Disclaimer: The Lord of The Rings is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his estate. This is a work of fanfiction and no financial profit is made by writing this.

Chapter 1

Minas Tirith, 8th October, 3019

Lothíriel strolled along the path on the top of Minas Tirith's walls and breathed deeply the cool morning air.

The sky was clear, a light breeze blew on the Pelennor Fields. The Anduin flew placid and among the trees on its banks, Lothíriel could see the first colourful omens that autumn was upon them. She turned to look at the city. The scars left from the war were still clearly visible, but so was the effort put at restoring the White City to its former glory. People were thriving, keen on getting back their old life, the one they shared before the shadow of Mordor had spread on Middle Earth.

Over the past year, Lothíriel had got used to waking up early and having her days filled with duties. Of all her brothers, Erchirion had always been the one with a knack for trading and negotiation. But like any other men in Gondor, he had been forced to leave whatever life he had been living, to dedicate himself to war. When Lothíriel had told her father that she wanted to take over her brother's role, Imrahil had been hesitant. In the end, he had conceded that she could have been involved in a few minor deals. But soon enough, it had come out that Erchirion wasn't the only one with a talent in this field. Over and over she had proved herself, and finally her father had made her role official.

Lothíriel sighed. The end of the war and the people resuming their normal life, probably meant Erchirion would take back his role, and she would have to go back to do…well nothing, really.

Lothíriel continued her stroll and spotted a tall blond figure ahead of her. The man stood, leaning with his hands on the walls' parapet, staring intently on the Fields. She immediately recognized him, for he was indeed the only Rohirric she had had a chance to personally meet, not a month earlier. Hearing her footsteps, he turned and gave her a forced smile before bowing.

"Good morning, Princess Lothíriel. A pleasure to meet you again".

"Same for me, Gamling. I must say I am surprised to see you here again. What brings you back to Minas Tirith so soon after your last visit?", she asked, joining him looking over the Pelennors.

"I am here only for a few days, my Lady, closing some negotiations. That is all. Now, if you will excuse me, a meeting awaits for me". He gave her another small bow and briskly walked down the stairs, without even waiting for her to reply.

Lothíriel stared puzzled at his back.

She had met Gamling shortly after the main party of Gondorian guests had returned from Edoras and the funeral of Théoden King. He had been nothing but kind and friendly, and even indulged her with stories of Rohan during a dinner at her family's house. Her father had told her that the war had hit Rohan harsher than it had in Gondor, and had explained that Gamling was in the city to secure winter provisions for the Mark. Her curiosity arising, she had wanted to ask for more details, but her father had waved away her interest, saying that King Elessar had agreed on sending any spare stock in the crown's possession to Rohan. Lothíriel hadn't been surprised by the King's decision for Gondor, and especially Minas Tirith, owed much to Rohan, and had never thought of it again.

For a moment, she wondered whether the reason behind Gamling's stiffness and reticence, was that Rohan needed more food to go through the winter. But on a second thought, she dismissed the idea. King Elessar would have helped Gamling if Rohan was in real need.

No, Gamling is probably here for some other trading agreement.

Later that day, Lothíriel looked at her own reflex in the mirror of her bedroom, as her handmaid scrupulously made the last arrangements to her hair.

For the evening, she had chosen a simple but elegant gown in a deep red that matched her complexion. Andes, her handmaid, had arranged her long dark hair in a complicated set of braids, kept in place by countless hairpins. As always, the result was stunning. "Andes, no one can match your skills with hair!". Her maid giggled at her comment and looked back at her through the mirror.

She had been her maid for almost one year now, after her old one, Cuileth, had decided to resign her position in order to take care of her sick mother. Andes was Cuileth's nephew, and the older woman had strongly recommended her for the position of handmaid. And Lothíriel was glad she had listened to her advice: only five years her senior, Andes was a lovely, intelligent girl, and they had fast become good friends.

"My Lady, which jewellery would you like to wear this evening?".

Lothíriel looked once more to herself. "I won't wear any, Andes. Father said that despite the King and the Queen will join us, together with Gamling, it will only be an informal dinner. This will be perfect, mostly thanks to your magic hands, I might add!". The two shared a laugh and soon a knock on the door informed them that one of her brothers had come to escort her to dinner.

