Authors note:

This story is almost true to Tolkien's universe, but there are several small differences that were needed if the plot should work out and I feel obliged to inform the reader of this before beginning.

The major difference is the fact that the principal of Dor-en-Ernil and Rohan has been fighting each other for years and Prince Imrahil and King Éomer has never met. In the real book they were close personal friends.

I hope these changes will not deprive anyone of the lust to read my story and furthermore I pray that you may all enjoy it. I am always happy to hear your opinions and constructive criticism.

Chapter 1 - the promise of pride

Lothíriel was the princess of Dol Amroth and though she did not always act the part, she looked every inch a princess as she rode amongst her countrymen. She sat behind an appointed trustworthy soldier chosen to take his Lady safely to their destination on his big and tranquil horse. Her black hair had been pulled back tightly and crowned with a silver headdress which seemed ridiculously elegant in comparison to the simple landscape surrounding them. The men was wearing amours as if they were heading for the battlefield, and beside them she was like a silk scarf next to rock. The princess seemed utterly displaced among the warriors, but their kind smiles at her, indicated that they did not see her as such. Sure, she was not a man, nor a fighter, but she was loved and praised for her bright spirit.

Lothíriel had a dreamy look on her face gazing longingly towards the North, hardly affected by bumps of the rocky road. One could tell, by her elegant pose, that she was no stranger to horseback riding, although she was usually never allowed in the saddle alone. As a royalty she was supposed to learn the ability of riding, but her father always had a good explanation why she should not begin her lessons, mostly stating that she was all too fragile to deal with the strong creatures. Lothíriel knew that she did not appear strong and in truth she was not all well-built. When she was younger her brothers teased her, for not being able to fight them and for hiding behind their mother when she couldn't stand the rough game. The only thing strong about Lothíriel was her mind and maybe her tongue. But words were not weapons to be underestimated especially not in a man's world, where muscles might be important, but not decisive. However, she was not considered muscular enough to ride, not by her father and not by men in general.

Therefore she was always forced to rely on others to ride with her, no matter how much she hated it. This, however, was far from her thoughts in those hours, because she was reflecting on the goal of their journey. It was a two week travel to the capital of Rohan, Edoras, and the only roads available were poorly maintained, since their two lands had not been on friendly terms in decades.

Her home, Dor-en-Ernil, was a principal of Gondor, but because they had always felt very liberated from the rest of the country, they had also had their own wars. The dispute with the Rohan was one of them and so old that none really remembered who started it. It was rather stupid when you took the time to think about it, because the two nations didn't even share boarders. You probably couldn't even call it wars, but it had been enough to make the Rohirric a part of the cursing vocabulary in Dor-en-Ernil. During these last couple of years, when the terrible War of the Ring had been upon them, all the small, yet consistent, battles had stopped and the quarrel temporarily forgotten. When Gondor had called upon the Rohirrics for help her father Prince Imrahil had gone to fight alongside the horsemen causing both of the leaders to reconsider their mutual repugnance towards each other. Her father had arranged a meeting of conciliation with the new king of Rohan, Éomer son of Éomund.

The name of the royal guard carrying her on his stallion was Daemyn and he was understandably proud of the goodwill he had been shown and was determined to perform the task, of transporting his mistress to perfection. His good intentions however made her feel almost smothered, for she hardly got to breathe before he turned to her once more, asking if she was acceptably comfortable and polite as she was she could not manage to discard his questions.

"Hold on Princess. We'll be able to see the town in a few minutes," he comforted her needlessly when she accidentally yawned.

"You've done an excellent job soldier," she replied graciously and patted him friendly on the shoulder. "I shall remember to tell your captain how you never once neglected me or failed to fulfil your duty. Surely taking care of a pitiful helpless woman such as myself, have not been as glories as you pictured it, but I assure you, no time has been wasted."

