Guest and Nanold: I think Lothíriel is spoiled indeed and she never had her opinions challenged, so she sometimes says horrible stuff without meaning to cause any harm (although it really does some damage). I've never tried writing an heroin with such an obvious flaw, so I hope her redemption will be credible haha.

Silverswath: 'Poor Eomer and immature Lothiriel' that made me laugh! But yes, that is what it is. And yes, she'll have to work to get better.

Golden Haired Ravenclaw: I tried a different story format this time, with longer chapters so they're more packed than what I would usually do. Glad it seems to work!

Thank you all for the reviews and favorites/follows!

I've been slow to update but I really took my time to write this chapter (it'll take some time for the 3rd chapter as well). Obviously, I wanted Lothíriel to grow up, but the change had to not be too drastic :)

(And once again I've loosely followed the real timeline)


Chapter 2 – Rohan

Part 1 – The Journey

Lothíriel had thought of feigning an illness to stay in Minas Tirith, instead of going to Edoras. Nothing too bad, as to not worry her father and her brothers, but just enough for her to be bed-ridden awhile and to avoid the long journey to Rohan.

She did not mind traveling, on the contrary, she loved the outdoors and the kingdom of the Rohirrim should have been an exciting destination for a young maiden like her. Alas, she could not imagine herself attending the burial of king Théoden, in the presence of Éomer and Éowyn, among these people she had been so prompt to call 'rustic'.

Those days, after her falling-out with Éomer, had been difficult for Lothíriel. She had stayed in her chambers most of the time, not daring to go the Houses of Healing, or anywhere else for that matter – she preferred to be alone, it was the only way for her to assess the situation. She had argued countless times with her brothers, with some of her cousins and even with a couple of young ladies of Dol Amroth, but these quarrels had been unimportant. It had always been easy to make up with her siblings and other kinsmen and it had been easier to ignore the grudges other maidens could hold against her for she had never really cared about their opinions of her. Thus, Lothíriel, vain and proudful Lothíriel – that would likely be her epithet someday, in a long and complicated lay –, was upset about this quarrel she had had with the King of Rohan and she could still feel her insides squirm with shame whenever she recalled the way Éomer had looked at her, so furious and disappointed. It bothered her immensely that this could be the very last impression he'd have of her, yet she had no idea how she could manage to redeem herself.

Upon hearing Lothíriel would not leave her rooms, Ioreth insisted on having a close look at the young girl and she had brought with her quite a variety of fresh herbs and other mysterious ingredients she was determined to use on her patient. The old lady let out such sighs and small exclamations that one would have thought Lothíriel was on the verge of death, whereas she suffered from no real illness – all she needed was a good piece of advice and perhaps an exhortation to get out of her bed already. After a thorough examination, Ioreth concluded that Lothíriel should drink a fortifying concoction of mead, milk and mint, served warm in a gigantic bowl. It did not taste as bas as expected, yet it did little to improve Lothíriel's morale.

"Ioreth, do tell me, have I been of some help to you over the last months?" the maiden asked.

"Of course, how would have I fared without a young assistant like you? My poor back would have given up long ago… Oh, and to think that I would have had to roam the fields alone, in search of Kingsfoil and whatnots…"

Oblivious of Ioreth's litany on the woes of old age, Lothíriel pouted. "Does that make me a good person?"

Ioreth stopped abruptly in the middle of her rant and exclaimed, "Why would you believe you are not a good person?"

The young girl shrugged. "It seems I have not one true friend and there is no one to blame for it but me."

"What of the Halfling? You two do seem to get along well, do you not?"

"Yes, I suppose we do…" muttered Lothíriel.

Lately, she had been questioning the motives that had lead her to befriend Merry in the first place. Had she not just been curious about Hobbits and the Shire? Had she had a single serious conversation with him? Had she bothered to think about how he felt, he who had nearly died on the battlefield, so far away from his home?

"What happened, child?" Ioreth inquired, frowning.

"I have offended someone, nay I have outright insulted them…" said Lothíriel somberly, before taking a gulp of her fortifying concoction. "I was a prat and have dishonoured my father's name."

"Oh, such drastic words! I'd wager you've only told some lady that her dress did not suit her as well as she might have thought," said Ioreth, rolling her eyes. "Yet if it troubles you so much, go and apologize!"

"It would be useless to apologize. They will not hear me, and I do not deserve to be forgiven."

"Nonsense," Ioreth objected firmly. "A genuine apology is never useless."

