The sun was warm and kissed upon Lothiriel's skin as she stood with her toes buried deep into the soft sand. Her boots were discarded to the side and she stared out at the vast ocean to where it blended into the blue sky. The water was white capping lazily in the distance and her mind was drawn to far away places as she wished for a boat to sail and escape her inevitable doom.
A gentle smile rose to her face as she felt a subtle bump against her shoulder. She turned and rubbed the velvety nose of her older brother's warhorse. Fifiel had a sweet temperament she had always been fond of. Her brother Amrothos was often annoyed with her when she would take Fifiel for a run. He often argued that his warhorse was not fitting for a princess and that she needed to stick to the mares and geldings in the stable.
Fifiel wasn't the only warhorse she would sneak out of the stable to ride. She did it often with her other two brother's though Fifiel was always her favorite. Her father often commented upon her gift of tongue with the horses. She would speak softly to them in Sindarin. They responded to her in a way they would not with any other.
"It is a fine morning, is it not Fifiel?" she asked softly as she rubbed the velvet muzzle. Fifiel snorted in response and his hot breath ruffled her hair.
A great and heavy sigh came over her as she rested her face against the strong and smooth neck. Fifiel stood still and allowed her to take solace and peace in his company. The sound of the ocean gave her comfort though it also brought about a great sadness within her. How long would it be before she could hear the sweet song of the ocean calling to her?
The air was disturbed by the sound of a horn in the distance. Lothiriel felt her heart sink low into her stomach as the sound signalled the closing of her childhood. She had been dreading this day for nearly two years since her father had entered marriage negotiations with the king of Rohan.
It was an unusual arrangement. Lothiriel, Princess of Dol Amroth, was betrothed to Theodred, Crown Prince of Rohan. He was about ten years her senior. What was she to do with a husband who was older than all three of her brothers?
It didn't matter. It was done. Lothiriel was to spend the next three years in Rohan learning about her new people, their customs, as well as their language. She would return to Dol Amroth for a year to prepare for the wedding and then return to Rohan to live the rest of her life.
In four years time she would become queen. Lothiriel had lived the life of a princess. She knew her duty would come calling one day. She knew that one day she may be required to sacrifice a great deal because of her lineage and the family she had been born into.
Queen. It was still hard to wrap her mind around it. She hardly felt worthy to be a princess most days. She felt inadequate when she thought of her duties that would come with being queen. The worst of it lay in the fact that it was Rohan.
Rohan was considered a barbaric country by most of the elite circles in Gondor. While those in Gondor often lives in ancient palaces of cold marble stone, those in Rohan lived in halls carved from wood with a thatched roof. Lothiriel had seen some sketches of Meduseld and the intricate carvings that were in abundance. She had also viewed sketches of the vast plains that they often grazed their magnificent horse herds upon.
The Rider of Rohan were rough, big, and hairy men. There was no grace or finesse to them and they fought with brute force rather than strategy. At least, that was what was whispered whenever they became a topic of conversation.
Lothiriel, even at her age of 18, had been on the receiving end of pity and sympathy by those who whispered behind their hands. The flower of Dol Amroth would wilt in such a cold and windswept country. No one would wish to be the queen of the horse people though they would never say it aloud.
Yet it was Lothiriel's destiny. She would be queen to those unrefined and of poor education. From what she understood most of their history and language was oral. Very little was written down and what had been written down was mostly in Westron. It was a language of storytelling, not one of equations or science.
The horn sounded again and she knew it was announcing the honor guard that had been sent from Rohan to escort her. Lothiriel whispered a few words and Fifiel knelt on his front knees. She was able to slip onto his broad back. She wore a pair of leggings beneath her skirts to preserve some of her modesty. Fifiel rose to his feet and Lothiriel took the moment to turn her face to the sun. She closed her eyes and let herself feel the warmth as she breathed the salty air in. This was the last moment of peace she would have.