"Good evening, Andes. Sister, are you ready?", Amrothos greeted them.

He was wearing a tunic in the dark blue of Dol Amroth and had left his hair free. Since the war had ended, he had started to wear them longer than before and they now had grown past his shoulders. They were very similar to hers, dark and wavy. When left free, they gave him a carefree look that he had declared being the death of any Gondorian lady.

Lothíriel smiled affectionately at him. "Tell me, dear brother, do you think I will meet the requirements of our lovely sister in law?". She gave him an exaggerated curtsy and he snorted loudly. "Never, sister, never!".

Giggling, the started towards the hall.

The following day Minas Tirith awoke to another beautiful autumn morning.

Lothíriel purposefully strode through the fifth level of the city, closely followed by a couple of her father's guards. She entered the yard of a two stores house and saw the owner coming out to welcome her.

"Princess Lothíriel, welcome!".

Lord Cuildir was a man in his sixties, not very tall and quite plump, but with an open smile. He was a minor noble in the White City, and a good merchant. He hailed from Lebennin and she knew that her brother Erchirion, and father before him, had great respect for the man and had often traded with him.

"Lord Cuildir, it is nice to meet you again". She followed the man through the room and up the stairs, where his study was located.

Winters in the south were never too harsh and Lothíriel had worked hard over the past months. As such, the Dol Amroth's food stocks had been replenished and winter did not worry the city by the sea. However, Lothíriel had decided to acquire some additional grain to ensure coverage should something happen. Lord Cuildir had been the obvious choice and she had written him a quick letter before leaving Dol Amroth, saying she would have visited him in the hope of closing a deal for a provision of grain, without further elaborating on the details.

Lord Cuildir looked at her as he held back a chair for her to sit and she had the impression that the man felt slightly at unease.

"Lord Cuildir, I suppose the reason for my visit does not come as a surprise. I was hoping to come to an agreement for a grain's provision to be shipped to Dol Amroth within the next weeks. Our families have a long, profitable history of trading with each other, and…". She stopped mid-sentence. The man was clearly uncomfortable and embarrassed, continuously shifting in his chair, his eyes darting on the surface of his big oak's desk. "Lord Cuildir, is something amiss?".

The man nervously looked at her. As if giving up on finding a more comfortable position, he stood up and moved instead to the window, looking briefly over the city before turning to her. "My Lady, I felt honoured when I received your letter. And please trust me, I would have gladly closed the deal with Dol Amroth. However, the situation has now changed".

"Changed?"

The older man turned again towards the Pelennors, seemingly lost in his thoughts, in his memories. When he spoke, his voice was low but deep, intense: "That day, my Lady, I thought everything to be lost. I thought despair was upon us, I had lost my youngest son, did not know if my oldest lived or whether he had been slain by those foul creatures".

Lothíriel felt torn between annoyance and curiosity. Annoyance that most probably she wouldn't be able to close the deal, and would have to contact somebody else for it. Curiosity at Lord Cuildir's strange behaviour. She patiently waited and after a few moments, the man turned back to her, a resolute look in his eyes.

"If it wasn't for the Rohirrim, we wouldn't have survived until the arrival of King Elessar. That must count for something, no matter what oath stood between them and us".

"I agree, Lord Cuildir. However, I fail to see what does this have to do with our deal?".

The older man sighed but held her eyes. "Just yesterday, an emissary from Rohan has visited me. We have reached an agreement for the whole stock in my possession to be sold and immediately sent to Rohan".

"Would that be Gamling?".

"Yes, my Lady". Lord Cuildir hesitated, before adding: "Princess Lothíriel, please understand, in any other circumstance, I'd have considered our informal correspondence binding itself. However…I can't speak of things I do not know, my Lady, but I have the strong impression that Rohan needs that food provisions, desperately. I could not in good heart refuse Gamling. I hope you won't take offence, Princess".

Lothíriel kept silent for some long moments, letting the information she had just been relieved sink in. "Why do you say so, Lord Cuildir?".