"Oh no don't say that Milady," he objected loudly, twisting in the saddle in the attempt to see her, almost pushing her to the ground. "Assisting you has been a thrill and you are not helpless at all." She sniffed sardonic, tired with men's consistent need for pleasing her, as he continued softly, "I've seen your Highness practising the bow and you never miss the target. Indisputably this is not the characteristics of a helpless maiden."

"You flatter me," she said blushing as it was appropriate when given such compliments. It was true that she mastered the bow, but only for sports, and she could hardly hit at a long distance. Her mother had insisted that she learned a weapon, because she had learned the hard way that even women unwillingly get involved in battles sometimes. Daemyn also glorified her aim, for though she had been granted a very capable pair of eyes, the arms didn't always match in strength.

"Not at all," he demanded. "Apart from Éowyn of Ithillien, the great slayer of the Witch King, you must be the fiercest of women in all of Arda." Although she heard conviction in his voice she carried on with the proper shy modesty.

"Hardly, lot's of women fight better than I. Besides I am not certain that I am capable of killing if finally deciding to prove myself." These were true words and she could almost imagine him smiling knowingly.

"Then you would not be the first lady to feel so. Woman weren't originally made for fighting," when he could hear her breathing heavily at this argument and quickly added, "Although they can be as terrifying and lethal as men, when angered and carrying a sword."

Her wrath towards differentiation between the genders was commonly known in Dol Amroth and even the soldiers were careful not to exercise their usual dirty phrases with her around. She was a very gentle woman and did not easily lose her temper, but pity the fool who enraged her. As a child she had been always been calm and moderate, never impatient or wild, but she was sensitive and when she grew to be conscious of injustice she became a small guard of the court where she often uttered inappropriate words towards wrongdoers. Over time harsh teachers of etiquette had trained her to control the emotions and she now mastered the delicate serenity of a true noble lady. She forgot the boring and dreary past of education when suddenly they reached the top of a hill and was able to see the little village of Efharis.

Lothíriel liked the simple architecture of the Rohirric cities and that they used wood instead of stone to build their walls of shelter. The dominating colours of the decorations and patterns covering the facades were the traditional green and gold. In Dor-en-Ernil everything had to be blue or white and she resented the sterile and cold tint. It had to be so perfect, clean and cultivated. Rohan, being further to the north was wilder and the habitants more dependent on the mercy of the sky. It was not only the land itself that echoed from an unlike kind of power, but so did the people. When she was little and her mother told her that every woman in Rohan knew how to handle a horse she had not believed it, but seeing these proud, valiant and strong mothers and daughters all doubt vanished.

Riding down to the gathering of houses she agreed with her father that she was a brittle little girl. All the women passing them looked like they could have slain the Witch King like their princess had done it. They weren't heavy and manly, but the way they walked so every straw of grass would tremble and their eyes likened those of goddesses of earth and stone. They carried great burdens like it was silk on their shoulders and the tall slender figures never stumbled or fell. A bit thrown off by these different people only half a moon from her home in Gondor she moved herself closer to the man in front of her seeking protection.

Her father halted and the procession behind her followed his lead. Leaving most of the escort outside the gates to start raising the tents the prince and a few close guards rode into the village where a thickset man stood expecting them on the town square. The blond characteristic hair was not strange to her, as her father was as dark a man as her mother was light. She was dark-haired herself, but in summertime it turned light brown. The man bowed deeply. Both her and her father had been nervous to how the Rohirrics would receive them after the wars that had raged between them, but the look of the man before them was warm and welcoming.

"Welcome Prince Imrahil of the South and greetings dearest of friends," the thane spoke, a smile on his reddish face. "Joyful is the day the Prince of Dol Amroth makes peace with our Lord of the Mark." Her father dismounted and went to shake the hand of the mayor. Lothíriel decided that she liked the choppy man, but instead of running eagerly to thank him, she stayed in her seat waiting to be called upon. Daemyn seemed anxious and she was guessing he was so young he was afraid to make mistakes. He must be about fifteen; she reckoned placing a soothing hand on his shaky arm. In return she was granted an appreciative look before he dismounted like the rest of the guards, who were far older than him.

