May 1 3019 Spring

Minas Tirith, Gondor

He should have been dead. That was what Théodred, newly fixed King of the Riddermark thought of himself as he stood witness to the grand coronation of his friend-at-arms, Aragorn. Both men had been to the Black Gate and back, fought against the tribulations of Mordor on behalf of the light of the west, and defeated their greatest foe, the Dark Lord. Now, everything had changed; his life would never be the same again. He was a king now, but not yet crowned in the eyes of his own people. Théodred looked up at hearing Faramir's voice.

"Men of Gondor, hear now the Steward of this Realm! Behold! One has come to claim the kingship of this Realm. Here is Aragorn son of Arathorn, wielder of the Sword Reforged, of the line of Valandil. Shall he be king and enter into the city and dwell here?"*

"Yea!" The great crowd cried, many throwing their arms up and taking their caps off.

Théodred was quite intrigued when Aragorn insisted on having the half-ling, Frodo carry the White Crown to Gandalf who placed it upon Aragorn's head.

"Behold the King!" Faramir cried. Music began playing, and people shouted their joys and happiness.

Théodred walked alongside his cousin, Éomer in the procession of the new King Aragorn or Elessar as he was now to be called. Both fair-haired men walked in silence through the flower-laden streets of Minas Tirith. As joyous as the moment was, Théodred had anything but celebrations running through his mind. He was happy - happy that his people were saved from the darkness of Mordor and that of Isengard. The only regret he had was that he could not save his father, Théoden King. The late king's son felt a heavy weight in his chest, knowing the torment his father must have felt at the end. He had watched his father succumb to darkness; dwell in the shadows of his one golden hall, unaware of those around him. Then Gandalf had arrived in Edoras and freed his father, making him renowned to his people. Théodred had knelt at his father's side, receiving his blessing before battle. Together they had fought together, fulfilled the Oath of Eorl the Young, had ridden to Gondor's aid at the darkest hour, and participated in the fiercest battle of the Great War. Then, just like that, Théodred was left alone without a father. Many around him would think that the young king would be used to not having a father after all these years. But through those four heart gripping years, Théodred always held onto the hope that one day his father would be free again, and their lives would go back to the way they were before the shadow of Isengard fell over their House. He was being naive; Théodred knew that, but he was a son, who loved his father more dearly than anything else did.

"Cheer up, Cousin," Éomer said beside him. "This is a great day for not only Gondor, but also the Riddermark."

Théodred forced a smile, watching the pretty ladies on the sideline waving flowers and handkerchiefs at the procession. "It is indeed, though one cannot feel the burden of his lands, for they have been greatly affected by the burnings of Isengard."

A shadow formed over Éomer's face; he nodded. "It will take many months... years! before our lands will be fully fertile once more."

"We have a grim year ahead of us, Cousin."

Éomer sighed silently, watching the handsome features of his older cousin's face darken once more. "You will do your father proud, Théodred. No Eorling could ask for a better ruler in the coming years."

"I will need you, Éomer," Théodred said suddenly. "I will need you by my side. I cannot do this alone."

Éomer chuckled. "You speak as if you are a child."

"In some ways I feel like a child. Now I know how our grandfather, Thengel King must have felt spending the remainder of his princely years without a father." Théodred turned to face Éomer. "That is not how our tradition goes. A Crowned Prince is to remain at his father's side until said father is on his deathbed, ready to hand the crown over to him. His heir is his apprentice, and that apprenticeship is to last until his father's last breath." Théodred sighed heavily. "I have missed so much of my father's teachings."

"You are not the only one," Éomer grumbled.

Théodred closed his eyes, feeling somewhat guilty. He had forgotten Éomer's father had died when his cousin was just a boy. It was something that continued to elude his mind as Éomer had been raised in the king's court as the sister-son of his own father.

"Forgive me," Théodred finally spoke. "You know my intentions were not of the dire sort."

Éomer smiled. "That I know, Cousin."

The procession had halted at the ramp leading into the citadel. The guards disbanded, moving to the allocated positions in the front courtyard of the castle, while Gandalf escorted Aragorn into his new home and palace. The rest of the procession spread out among the courtyard while Merethrond, the Hall of Feasts, was prepared for the evening events. Éowyn – Éomer younger sister – stood with the newly appointed Prince of Ithilien, Faramir. Théodred smiled, knowing of the affection between the two, and even Éomer had a sense of approval in his eyes.

"I hope Lord Faramir knows what he is getting himself into," Éomer murmured to his cousin, amusement in his eyes.