"My Lady, I wouldn't like to be spreading gossips about Rohan. All I know is that I'm not the only merchant Gamling has got in touch with within the last days, for the very same reason".

Lothíriel thought of her meeting with Gamling along the walls. How he had seemed tense and stiff. She thought of how he had dismissed the topic at dinner the evening before. She further pondered what Lord Cuildir had just told her. If it was true, if really Rohan was not ready for winter yet, and if winters in Rohan were even only half as harsh as everybody had been telling her, then why hadn't he told so at dinner? King Elessar, not to mention her father, would have helped without any hesitation. How much did Rohan really need? Would they get enough, in time? Why were they reluctant at asking for further help?

Lothíriel's frown deepened, and she realized Lord Cuildir was still standing before her, waiting for her to say something. "You need not to worry, Lord Cuildir, as no offence was taken. I believe my father will be glad to hear Gondorians are trying to help our good friends of Rohan. I will still count you as one of our most appreciated and respected trading partner".

The man visibly relaxed, giving her a small smile and finally coming to sit at the desk.

Finding another merchant for the Dol Amroth's supplies would be no hard task. Right now, she was much more interested in Rohan. Depending what the situation really was, she might have had a chance to help and show what she was really capable of.

She thought about finding Gamling, but if he had not wanted to inform the King and her father, she doubted he would speak to her. There is but one place where I can find some Rohirrim and maybe gather some information.

She nodded to her guards, and walked to the upper level of the city. It didn't' take long for the building she was thinking of, to come into view.

The House of Healing was not nearly as crowded as it had been the first time she came to Minas Tirith after the end of the war. She had accompanied her father, paying a visit to the Swan Knights in the care of the healers. Her father had asked her to talk to those who were staying in the gardens, while he walked inside. She knew why. He had been trying to shield her from witnessing the worse of it. She had heard her father and brothers talking of mangled bodies, crippled men, whispering to each other when they thought she would not hear them. She had thought the thing ridiculous, for even though she had never been into battle, she knew what war was. But upon speaking with the knights lying in the gardens, meaning the ones who were faring the better, she had realized that she didn't know nearly that much. And she honestly didn't want to.

She had felt so inadequate in front of those men, hadn't known what to say. Everything seemed so obvious, so useless. She had walked to each single one of them. Even as the words had come out of her mouth, she had thought them silly. She had thanked them for their heroic efforts, wished them a full recover, offered the support of the House of Dol Amroth. Some of them had smiled, some had only blankly stared at her, making her feel uncomfortable if not even scared by the emptiness in their eyes.

That day, she and her father had walked back to their house in silence.

The garden of the House of Healing was now once again simply that: a garden. A few people were passing by and Lothíriel had no problem at being granted access, simply saying she had come to visit her father's Knights. It's just a half lie, in the end.

Only few of them were still resting here, recovering from injuries that would never be really healed.

Lothíriel breathed deeply before entering the first room. A man lay in the bed, his face sunken and pale, dark straight hair giving him an even more daunted look. Lothíriel let her eyes slide along his thin body, covered by a white blanket despite the warm sun filtering the room. The way the blanket perfectly fell on the bottom half of the bed, barely a wrinkle here in there, reminded her that there was a reason why these men were still here after so many months. She swallowed, trying to resist the urge to turn and flee.

It wasn't until much later, that Lothíriel left the room of the last of the Swan Knights resting in the House of Healing. She sighed deeply, taking a moment to close her eyes and trying to regain her posture. Over the past weeks, she knew her father had regularly visited these men. He had never again asked her to join him, and she had never spared a second thought about it. Today, she had only come because she wanted to gather information from the Rohirrim soldiers. She had claimed a visit to her father's knights only to be given quick access and had thought that she would quickly greet them before moving on with the real reason behind her visit.

Stupid Lothíriel, what were you thinking? Why did you come here at all? Why did you never come back over the past weeks?

She could admirably hold herself in any negotiation, but she had felt at complete loss in front of these men. What could she possibly tell them, that would help them or lift their spirit? Past could not be changed and their bodies would never return to what they used to be.

She thought of the reason that had brought her there and felt herself shrinking.