"… and we are most grateful for your hospitality," she heard Imrahil recite before the two men turned towards her.

"Who is this exotic beauty, your wife perhaps?" Her father was older than he looked and it wasn't the first time she had been mistaken for the Mistress of Dor-en-Ernil in spite of her young age.

"No sadly not. The princess is my daughter and my faithful companion when travelling." The thane got a look of realization on his face.

"Oh I see, the famous Lothíriel of Gondor? Rumours of your splendid mind and the loveliness of your face have not been exaggerated. What a bewitching pair of emerald eyes you've got princess. Just like the green of the mark."

"My Lord, I am not worthy of your compliments."

"From the bottom of my heart Milady, I never saw a pair of eyes like that, nor a smile so kind." Lothíriel was used to these silken remarks being nobility and regarded them for nothing more than polite conversation.

"Thank you. What a pleasant start on what we can only hope will be a successful visit." She sent him her most warm smile and a glittering look to go with it, and as always the recipient was taken aback at the amount of passion she was capable of displaying. A common mistake among fine ladies was that a big smile was improper, but Lothíriel had found that it opened rather than closed doors for her.

She was not considered an exquisite beauty, although being fairly appealing with her dark hair and nicely shaped face. A woman with riches is always beautiful, she thought cynically.

Lothíriel looked tall because of her posture and the swan neck, but she was actually rather small. The long lashes tended to capture and enchant men and though she was not aware of it quite a bit of the young and middle-aged men visited the court ever so often just in the hope that she would glance their way. The most remarkable about her was her character, however, was her tenderness. No woman in all of Arda could compare to her kindness, her innocence, her knowledge or her charm. When she attended the feasts the dancing did not stop until the early morning. Lothíriel was as capable of being as fun and glowing as she was capable of being refined and solemn and almost everybody loved her. She was considered to be somewhat lively for a fine lady, laughing and smiling all the time, but in Dol Amroth they were used to this feature.

Some, however, feared her skill and others envied her appearance, even if they were far more attractive than her. Lothíriel was naive and never saw evil in others, so her father and her brothers had become very protective in order to shield her from the cruel reality. Her childishness, on the other hand, was also a side of her much adored, simply because she rarely became disappointed or angry with anyone. She did enjoy heated discussions at times when discovering an interesting subject and her arguments mostly won because she was witty and fond of books to broaden her view and strengthen her competency.

The princess was not arrogant though, but she was a bit of a dreamer and people easily confused her mindly absence with pride. Since her mother was always ill, and spend all her time in a cottage in the mountains, Imrahil spoiled Lothíriel with attention and gifts. Gifts she did not entirely appreciate, because she had no need of them. Usually she did not wear fancy dresses and rare stones, but preferred a simple gown, which was better suited for working. Because of her linguistic skills she was also the hostess of most of the royal parties, even though she was shy among too many people, and she always accompanied him on travels to other countries, especially when the purpose was making allies. Her brothers were a pair of bullies, and the elder and more sophisticated one never left the city when Imrahil was gone. This time that particular tradition was regarded even more important, if the meeting should end in a fatal fight and then leave the throne empty. Therefore it had been no surprise to her when her father came to ask her to join him for a visit to Rohan, the land of the horse masters.

While the prince and the thane went on with their diplomatic courtesies she followed them subtly into the main building where the usual big meal was served. Lothíriel always enjoy these heavy stacks of food though she never touched vine or ale. She knew herself to get at little rounder in times of festivals or feasts, because she loved the many flavours running along the inside of her mouth. Luckily she quickly lost weight again, because she enjoyed walking a lot in and outside the city.