Théodred chuckled. "I am sure our beloved Éowyn is a golden jewel in the eyes of the steward."

"She has informed me of her intentions on returning to the Mark with us," Éomer continued.

"She has no choice but to return with us," Théodred observed. "If her desire is to wed the Prince of Ithilien, then it would not be proper by... let us say Gondorian standards for the future Princess of Ithilien to be living as a guest to her to-be husband."

Éomer blinked. "Quite a mouthful, Cousin." Both men grinned at each other. "It is good to know that some of your propriety has survived the war. It should help you to attract a reasonable bride."

Théodred hummed with approval. "Another task in which my kingship demands of me."

"If you wish for your House to continue, then yes."

Théodred gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I have appointed you as my successor."

Éomer bowed his head. "And I am thankful for it, Cousin. Yet you need an heir of your own body, not that of your aunt."

Théodred laughed. "My late aunt bred well! I am in complete confidence that I shall not find a bride who could bear me such strong willed children as your aunt did for your father."

It was Éomer's turn to laugh. "By the looks of these flower maidens of Gondor, you had best turn your hope to one of our own stock."

"Quite indeed," Théodred agreed, observing a small group of ladies chatting nearby. Their gowns were of the finest silks, their hair dark as night, done up in elegant hairstyles. Quite different indeed compared to the hardy women of the Mark who enjoyed having their hair flowing down their backs or braided with gowns made of cotton, velvets, or wool. Very different indeed...

"Observing the flora, I see." Both men turned to the voice behind them and saw the youngest son of their comrade, Prince Imrahil.

"Prince Amrothos," Théodred said, clasping hands with him. "It is good to see you once again."

"Likewise," Amrothos replied, turning his attention towards the women. "Not to your taste?"

"We like our women approachable," Éomer commented.

"Not to mention touchable," Théodred added.

"Yes," Éomer said, frowning at the women. "These ones appear to shatter at the slightest touch."

Amrothos laughed. "There is no mistaking you two grew up together! Fear not! Not all our women are... as you say 'breakable'. Come to the coastline, we have a good stock of 'touchable' women."

"I will hold you to that," Théodred said friendly, pointing his finger at the young prince.

Amrothos nodded his head towards his oldest brother, Prince Elphir. "My brother's wife, Lady Malrin is quite a woman! She is from the coast and does not quite fit into these high court gatherings. The same may be said about my sister."

"Ah, yes! You have a sister," Théodred said, remembering Imrahil talking fondly of his youngest child.

"Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth," Amrothos said, sounding out her entire title. "Quite approachable, but... a modest lady who can come off as shy."

"In the Mark, shyness is the explanation of a modest woman," Éomer said.

"You sound out our realm as if our women are mute!" Théodred observed.

"Many were mute these past years."

"For good reason," Théodred said, feeling very protective of his people.

Amrothos bowed his head, hiding his smile. "Well, in any case, my beloved sister shall be attending the celebrations this evening." He turned to leave, but stopped short, twisting his back to face both men. "I should give you, Théodred King a fair warning; my father has high hopes you will dance with Lothíriel tonight." The young prince gave him a wink then left back to his own brothers.

Théodred eyed Éomer warily. "Is it too bold to say that if I do not find this princess appealing or interesting, that I can turn a blind eye?"

Éomer grinned. "As long as you do it the Eorlingas way."

Théodred laughed wholeheartedly. "There would be no other way."

Music rang in their ears that evening, as harps and violins soothed the gathering of guests within Merethrond. The hall was a light from hundreds of candles hanging in circles from high chandeliers, or hung elegantly on silver and gold candlesticks on the walls. The silver and black banner of Elessar hung down from the dais, followed by the blue banner of Dol Amroth, and the green banner of Rohan. The three great lords of these lands sat at the high table upon the dais talking merrily amongst each other, with the steward, and other lords of the many fiefdoms of Gondor.

"It is comforting to see your spirits have lifted," Aragorn said to Théodred, who was sitting to his left. "Enjoy yourself this evening."

Théodred smiled distantly, watching the guests taking their allocated seats. "I am rather looking forward to becoming better acquainted with your people. I fear this past decade I have not been so fortunate as to do so."

Aragorn smiled. "I fear I am much obliged to do so myself."

"It should not be too hard," Théodred remarked humorously. "Observing this crowd of visitors, one could easily make an estimation of at least three hundred guests." Théodred grinned at his friend. "Three hundred eager guests ready to make your acquaintance."

Aragorn inhaled and let it exhale slowly, and then joked: "Would it be fair enough to say that this was a reason for my remaining in the north?"