A healer passed by and gave her a curious look. Lothíriel shook herself and slowly walked down the corridor leading to the gardens. The fresh air made her feel better and she breathed deeply, in and out, in and out. You will come back to visit them, Lothíriel, you will.

In and out, in and out. She spotted a faired hair man at a window. You will come back, and you will see to this matter with Rohan, but not like this.

She nodded to her guards and headed outside, into the busy streets, and from there, again up: King Elessar was hosting Gamling, and that was where she was going.

Once arrived at Merethrond, a servant informed her that she had seen Gamling going towards the stables. She thanked the maid and went for the stables herself, without further hesitation. Her own mare, Bethril, was hosted there. It seems today is a day for long neglected visits.

Upon entering the building Lothíriel noted a bucket, filled with apples, hanging on the side. She gingerly took one and looked around for Bethril. Her mare was in a box nearby the door and she greeted her nuzzling her shoulders and immediately reaching for her treat. Lothíriel laughed and patted her neck. She wasn't a big horse, but she was a lovely one, perfectly appropriate for the daughter of the Prince of Dol Amroth, with her light grey coat.

Her concentration on her mare, she didn't hear Gamling approaching her until the last moment.

"She is a fine horse, my Lady".

"Yes, she is, Gamling. Though your big war horses make her look almost like a pony!", she laughed softly, throwing a look at his big stallion, his head pocking out of his box, as if checking on whom his master was speaking to.

"Gamling, I hope you will forgive me for being so straight forward, but I haven't come to visit my horse. I was actually hoping to have a few words with you", she said bluntly.

Gamling raised his eyebrows, clearly wondering what a Princess of Gondor would want to discuss with him. "We Rohirric are very forward people, my Lady. You shall never excuse yourself for plain speaking with us. Actually, we will deeply appreciate it!".

Lothíriel nodded and turned back to her horse. "The reason for my presence in Minas Tirith, is that I was hoping to purchase some extra grain provision for Dol Amroth from Lord Cuildir. However, when I met the man this morning, I was informed that the provisions had been already sold".

She did not need to look at the man to see his posture stiffening, and she thought he was clenching his fists. "I am sorry for the inconvenience, Princess…", he started to say through clenched teeth. But Lothíriel did not let him finish.

"It was no inconvenience, Gamling. However, it had me thinking. I was under the impression, and I know for sure that the same goes for my father and King Elessar as well, that Rohan was at this point already well prepared for winter. I thought you were here for negotiating the trading of further goods. But you are not, are you?".

"With no offence intended, my Lady, this is none of your business".

Lothíriel took a better look at the man, and realized that even more than tense, he seemed angry. "None taken, Gamling. And none intended when I say that if our northern allies are facing difficulties, that is indeed our business".

"Gondor and King Elessar have already given plenty of help".

Is that why they haven't voiced their concerns? Pride?

"Yes, Gamling, and I see you are proficiently taking care of the problem. I am not saying you shall beg for further provisions, just that somebody with a deeper knowledge of Gondor and of trading, might help you moving around more…efficiently, shall we say?".

"And that person would be you?". Lothíriel felt annoyed by his tone, but kept herself in check.

"I may be a Princess and I may be young, but I have proven myself far and wide, when it comes to trade. However, I would not impose myself on you, there are others who may support your query".

Gamling sighed, shifting his weight from one feet to the other, giving her an apologetic look. "I am sorry, Lady Lothíriel, I did not mean to belittle you. You shall know that your father speaks very highly of your role during the war, you made him and Dol Amroth proud, Princess".

Lothíriel waved his apology away. "Just tell me this, Gamling: will you be able to secure whatever is needed, in time?".

The look he gave her, spoke in volumes. "I hope so, my Lady. But time is short, and we need provisions to be sent to Rohan in early enough to be distributed before the first snowfalls. And the list of merchants I need to meet is still long".

"May I ask whom you have already met and who is on your list?".

Gamling had clearly been very busy. He had already closed three agreements and was to meet more merchants, both in Minas Tirith and in Pelargir, within the next days. However, Lothíriel could not help but noticing that one name was missing on the list. A big name, the one man Gamling should have spoken to immediately.