The dinner was succeeded by music and dancing and Lothíriel immediately engaged herself to learning the simple Rohirric steps. It was much more fun than the Gondorian stiff way of moving and a lot quicker. At one point she was sailing from one side of the room to another. The fact that her partner was supposed to hold her so close didn't bother her much and she completely forgot it once the bards started playing. The smile was incapable of fading when she was thrown back and forward.

She was a bit unaccustomed to not play the part of the hostess, pouring drinks for the guests and talking about how well she and her family was doing. The outlandish men talked a great deal about horses, which she didn't mind at all. All new information she devoured like the night consumes she sun and listened unremitting to every word her dance partner spoke. There weren't many women present, but she had no desire to gain knowledge of the Rohirric way of stitching and was content discussing with the soldiers and young men from the village. She departed when her father commanded her to bed for her much needed rest. Daemyn offered to take her back to the camp at the outer walls and willingly took her hand when she asked if they could dance down the road. The moon was painting the scenery secretively blue and being in such a good mood she didn't notice the begging admiring eyes he send her. Lothíriel had not her mind set on love. Though turning nineteen soon her spirited heart had not seen its first chains of lust. The princess had been fascinated with some of the men her age living in Dol Amroth, but her strict tutor made sure Lothíriel never got to spend any time with a boy on her own. Having effortlessly attempted to outsmart the annoying coach she finally forfeited and forgot all about any lovesick sign her devotees waved at her.

"You speak Rohirric so well," he said impressed when she finished a cheerful song in the foreign language.

"When you spend all your time studying the art of diplomatic behaviour, the idiomatic part is the most interesting. I only ever cared for the hours when I practised Gondorian and Rohirric. When my father discovered I was gifted with a smooth tongue he introduced me to all the foreign languages I could ever hope to come across, and speaking fifteen idioms fluently I spend a lot of time with guests from faraway countries who doesn't know how to express them self in our tongue." He nodded comprehendingly and exploited a muddy part of the road to take her hand and gently guide her around.

"I heard many talk of how lovely you were to night," he spoke and saw surprise written in her face.

"Really? It's hard to tell with these people. They don't have the same polite mandatory remarks as we do in Dol Amroth so I am not even capable of reading their eyes and judge if they are genuine like I do it back home. The thane however was very courteous, I think." While she told him how considerable the thickset man had acted towards her through the evening they passed the city gates and headed for the tents on the field outside.

"…and the music was so animated," she finished as they stopped in front of her tent. "Yes, indeed this was a wonderful party and you were kind to take me be back safely."

"Only pleasure I can assure you Milady." His smile faded and she looked worried.

"What is the matter my friend?"

"Tomorrow we'll arrive at Edoras and I will become just another soldier to you my Princess." A cautious grin curled her lips and when he lowered his gaze from the sky where it had been lingering she quickly removed it.

"Oh you could never become just another soldier, not after your thorough guarding me. Maybe I should forget about recommending you to the captain and ask me father to promote you to become my personal protector." Her words left him stunned and speechless.

"Milady, what a great honour! I shall do my very best to prove myself worthy." He kneeled before her like a knight deeply and grabbed her hand gingerly. "I'll guard you with my life." She glanced down on him taking in the impression of the curly raven black hair covering a set of burning brown eyes. The broad shoulders signifying vigour and the unyielding bravery in his mind did not quiver as he awaited her approving touch on his brow. Until now she had only thought of him as this temporary and a bit annoying fighter meant for riding the horse she so desperately wanted to ride herself, but seeing his agreeable desire to shield her she could not help but to feel a little exceptional. Unhurriedly she placed her middle finger on his skin and whispered the binding words.

"My fortress is yours to keep, your sword mine to command."

At dawn they sat out from the village and since she and Daemyn was some of the only ones to go to bed at a reasonable hour all the others had mayor hangovers and had trouble staying seated in the saddle. Lothíriel had asked Daemyn to ride up in front to her father. The eager young man obeyed her without hesitating.

"Father?" The dark haired man turned to her not easily concealing the fact that he had a terrible headache.

"Yes child?"