Lothiriel knew that she should turn Fifiel back up the narrow trail that would take her up the cliffs to the palace. She could not resist one last mad dash along the beach. She was unaware of a pair of distant eyes upon her as she turned Fifiel and murmured him into a canter before she gave him his head and he lunged into a gallop. She was not aware that these eyes watched her crazy dash down the beach, her dark hair whipping in the wind and her laugh carried up on the distant wind.
By the time Lothiriel had turned Fifiel back she knew she was in trouble. She had allowed herself to linger much longer than she should've and her father would've greeted her honor guard alone by now.
She brought Fifiel back up the trail and slipped from his back when she had come within sight of the outbuildings scattered around the palace. There was no need for a bridle with Fifiel. He would've followed her around as a lost puppy might have.
Lothiriel slipped the great beast into the stable and was overcome in awe at the powerful mounts she spotted. In preparation for her honor guard much of the stable had been cleared to the grazing fields and she couldn't resist taking her time in inspecting some of the famous warhorses.
Fifiel trotted into his box without hesitation and knickered affectionately as she passed him a few sugar cubes. She ran her hands down his legs and checked his hooves to ensure he had not thrown a shoe or stepped upon a stone. Once she was satisfied she moved from the box.
Lothiriel could not resist as she moved down the lines of stalls. She knew that the longer she waited the more angry and disappointed her father would be. It did not seem to matter as she came to stand near a stall that a great war horse stood. He was white with grey flecks speckled into his coat. He had a strong neck with a majestic face.
"Well aren't you a beauty," she murmured and rested her arms over the stall door. The great horse eyed her warily and his nostrils flared as his ears went low.
Lothiriel knew that the Rohirrim trained their horses to be violent towards those that weren't their master. Lothiriel also knew that even a great war horse would still be responsive to Sindarin.
"I am not here to hurt you," she spoke in the elvish tongue. "You are a warrior." She continued to speak in the lilting and sing-song of elvish and smiled as the horse began to relax. She produced a few more sugar cubes and clicked her tongue. She waited with baited breath before the horse walked forward and snapped the sugar between his prickly lips.
"Ah, I knew it, you're a great softie inside," she reached out cautiously and scratched at his forelock.
"I would not be so trusting if I were you young miss," the gruff voice caused Lothiriel to jump and whirl about with a sheepish look on her face. "Firefoot could bite your fingers off in an instant."
Lothiriel had never seen such a bear of a man before. He stood what she reckoned had to be closer to seven feet tall rather than six. His arms were thick and his chest was broad. He had a wild beard that was a rusty golden color matching his hair. She felt the instinct to shrink. It was only her upbringing that kept her chin held high even though she was intimidated by the hulk of the man.
"Yes, I know." She responded and felt Firefoot bump against her shoulder. The man in front of her uncrossed his arms and his eyes crinkled as he let out a large guffaw of a laugh.
"Well I'll be damned," he shook his head. "That is the first time I have ever seen Firefoot yield so easily to a stranger. Who are you, horse whisperer?" he beamed and it was quite contagious that Lothiriel couldn't help but smile stupidly back.
"Late, that is what I am." She procured the last handful of sugar cubes and passed them to Firefoot who did not hesitate in scooping them into his mouth.
"And do you often run around the stables barefoot?" the man asked with a raised brow as he nodded to her bare toes peeking from the skirts around her feet.
Lothiriel flushed and cleared her throat as she tried to appear as though she had known it all along. She must've left her boots down on the beach when she had taken them off to enjoy the sand. She hadn't realized she'd forgotten them until now.
"Surely running about in the skin of one's own foot is not frowned upon in Rohan?" she asked and flicked off an imaginary speck of dirt from her sleeve.
"Certainly not, is it acceptable here in Dol Amroth?" he looked thoroughly amused.
"Never." She grinned wickedly and found herself feeling better. If all the Rohirrim spoke as frankly as this one she did not think it would be so bad to travel in their company. "I really must be going horse master," she dipped into a short curtsy and he gave her a short bow before stepping to the side.
"Good day horse whisperer." He called after her and her laughter floated behind her as she darted out of the stables.