"I'm afraid that it might make matters worse than they already are," admitted Lothíriel. "I've recently discovered that I am not as skilled with words as I had fancied myself to be."

"Be sincere and it shall be fine," the old lady assured her and then, rubbing her wrists, she added, "Ah, this pain will not go away… what a curse it is to grow old!"

That day, Ioreth had nothing more to say regarding forgiveness – yet she had such lengthy complaints to make regarding arthritis –, but what she had already told Lothíriel had been enough. She had to stop being a coward and therefore she had decided she would go to Rohan, after all, how could she not? Perhaps she'd fail to earn Éomer's forgiveness, but should she not be present to bid goodbye to the Hobbits, who would travel back to the Shire some time after the burial of King Théoden?

Oh well, visiting the kingdom of the Rohirrim would be a good learning experience, at the very least. She was still unsure her presence would be welcomed at the burial, although it seemed her father would unknowingly shield her from the siblings' presumed animosity. Prince Imrahil had no clue as to why his daughter had been so gloomy lately and it brought Lothíriel some comfort, as she hardly could bear to disappoint her father as well.


On the way to Rohan, Lothíriel rode alone, for the most part. She never was far from her brothers, but she rarely spoke to them, for she preferred to admire the landscapes – while she had seen most of Gondor, she had not once been outside of it. Thanks to the warm weather and the clear sky, the journey was quite pleasant and, to Lothíriel's relief, the Rohirrim rode ahead of the Gondorians, sparing her the embarrassment to meet Éomer or Éowyn.

Almost a fortnight after they had left Minas Tirith, they came in view of Edoras, nestled in a valley between the mountains. Lothíriel saw the golden roof of Meduseld gleaming from afar and, even though the view was magnificent, it brought her back to her own stupidity – she could hear herself saying "life does not seem to be too sophisticated in Rohan" over and over. Indeed, wood seemed to replace stone, and most houses had straw roofs, like Meduseld, yet the city lacked no charm and the Rohirrim, no ingenuity.

Truth was, on this side of the Ered Nimrais, life seemed to be as enjoyable as it was in Gondor. The grasslands they had crossed ever since they had entered Rohan had a beauty of their own that none of the accounts Lothíriel had read or heard could quite render and it did remind her of a green sea. And for the first in her life, it truly occurred to her that there was more to the world than she could have ever imagined.


Part 2 – In Meduseld

Lothíriel had had not intention to wander in the halls of Meduseld, but she had gotten lost on the way back to the chambers she was sharing with Erchirion. After having had a light breakfast with the other Gondorians, she had slipped away, pretexting to have an headache, and had soon found herself in a wide corridor where hunting trophies were hung on the walls. It was a strange sight, all these animal heads with their odd silhouettes and their deadpan eyes, and it was so distracting that she did not hear the footsteps of someone coming her way. It was only when he appeared in front of her that she realized she was not alone – although he clearly was more staggered to see her than she was to see him.

"Lothíriel! You came!" he exclaimed. "I knew not… I had not seen you, I thought…"

He was dressed in a manner quite different from what he had worn in Minas Tirith, where he had looked more like a soldier than a king. Clad in a green and gold garments, he appeared strikingly handsome and there was something regal about him, in the way he held his head high, in the way his eyes shone.

"I followed my father and my brothers," she said quickly, avoiding Éomer's clear blue gaze.

"Thus, you will be attending the burial?" he inquired.

Though there were no trace of resentment in his voice, Lothíriel felt herself shrinking – she was still overwhelmed with shame.

"Only if you allow me to," she said, and it was true that she had meant to ask for his permission, as awkward as it might be.

He considered her for a while, his face impassive, and then he declared, "You may come."

Lothíriel nodded silently, still staring at her feet. It was time for her to muster her courage and to have an honest discussion with him – was it not the perfect opportunity for her to apologize to him in due form? She shifted nervously, urging herself to speak promptly, and as she rose her head, their eyes met, for a brief moment.

She began to say, "Éomer, I…"

Yet Lothíriel almost immediately closed her mouth when she saw Éowyn heading their way.

"Lothíriel, I hope the rusticity of your accommodations has not troubled your sleep," she sneered, staring down at the Gondorian maiden.

Her contemptuous tone mortified Lothíriel who instinctively retreated towards the nearest door, even though she knew not where it lead.

"My chambers are… they are very comfortable," she stuttered in a rather inelegant manner. "I… I should get going…"

And she left hurriedly, leaving the two siblings alone in the corridor – it'd take her another ten minutes to find her room, but hopefully they would not be aware of this.