Théodred chuckled. "Having to acquaint myself with three hundred strangers who have to bow before my feet does indeed appear adverse."

"You must be eager to return to the Mark, then?" Aragorn inquired, drinking his wine.

"Quite eager indeed, my friend," he answered. "As much as the scenery and architecture of your new city has kept me fairly in awe, I must return to my own lands and set order there once more."

Aragorn nodded. "A tough task ahead of you. Fear not, we are allies, and allies are true friends to another. What mine is yours."

Théodred could not help but grin at that. "Truly? If that be the case, I require two hundred of your best and strongest horses, twenty yards of leather and gold thread to make new saddles, a tonne of hay to feed these horses, and if it is possible, I would need one large stable built to house two hundred horses."

Aragorn raised his brows and laughed, rather pleased to find his old friend was getting his sense of humour back. "Demand that of my fellow lords and they will never wish to hear from you again."

Théodred chuckled. "There is no need to fret. I would never ask your people to part with their steeds. In any case, we Eorlingas prefer to ride our own breeds. It is our heritage and pride of the Riddermark." He sat back in his chair, feeling content for the moment. His eyes wandered over the crowed, watching everyone talk, gossip, and laugh. How cheerful everyone had become almost an instant after the war was over. In some of their eyes, Théodred could not even see a hint of sadness or a sense of loss at having a relative die. Could people so easily forget?

Aragorn stood up, causing everyone to follow suite, then sit down once again. "I thank you all for your attendance this evening," the new king began. "It has been a hard and tough few years gone by, but now as your newly appointed king, it is my dearest hope that together we can rebuild our fallen cities, work, and live together in peace and serenity with our neighbours and allies."

The crowd applauded, many cheering. Aragorn smiled, raising his hand to silence them. "It is my greatest honour to have our friendship with the men of Rohan restored and renewed stronger than before. They have fulfilled their Oath to us, and for that, we are in their debt, and will forever honour their fallen comrades."

Théodred gripped his wineglass tightly at that sentence, feeling the loss of his father once more, and the almost death of his cousin, Éowyn.

"Hail to our allies of the north!" Aragorn cried, raising his goblet in toast.

"Hail!" the crowd roared.

"Hail to our future and lands of peace!"

"Hail!"

Théodred drank deeply into his wine, wanting to forget his sorrows. After all, this was a celebration, and what kind of young handsome king does not feel like celebrating? He was certainly not going to fit into that category. After the food had been served and dessert eaten, Aragorn instructed the tables to be moved aside and the dancing to begin; many people flocking to the dance floor instantly.

Théodred excused himself from the dais and walked down to where Éomer stood with Prince Imrahil.

"Friend," Théodred said, grinning as he and Imrahil grasped hands. "It is good to finally have the chance to speak to you!"

Imrahil laughed joyously. "Likewise! Tell me, when do you and your cousins plan on leaving?"

"The eighth day of this month," he replied mechanically. "Only a week away, but much is in need of my attention back home."

Imrahil nodded. "I only ask as I have my two youngest sons quite eager for another adventure. Perhaps on the return of your second visit, you would do me the honour of taking them off my hands."

Théodred and Éomer laughed together. "I would never suspect Erchirion and Amrothos being nuisances," Éomer remarked dryly.

"Ahh." Imrahil waved his hand at the young man. "Not at all! They are much like you two - young, eager, and can become bored moderately easily. Both are capable sailors, but I obtain this inkling every now and then that sailing the seas is not enough for them."

Théodred nodded, agreeing wholly. He remembered many years ago becoming so bored of Edoras, that he went out camping in the Wold for an entire month with his eored. But that was before he considered his life and station important, before his father had become ill and withdrawn. Now, those days were a lifetime ago.

"Cousin," Éomer said, cuffing his older cousin's shoulder.

"Hmmm?"

Imrahil smiled knowingly. "I was just saying that you have not met my daughter, Lothiriel."

"Ehh..." Théodred knew where this was headed, and frankly, he did not approve of having women thrown at him. Not that he believed Imrahil would throw his daughter at him, perhaps a gentle push. "I would be honoured making the princess's acquaintance."

As Imrahil left to retrieve his daughter, Théodred eyed Éomer warily. "I doubt she will be too bad," Éomer said, shrugging carelessly. "This is your life now – having princesses at your service."

Théodred coughed back a laugh, thinking of his cousin's words in the wrong context. "Honestly, no matter how appealing she is, even if she removes all her clothes before me, I could not find her appealing enough for me."