"What about Lord Arondir, Gamling? Have you considered speaking to him? I am not sure of how much grain we are speaking of, but he might be able to provide you with all the stocks you need, in one single move".

Anger flashed again in Gamling's eyes, clearer as ever before. He seemed to be taking a moment to recompose himself before answering her, as if he was struggling to keep calm. "I did, my Lady. He is the first person I met. However, the conditions he has offered were…not acceptable".

"Not acceptable?", she prompted him.

"Éomer King would not have appointed me this task, if he hadn't been sure that Rohan had enough funds available to pay for the provisions. But Lord Arondir has requested a price more than three times higher than the average one, he has refused to negotiate, and has even added a further request as payment".

Lothíriel arched one eyebrow, encouraging him to continue. "Horses, my Lady. A supply of black Rohirric horses to be delivered before the winter".

Lothíriel looked at him with wide eyes and a thousand questions spinning in her head.

Edoras, 11th October, 3019

Sitting by the big desk in King Théoden's study, now his study, Éomer stood at the parchment in front him, his fingers trembling in anger, crumpling the paper.

The last months had been one big, long, endless nightmare. After the last guests had left Edoras after Théoden's funeral, he had spent weeks visiting the Mark, trying to figure out the real extension of the damages that war had brought upon them. He had been in Aldburg and at the Hornburg, of course. But he had pushed himself to the West and East Emnet as well, and even to the Wold, as much as time allowed it.

He had known the situation to be grim, but reality had widely surpassed his first assessments.

The Westfold had been largely and thoroughly sacked by the armies of Saruman, virtually no village had been left standing, no crop had been spared. The Westfold, the farming heart of Rohan, had looked no more than a desolate moor.

Some people had tried to start over, going back to whatever was left of their villages, trying to repair and rebuild. But wood was scarce and winter close, and Éomer knew they would not be able to stay there, when the winds would scour the plains and the snow would cover the land.

Wherever he rode, he had seen many women, many children, some elderly. Of the few men, many showed signs of what war had really costed them. Crippled bodies, of riders who will never again wield a sword or hold a shield. The faces of his people had haunted him ever since. Faces speaking of hunger, children all bones being awkwardly silent and calm, as if resigned to their fate.

The situation had not been better elsewhere. Their herds had been decimated and not much was left of the true heart of Rohan. Same went for the livestock, what with orcs having slaughtered the most of them.

When he had returned to Edoras, ten days earlier, he had felt despair and frustration at his impuissance, anger at what his people had gone through and what was still to be faced. The help that Aragorn had granted them, having him bitterly swallowing his pride, would not suffice. He had underestimated the gravity of the situation, and was left with small time to remedy.

He had immediately dispatched Gamling back to Minas Tirith, knowing that they would need to use until the very last of their resources if they wanted their people to have a chance at surviving the winter.

While impatiently waiting for good news from Gamling, his days had felt into a routine made of meetings with his advisors, of reading endless records coming from all over the Mark, of trying to make plans at how to save his subjects. He would wake up at first light and retire late, his nights plagued by nightmares.

He couldn't even remember anymore the first time he had had a nightmare. For years, the bloody images of his riders and friends falling and dying, had tormented him. Now he had different types of nightmares. In his dreams, starving children would stare at him through dead eyes, a new generation of Rohirrim that would never come to be. His advisors would rightfully accuse him of having failed as a King, his friends would turn their backs to him.

It seemed like a cruel fate was turning upon him, and for every step forward he thought they had made, they would inexorably make three backs.

Just a few weeks earlier he had been informed of women and children occupying the ruined rests of a village, less than a day from Edoras. He had ordered them to be brought to the capital, where they could be hosted in some of the cottages left empty by the heavy toll of the war. It had seemed the best thing to do, his advisors had promptly agreed. He had dispatched a small guard to do the task, feeling confident in the decreasing number of attacks from orcs, especially so close to the city. But when the group had failed to show up at the gates of the city, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach had taken over him. Ignoring the complaints from his advisors, he had ridden himself toward the ruined settlement, followed by his Guard.

