing world created by Tolkien (in such a case, Le nathlam hí, and SKIP THIS). But... here it goes. Lothíriel ends up marrying our favourite Horse-Lord. *cue to gasps* I know, shocking isn't it! Anyways, not much is actually written or known about these two. We know that Lothíriel and Éomer (who is 28 years old by the way) tied the knot somewhere between T.A. 3021 and F.A. 2. So... we will see what I shall do with that very vague and confounding information.
For those who are really not that well informed about the world of Middle Earth and its timeline, T.A. and F.A. stand for the Third Age and the Fourth Age. The Third Age started with the first downfall of Sauron with Isildur cutting off his finger and stealing his favouring piece of jewellery. It ends with the departure of the White Ship boarded by Frodo, and Galadriel, Elrond and Gandalf (all bearers of the three elven rings). The Fourth Age starts after that. Oh, and my story starts on the first of May T.A. 3019.
So, here it is. I didn't think I needed to do this but apparently I did. Yes, I'm looking at you C.C. If anything else is unclear, don't hesitate to ask.