"How long until we are there?" Her behind was hurting bitterly from so many days of riding and she was much exited about meeting the White Lady. The newly selected king, her brother Éomer was very likely to be as boring and righteous as her elder brother, who always pointed out her errors and reported any misdeed to their father.

"Depending on the speed, before or after lunch. I am just hoping the King of Rohan has room for us in Meduseld, for I do not care to sleep outside another night." She silently agreed with him, not sharing her opinion of the weakness he was demonstrating by this statement. She knew he was not a man that loved war or the life that came with the duty. Having heard of how the Rohirric king slept and fared among his men even in times of peace she was slightly embarrassed with Imrahil's haughtiness. Worried that these dissimilar fundamental principles of the two men might make them collide she decided to focus all her energy in getting the contract ready. Knowing her father to have a difficult temper it was possible that she would have to pay close attention to any conversation going on between the allies. But her father was a good man too, and with a big heart who was mainly concerned with the welfare of his family and his people. Brought up with the ever present knowledge of an awaiting crown he had become a stately and noble character, with the pride that was bound to follow such a title. She knew he wanted peace more than anything, because even though he was a solid warrior he wasn't a fighter by heart.

When they were so close to Edoras Lothíriel could smell the sweat of hardworking people, Imrahil halted and everybody dismounted. She was very discontent with the unnecessary pause and asked Daemyn to go hear her father what was going on. He returned shortly after with an apologetic expression.

"Your father commands you to meet him on that hilltop over there." She sighed, but was used to Imrahil's patriotic and demanding tone.

"Will you give me a hand?" He reached up for her and swung her down with an unexpected strength. She was briskly chocked, for she had not anticipated him lifting her like she was merely a puppet of straw.

"I'll be waiting patiently for your return." Since she had approved of him as a real man and warrior, he had begun speaking more freely to her, and it was pleasant for he was a smart boy.

"Thank you, my friend," she spoke softly and headed for her father in the distant.

"My dear," he greeted her with his most charming smile, which was rather efficient when bargaining, but she knew him too well to fall for it. The Prince of Dol Amroth was in general a nice man and unconditionally worshiped by his kinsmen. He had inherited the thrown from his father and was a far better leader than his precursor. Lothíriel enjoyed serving him faithfully for he rarely made mistakes when making decisions about the future and she trusted him to do his best in all aspects of his dealings. However, she did not care for the puzzling shadows round his mouth and knew that though Imrahil was no supreme warrior he was indeed a marvellous tactician.

"Yes father?" she asked, encouraging him to proceed.

"I wanted to talk to you before we reach the city," he said, a nameless plan rumouring in his blood.

"Why?" Lothíriel almost hissed, hating the suspense he created. Usually she loved surprises, but all her instincts told her that this revelation would not be of convenience to her.

"There's something I need ask of you my sweet girl, but you are not going to like it."

"I don't understand, father. What is it you'll have me do?" He searched her face before answering.

"You know how important this treaty is and I fear what will come to pass if we do not succeed. I can't use an enthusiastic and charming lady when we face the King of Rohan. What I need is my cunning and merciless daughter."

"Forgive me for saying so father, but then you should have brought Dothira instead of me then," she argued referring to her immoral cousin, who's greatest achievements was to split up several lovers and destroy numerous lives with evil gossip. "I was under the impression that this was a meeting of resolution and reconciliation. Why should I act like one of those heartless queens, who concern herself only with prosperity and not her people? I was looking forward to saluting the ruler of the Mark with eager and willing smiles, to laugh and sing with these equals and develop a friendship. I ask you once more, why should I pretend to be what I am not, vicious and arrogant?" Though Lothíriel was an excellent actress, which she had proved on various occasions by performing for guests in Dol Amroth, she hated pretence and had no desire to trick a friend to be.