"I am surprised she deigned come all the way here, in these remote halls of ours," Éowyn commented sharply, once Lothíriel was out of sight. "Does she not fear we feed her only raw meat and rock-hard bread?"

"She came for the burial," said Éomer.

His sister frowned and said, her tone dripping with scorn: "Did she? Ah, it is true she greatly admires the valor of our people, she'd surely want to pay homage to our late king."

"Before you arrived, I was under the impression she was about to…"

"To what? Insult you once more?"

"No, I believe she was about to apologize to me. I daresay she seemed… moved, I had never seen her like that."

Éowyn let out a scoff. "Ah, dear brother, what are you hoping for? I say, she was not moved, she was merely distraught at having to face us both… Perhaps she believes she can fool you once more, yet she is not so proud when I am around."

Éomer still thought Éowyn was judging Lothíriel too harshly, however he kept this for himself – his sister only meant to protect him. "Once you will be wed to Faramir, she will be your cousin," he remarked instead.

"Oh, well… I would rather have her as a cousin than as a sister." And she sighed, passing her arm around her brother's and leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Yet I reckon you are more in need of a sister than a cousin," said Éomer, chuckling.

"Well, chose one of our young Eorlingas, our lands lack no pretty and vigorous maidens! It shall be a relief for me, should you be betrothed or married when I leave for Gondor."

Éomer smiled but remained silent.

He had thought the anger and the disappointment caused by Lothíriel's unfortunate words on Rohan had smothered the tender feelings he had harbored for her. He had also believed that being back in Edoras and putting to rest his uncle would have made him forget everything Prince Imrahil's charming daughter. But stumbling upon her in Meduseld, seeing her so confused, so embarrassed, when he had believed she had stayed in Minas Tirith, that had shaken him to the core. Was not the mere fact that she had chosen to journey to Rohan with her father and her brothers a sign that she was being repentant? He dearly wished they would have had time for a proper discussion, but it seemed this would have to wait.


The burial was a sorrowful ceremony, yet it was quite beautiful too. The Rohirrim paid a touching homage to their late king, and they shed many tears, and they sang many songs in their language. An impressive crowd had gathered to bid farewell to King Théoden and though they grieved, they were also honoured by the presence of the many lords of Gondor, and especially King Aragorn, as well as that of the Elven folk. And as strange as it might be, it did good to everyone to weep together, as if their tears were washing away their bad memories.


The evening following the burial, Lothíriel skipped dinner, having no appetite for food or company. She sought solitude in her chambers and for the first time in many weeks, her melancholy had nothing to do with Éomer. All these people mourning for their king, and for all those who had fallen on the Pelennor fields and before the gate of Mordor, it only reminded her of how scared she had been that her father or her brothers would find death during the war.

The sleepless nights she had spent pacing around the towers, in Dol Amroth, the endless hours, fearing to see the black veils of the corsair ships cover the blue sea, fearing a messenger would bring terrible tidings from Minas Tirith… Being left alone in Belfalas had been quite an ordeal, yet she had not once complained about it. During the war, there were more pressing matters than her worries and, after the end of it, she had realized her family had relatively been spared – relatively, for her cousin Boromir had been slain by Orcs, her uncle Denethor had perished in the funeral pyre he had lighted for himself, and Faramir, dear Faramir, had narrowly escaped death. But all in all, she could not complain, she still had her father and her three brothers…

That night was unpleasant, for she was haunted by nightmares, but when she woke up, on the next morning, she decided she was done with self-pity. She could not spend all her stay in Rohan hugging the walls in corridors and skipping meals! She thought she ought to have inherit some of her father's courage, perhaps even some of his wisdom, although that seemed uncertain for the moment, and thus she should be able to apologize to Éomer – whether he chose to forgive her or not was his choice and she would have to learn to live with the consequences of her actions.

She sought the counsel of Erchirion, to whom she was the closest to, among her three brothers – to him, she never hid her secrets long and he was also the only one in the family who minded not being a bit harsh with her, for her own good. He knew her so well that, upon seeing her enter his room, he could tell from her expression that he would finally get the full confession of this incident involving Éomer that had occurred in Minas Tirith.

"What happened between the two of you?" asked Erchirion.

His face was still and his tone was serious, but deep down he was impatient to hear what Lothíriel was about to tell him. He had elaborated some hypothesises of his own regarding the falling out of King Éomer and his sister, yet he was sure he was nowhere near the truth.

