The day dawned slowly over the white city of Minas Tirith, as though savouring its gentle gift of morning light. The shining stone capital glowed effortlessly, a beacon of happiness in the aftermath of a terrible war. Within the citadel on the highest level, though, some dear friends were already breaking their fast.
Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, City of swans, was talking vividly of his home, which had been besieged that summer by the corsairs and was only now beginning to heal. Eomer and Eowyn, both born and bred in a land where the only sea was of grass, were listening spellbound to Imrahil's infinite store of oceanic tales.
Eomer shook his head in wonder. "It sounds astonishing." He murmured quietly. "To ride the sea as we ride the hills, master of its depths…"
"What!" Exclaimed Eowyn with a laugh, "You seem enamoured, my brother! Will you desert us and become a mariner?"
The King of Rohan snorted loudly. "I am not as besotted as that, my sister. Rest assured it would take more then the sea to draw me from my horses."
"Anyway," Imrahil added, "No mariner would ever claim to be master of the sea, fickle as she is. For sure I would not! Ruling a city is hard enough!"
"Who is left in charge of Dol Amroth, Imrahil?" Enquired Eowyn curiously, wondering who the Prince would trust enough to leave in charge of his beloved Dol Amroth.
"My daughter, Lothiriel." Replied the Prince. "The only one of my children who actually showed up to her lessons occasionally. She's capable."
"Do I know her?" Asked Eomer, interested. Imrahil shook his head.
"We've probably mentioned her, though." He said, gesturing with one hand to include his three sons. Lowering his voice, he said conspiratorially, "The boys dote on her."
From the head of the table, Aragorn looked up. "What's she like?" Asked the king. Faramir, who Eomer realised was this girl's cousin, replied thoughtfully,
"Well, my lord… You know Eowyn?" The White Lady folded her arms. Grinning, Aragorn nodded.
"Lothiriel's like Eowyn, but, ah… more."
A current of laughter ran through the table as Eowyn genteelly smacked her husband round the head. Then Amrothos, Imrahil's youngest son, piped up,
"Didn't you send for her, father?"
Imrahil nodded, still smiling.
"The moment I could, of course- she'd have had my head otherwise. She should arrive in a day or so."
He turned to the King of the mark, eyes dancing. "Then you'll meet our swan princess, my friend."
That evening, as they began to assemble for the gathering that was the prelude to the evening meal, a messenger came through the door, breathless and harried. After taking a gulp of wine from the nearest goblet, the poor man managed to gasp out desperately,
"Princess Lothiriel…rode…through gates…in Citadel…"
After a few minutes and another goblet of wine, he elaborated:
"Princes Lothiriel of Dol Amroth came through the outer gates not half an hour ago. We'd orders to let her through." He glanced at Aragorn fro confirmation, and the King nodded. The messenger continued, "She asked if everyone was alright, then dragged herself up to her chamber-she was that tired, beggin' your highnesses' pardon, but she said she's come down at the seventh hour and not before. Her exact words were-the man's eyes unfocused for a moment-'I had to wait weeks to find out if they were dead or not, it won't kill them to wait half an hour while I make myself look decent.' But I don't think she meant it, sires." The man added tentatively. "She seemed ever so relieved."
Imrahil was grinning dreamily. "That's my swan." He murmured happily. "Eru, what a riot she's going to cause."