The folks hadn't made it far from the village. The foul creatures must have ambushed them and only left behind half burned and half eaten corpses lying in the mud. He had wanted to scream at the top his lung, but had not said a word instead. They had tried to track them down, but a downpour of rain had soon covered the orcs' tracks, making it impossible.

Once again, he had underestimated the situation and, as a consequence, people had died. Of a horrible death.

After that day, his nightmares had worsened, if even possible. He had immerged himself into the duties of Kingship, barely sleeping and only quickly eating something in his study. Always frowning, always angry, always expecting the worse, always feeling the failure he was being to his own people. Not even lying with women brought him the respite it used to.

Aefre was the daughter of a small merchant of Edoras who had died on the Pelennors. Her brother had fought as well and had come back. Part of him, at least, as he had lost a leg on the very same fields. But he was a young man with great spirit, and upon coming back to Edoras he had taken over his father's business, and seemed to be doing a fine job out of it. Aefre was always by his side, helping him in the shop and sharing with him a small cottage near the Riddermarket. She was one of the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon, with long blond hair and deep blue eyes.

The first time she had sought him out, it had been only a couple of days after the slaughter of the villagers near Edoras. He had been tending to Firefoot, trying to stop his whirling thoughts. She had approached him in the Royal Stables and he had greedily taken what comfort she was offering.

It had been too long since the last time he had been with a woman, well before the war's end for sure. After the war, he had been too busy, too many concerns crowding his mind. He had had no time to care for women, may them be wenches or potential wives.

But damn if it had been good, even if only for that short instance, when the whole world disappears and it was only him and the pleasure shooting through his body. He had poured all that he had, his anger, his powerlessness, his emptiness, into that act. It hadn't been gentle, nor sweet. And she had been fine with it.

Soon, she had taken to join him in Meduseld. Late at night, she would come and sought him out, whether in his study or in his room.

Once she had showed up during the day. She had entered his study while he was in the middle of reading a letter reporting the status of the Westfold's most isolated communities. A malicious smile had curved her lips and she had walked towards him, swaying her hips and slowly unlacing her gown. He had lifted his head from the letter, feeling anger mounting inside him at her sight. He had stood up and taking it as an encouragement, she had come closer to him, purring in that low voice of her, "I thought you might enjoy a break from your daily activities, my King".

Daily activities.

He did lose his control, then.

He had fiercely grabbed her by her wrist and forcefully shovelled her through the door and into the empty corridor. She had stumbled back, losing her equilibrium, falling with a shocked expression painted on her beautiful face. She had held her wrist and had sat there, on the cold floor, perfectly still.

"Never dare to do that again", he had just hissed her, before shutting closed the door.

He had almost thought that she would not have showed up later that night, and indeed he would have deserved it. But as he was laying in his huge bed, completely naked, he had heard the door slowly opening, and had seen her entering the room without any hesitation.

He had looked up at her, at once relieved and annoyed. "You are late" he had told her, and she had diligently taken off her clothes and joined him on the bed.

A sound coming from the Hall brought him back to the present. Éomer looked back at the crumpled letter in his hands and felt a familiar pulsing on his right temple. Damned headache. He pressed the palm of his hand to that throbbing point, just above his eyebrow, his eyes scanning again through the parchment. Lord Arondir.

He had met the man at the Cormallen. A good fighter on the field and an insufferable snooty bore outside.

He knew he belonged to the highest nobility, and Amrothos had told him that he was one of the richest man in all Gondor. That Lord Arondir despised the Rohirrim was as clear as the day, to him. But he had hoped that they could do business together. But if what Gamling had written was true, he had anything but refused, putting impossible conditions on the table. Impossible because Rohan could not pay that much, not in terms of gold, even less in terms of horses.

If they had hoped for a quick solution to their problems, if they had thought that they could have bought all the provisions they needed from the one man who was alone in possession of enough of them, they had been sorely mistaken. Gamling would now be forced to go door by door, visiting virtually any big and small merchant in Gondor, negotiating every time on a price, on a delivery.

If there was a man for the job in the whole Rohan, that was Gamling. He knew he could trust him, but at this point it was also clear that they would never get enough provisions for everybody before winter.

People will starve to death.