"I… I have spoken ill of Rohan… of its people…"

"Lothíriel, what did you say?" inquired her brother, sternly.

"I told him I deemed life in Rohan to be… rustic… less sophisticated than…"

"Oh," sighed Erchirion, rolling his eyes. "How could you be so tactless? And, frankly, 'tactless' seems too kind a word to qualify your behavior."

"To be honest, I was under the impression I was merely enouncing facts –"

"Lothíriel!"

She had reddened with shame. "Do not worry, Erchirion, I've had plenty of time to ponder over these words I have said and it has long sunk into my skull that my ignorance and my rudeness are quite outstanding. Could I perhaps have been adopted? No child of our father would have acted like I did."

"As baffling as it may be, I can assure you our mother gave birth to four children and that you really are the last of us," said Erchirion, smiling. "Then it really did shake you to your core? If you are willing to admit you can sometimes be… blunt... Ah, but not only did you insult him, you must have also crushed his heart."

"I presume he has recovered fully by now and he shall soon forget the snooty Gondorian maiden who once called Rohirrim peasants."

Erchirion patted her head, in a very patronizing manner. "Poor Lothíriel, I'm afraid there is something that is still eluding you."

"What is it?" she wondered, her eyes widening with apprehension.

"King Éomer, he was enamoured with you."

"He might have been infatuated with me, or an idea he had of me, yet it was not serious and must have vanished the moment I so blatantly belittled his kingdom and his people."

"You are so clueless, dear sister," whispered Erchirion and he smirked.

"Pray, how could be more informed about this than I? Have you been spying on us, perhaps?"

"And you, have you ever taken a good look at him or have you been too engrossed by your own person to notice King Éomer was completely mesmerized by you?"

"How could you…?" And Lothíriel was reddening again.

"I heard him talk to Elphir," said Erchirion. "Anyhow, you not only have insulted him, you also have discarded his feelings quite roughly," he added flatly.

She buried her face in her hands, eyes closed, and she felt her determination leave her.

"I shan't dare apologize to him…"

"You must, Lothíriel. At the very least, he deserves closure."

She nodded awkwardly. It was clear there was something bothering her.

"What is on your mind exactly?"

"Erchirion, I…"

"Please do not tell me you have also offended lady Éowyn?" he asked in a low voice. "I must say, she does scare me a bit…"

"No, no… Well, she bears me no love, but… no," said Lothíriel. "Lately I have been thinking a lot about Éomer and I have realized one of the main reasons I have felt so miserable was that I have hurt someone I have become rather fond of… It appears I have fallen for him as well."

"Oh, Lothíriel…" said Erchirion, shaking his head slowly. "You are surpassing yourself, are you not? Will you… will you tell him?"

"No," replied Lothíriel. "I will apologize to him, but I won't tell him I… He needs not to know the maiden who insulted him happens to love him. He might beware of me, he might believe I am only toying with him, in a rather cruel manner, and I could not blame him for that."

"He could still love you."

"I believe I have ruined that for good…"

Her brother shrugged. "He seems a bit naïve, I would not be surprised if he fell for you once more."

"I doubt it…" muttered Lothíriel, frowning.

Whatever Erchirion had heard, she could not imagine she'd ever manage to impress Éomer ever again, for she was still convinced what he had probably most liked about her was probably her looks. And he had surely understood by then that her appearance had been deceiving, had he not?


Part 3 – The Apology

Two days had passed since the burial of King Théoden when a great banquet was thrown in Meduseld in honour of the many guests that had traveled from Gondor, as well as in honour of the Hobbits who would soon head back to the Shire and of the Elves who were also on their way home. In fact, it was one of the last times the Fellowship of the Ring was gathered under the same roof – with the exception, sadly, of Boromir –, although most of the people present that night were unaware of it. For the Rohirrim, this feast was the occasion to put behind them the difficult months they had been through collectively and to look to the future with optimism, a state of mind which their young King Éomer seemed to embody perfectly.

In that instant, as food and ale were consumed with great abundance, Éomer's mind was focused on far more trivial matters than the fate of his kingdom. From the dais, he was peering down at the long tables filling the halls, where Rohirrim, Gondorians and Elves sat together, happily celebrating once again the end of the war. If Éowyn had asked him, he would have denied it quite vehemently, but, truth was, he was not merely gazing at the crowd, he was searching for Lothíriel. Her father, Prince Imrahil, was seated not far from Éomer, just to the right of King Aragorn, and her brothers were also there, yet she was nowhere to be seen and he wondered if she was even attending the feast – she was being eerily discreet ever since she had come to Edoras.