"You have not even met her!" Éomer remarked. "Besides, I highly doubt Imrahil would stand by idly as his daughter removed all her clothing before you."

Théodred groaned, not enjoying this rather pushed on situation. He saw Imrahil returning with a shorter, dark haired figure following. The young king felt his heart starting to beat faster, knowing he was about to be put on the spot.

"Ah," Imrahil said pleasantly, seeing both men waiting patiently. "May I present my daughter, Princess Lothíriel."

Out of her father's shadow she came, her hands clasped at her waist, wearing a light blue gown, trimmed in silver. As all the other ladies, her hair was neatly done up with a silver circlet tracing her forehead.

"My lady," Théodred said, holding her hand to kiss it. "It is an honour to finally meet you."

Lothíriel curtsied deeply, her head bowed, but raising it to meet his eyes, as she stood straight once more. "I thank you, Théodred King for having me in your presence."

That sounded rehearsed, Théodred thought to himself, keeping his features smiling. "This is my cousin, Lord Éomer of Aldburg." Théodred frowned himself when he saw small frown lines appear on her features. He turned and noticed Éomer gaping – not rudely – but in a way a man did when he was at a loss for words.

"My lord," she said, curtsying again, but not as low. She fidgeted with her hands, looking up at her father for approval to continue speaking. From his nod, she spoke: "I have heard so many wondrous tales about the two of you from my father and brothers. All speak so... kindly and praise all your skills as riders and swordsman. It is... exciting to finally meet the two of you in the flesh."

Exciting to finally meet? Théodred knew she was not lying by the glee in her dark eyes whilst she talked. So far, he would not call her shy as Amrothos had, but she definitely stuck to the rules of formality. Pretty too, Théodred thought, vaguely tilting his head to the side. She had beautiful round eyes, shaded in various greys, her skin was a milky texture with a hint of light brownness to it, and her lips were at full bloom too. Appealing, very appealing. She appeared delicate, but from the way she stood tall, her hands firmly clasped, he could sense strength within her.

Théodred noticed Imrahil watching him observe her; he smiled consciously, noticing that Éomer had finally found his tongue and had struck up a conversation with the princess regarding Rohan and Gondor's culture differences. That was a conversation Théodred had gotten over with a long time ago. So far, it was the main topic between the soldiers of Gondor and his riders. How long would it take everyone to get the culture differences out of their systems vocally?

"Théodred King." Lothíriel's voice drew him back to reality, "are the dances of your people different to those we are witnessing tonight?"

Théodred blinked hard, having not payed any attention to the dancing. He turned around and saw two lines of people, one of men, another of women, dancing gracefully. Théodred could not help but chuckled aloud. He turned back to his companions, facing Lothíriel.

"Forgive my amusement, my lady," he began, finally able to suppress his laughter. "But the dances of the Mark are more informal and lively."

Lothíriel nodded. "I shall very much enjoy having the privilege to experience one of your people's dances, my lord."

Théodred smiled at her. "If your father is gracious enough to accompany you to the Mark, then I will be more than pleased to show you the steps."

Lothíriel beamed with delight, sharing a smile with her father.

Théodred continued. "But for now, I would ask for your hand in the next dance, Princess."

Lothíriel smiled shyly, placing her hand lightly on his. "I would be honoured, my lord."

Well, he thought to himself. He may as well get it done and dusted. Whilst waiting for the next dance to begin, Théodred glanced to the other side of the hall and noticed her. It was pretty hard not to notice her, for she was the only woman in the hall and probably all of Gondor itself to be standing in front of a large crowed with her hands on her hips, her stance hard, her eyes glaring out at the dancing. Théodred could not help but smile at her posture. She was dressed probably in her finest gown – a woman of nobility – and yet there she stood, not giving a care in the world that the people beside her were appearing quite uncomfortable in her presence.

"Who is that young woman?" Théodred murmured into Lothíriel's ear.

Lothíriel gave a small appreciative smile. "That is Lady Míria of Pelargir; she is of... obscure stock."

Théodred smiled tightly, refraining from laughter. Obscure stock in Gondor? Who would have thought!

...

Author's Note

*Faramir's speech is taken from The Return of the King, Chapter V: The Steward and the King. Please be aware that I have cut it short, and changed some lines around to make it more original and not entirely plagarised. No copyright infringement intended.

Fact: Rohirrim is Sindarin for 'People of the Horse-lords' and was used by outsiders. The name they had for themselves was Eorlingas, after their king Eorl the Young who had first brought them to Rohan.

Lady Demiya