"Lothíriel listen! I remember the days when war thrived between Rohan and Dor-en-Ernil, when the house of Théoden wanted nothing more than to see me dead. I will not forget, no matter what pledge was sworn in the letters we wrote each other, that Rohan is still a challenger and war could as well be the ending of this visit as peace. We must not show weakness. I am certain that the Slayer of the Witch King will stand at the side of the Horse Lord, and I will have you act no lesser." She saw a glimpse of fear from the past in his eyes and understood his reasons, but she could not apply.

"You expect me to behave like a warrior princess?" Lothíriel almost started laughing at the silly idea, but swiftly grew serious as she saw her father's strict brow. "I will not be so false! Only once I have displayed such rude behaviour and that was towards a man who had offended you grimly, saying you were a liar. But this is King Éomer of Rohan. He's not even a descendent of Théoden, the man you resented above all. I will continue to be genuine and be myself, and that is my final word."

She was angry and hoped bitterly, that Daemyn would not lose courage when she snapped at him in fury, as she turned to walk back. A sharp pain shot through her as Imrahil grabbed her hard around the wrist. Turning back towards him, he looked nothing like anything she'd ever seen. His eyes were desperately pleading her to yield and the muscles threateningly tight.

"Daughter," he roared, not comprehending that he was calling attention to their conversation. She went cold and unbreakable like polar ice and faced him defy written in her posture. No man or even a god should lay his hands upon her brittle body, for she was not only among the innocent, but among the just. What he was asking was wrong, and she had the right to walk away. Imrahil had never acted so recklessly against her before and didn't usually treat women harshly, but he was fraught. When she lifted her eyebrows in a hostile manner he realized his doing and let go immediately.

"Forgive me Lothíriel; I did not intend to harm you. Please you must understand." His men began moving anxiously trying to read their master and mistress body language. Both Lothíriel and Imrahil knew that his men were loyal to the throne, but also that though the king had their respect and love, she had their sympathy. The king did not fear his daughter to take control with the army, for she had never desired power like he did. Nevertheless had he no doubt that the soldiers would protect her with all means even if her attacker was their own lord.

"Lothíriel I beg of you, do me this favour and I will grant you," he paused and then send her a look of guarantee. "I'll grant you your utmost desire."

Her heart skipped a beat. She was very aware of the meaning of those words, having fought him too many times before about the subject and she did not believe her ears.

"You would let me choose? Discard your previous intentions of deciding my providence and allow me to pick my own husband?"

Ever since she was a child her father had made it very clear, that she would never get a saying when her groom was chosen. A political marriage, beneficial for your country, they had told her. When you are old enough a suiting man will be appointed and you will accept it. Lothíriel was an individual of freedom and praised above many things, the right to make your own fortune. She had opposed the council of Dol Amroth without success so long, because she refused to be treated like a puppet and sold of like horse. The fact that her father was now bending to her was a temptation she could not resist.

"I forgive you dear father," she spoke honey in her voice. "If you promise to unleash me and let me fasten my own knots I will be your proud warrior queen." His happiness was apparent and he shook her hands, gratitude beaming from his smile.

"I promise my dear heart. Who knows, we might find that it will not be necessary in the end." She loved her father, and she knew that it was fear that made him ask this of her. She did not want to yield to him, but the offer was too good to be turned down, she would do it.

As she returned to Daemyn the play had already begun. She was no longer Lothíriel, but Cela, the heartless rock. She asked Daemyn to hand her another coat once she reached him, the blue airy one that looked like opaque butterfly wings. He only thought her to be dressing up for the arrival and she tried not to look him directly in the eyes, as she knew they would freeze him in an instant. Lifting her chin high, she was helped unto the horse once more and caught a glimpse of her father before Daemyn climbed up in front of her. Imrahil was worried. She knew how dearly he loved her, and did not care to ask such a callous favour from her. Still he was glad she had submitted and followed his biddings. Lothíriel full of shame from selling herself like that, but also joyful that she at last had won the right to choose her own path. The trip was near the ending, and she readied herself for a performance in the mask of the ice goddess.