I had collected things as long as I could remember. I collected smiles, knowledge, even wisdom, and of course all those bits and bobs like pebbles and feathers and special little trinkets that held memories of the days I wanted to remember. I reproduced all of the things I learnt, as was expected from a princess, and before the war, there were days when I didn't even know who I was anymore, because all I existed of were reflections of rules and skills I had acquired and was expected to show. The stones and pearls I collected were of no worth to anyone but me, and I clung to them to remind myself that I was a person behind all the curtsies and dresses.

Ironically, the war set me free. It was an awful time, my family was away and I worried about them every second I was awake, but nevertheless, it did me good. I held the castle and suddenly I was responsible for far more than my daily attire.

And then the war was over, and my family survived, and I thrived even more. I didn't let them hide me behind safe walls anymore, and I used their moment of confusion to charge forward. I had finally become a person of my own, and I didn't collect things to add to my character anymore, but for myself. I saved the proud smile of my father in my heart when I told him of my negotiations, I reminded myself of the shocked and awed faces of my brothers when they first saw me riding into the courtyard, proud and erect: Me, Lothiriel, the girl who had never ridden before, who hadn't appreciated horses at all, riding.

And then there was the King of Rohan. I liked how he tried to hide his puzzlement when I told him something completely unexpected, and I liked how he made me feel strong. Whenever I was near him, I felt the adrenaline burning through my veins, and my hands shivered, and I was feeling utterly alive. I yearned for the ferocity of his person, how he made me feel wild and free, even if we didn't do anything but talk. Maybe I visited him far more often than protocol allowed, but it didn't bother me.

I shouldn't have been surprised when he kissed me, but I was.

I picked a blond hair from my dress afterwards, and added it to my collection. I feared that he would never look at me again, so I cherished the memory in secret. I wouldn't have needed to worry, though. During the following weeks, my collection of things connected to the King of Rohan grew: A wooden brooch, the taste of his lips, a button from his waistcoat, the burning sensation of his hands on my hips.

We were friends at that time, and my family had lost control over me. We only ever met in secret, and I lived every second with him as if it was the last, because I knew that the Rohirrim were a passionate people, and for him our interactions may as well be nothing more than a simple diversion from all the grief he suffered. I wanted to experience as much as I could before he went back to the Riddermark, to marry a woman of his own people, and I was left in Gondor, eventually being married off to one of the lords. On good days, I went to bed with my heart filled with joy and love, and on bad days I went to bed crying.

But Eomer wasn't a simple rider. On the last day of his stay in Minas Tirith, he asked for my hand in marriage. He took me on his horse and we rode together under his cloak, and although my father was stunned, he couldn't do anything to undo our marriage.

I became Lothiriel Queen, and through my husband's love I became happy and fierce. And when I finally moved to Edoras, I didn't need to collect anymore, because all I needed was already here.