And then he spotted her, at one of the long tables, somewhere in the middle of the hall, far from the dais. Lothíriel had somehow found a place among a group of young maidens and, although it probably was not her intention, she stood out among them, with her long black hair and her tall frame. The fluttering light of the many candles lit in the hall made it hard for Éomer to discern what she was doing – apart from eating, obviously – but she seemed to be listening to some stories one of the girls was excitedly telling the others who giggled merrily.

As of late, Éomer had seen her but briefly, at the burial and that one time, in the corridor, right after he had arrived in Meduseld, however it had been enough for him to notice she had changed. Lothíriel was paler even than usual and she had seemed nervous, easily startled by the merest sound, and Éomer could only imagine the reasons why she had waned like that. Prince Imrahil had told him his daughter had been ill in Minas Tirith, before their departure, and coincidentally, this illness had developed right after their little incident – well, this was something Prince Imrahil was unaware of.

It was yet another one of his thoughts he would not share with Éowyn, but Éomer was convinced Lothíriel was sincerely repentant for what she had said. And perhaps he had been right, perhaps she had really intended to apologize to him, perhaps she had understood her mistake. He wondered if she'd try to approach him, if she'd seek to talk to him alone… He had to admit it, this was a very agreeable prospect, even though he could already hear Éowyn tell him he was too soft-hearted and too easily impressed by beauty. Yet, regarding Lothíriel, he liked to think he had been right and that there was more to her than meets the eye.


At the banquet, Lothíriel had chosen to take place at one those long tables, where Rohirrim and Gondorians mingled, and she soon found herself surrounded by a group of blonde-haired maidens who all greeted her warmly – it had crossed her mind she could find a seat among the Elves, but it would not have reasonable. For once in her life, she was gracious with these young girls of her age and she patiently answered to all their inquiries about Gondor and about her family, before listening their tales. Now and then, her eyes darted toward the dais, where her father was seated, along with King Aragorn and Queen Arwen, as well as Faramir, and she marveled at them, until her gaze fell on Éomer. He was radiant, as if being home had given him a boost, and for Lothíriel, it was like seeing him for the first time, and she felt the knot in her belly tightened. In Meduseld, he was at the center of everything, thus how could she hope to have a word alone with him?

"There will be some dancing after the banquet, I do hope King Éomer and his men shall join us," said the girl sitting next to Lothíriel.

"Can you imagine dancing with the King? Or with one of these handsome Gondorians?" said another one, beaming. "Although they say Elves are the finest dancers…"

And they all chuckled while Lothíriel did her best to keep smiling. So, the young ladies of Rohan too were extremely preoccupied by festivities and bachelors… Well, she was not so different from them after all, for she did like dancing and singing, and there was at least one young man who haunted her thoughts.

"Lothíriel, this lord, over there, he is one of your brothers, is he not?"

They were, not so discreetly, pointing at Amrothos who always had the most success with girls – even Lothíriel had to admit it, of the four siblings, he was the handsomest.

"Yes, and he is an excellent dancer," she told them. "I am sure he will be pleased to make your acquaintance."

This reply was welcomed by another round of giggles and then, they turned their attention to Éomer.

"I do wonder who shall get her hands on the King first. I would not mind twirling with him…"

"Oh, we already know our King's attention will focus on a certain someone."

Hearing this, Lothíriel straightened.

"Who would that be?" she asked, as innocently as she could.

Everyone else seemed to know who this 'certain someone' was.

"Rosefled," they answered, gesturing at a maiden who sat two tables away from them.

This Rosefled's silhouette was similar to Éowyn's, noted Lothíriel, for she was tall and slender, and she appeared to be athletic. She had long blonde hair, like liquid gold, and it was intricately braided, in a very elegant manner. As for her eyes, they were of a marvelous green and they were set on Éomer.

"She and King Éomer had gotten close before the war, or so they say… I do remember she used to be his favorite dance partner."

"And she has been waiting for his return quite eagerly."

"Of course, she would have…" Lothíriel muttered to herself, not listening anymore to what the maidens had to say about Rosefled.

Perhaps it was better, if Éomer was reunited with this charming young lady, she thought bitterly. She would at least never insult his people, nor would she struggle to understand them, and what better Queen for the Rohirrim than one of their own? This notion did upset Lothíriel more than she would have like, for she was not familiar with jealousy and she never really had dreamed of being wed to Éomer. It was far too abstract for her and it had already been quite complicated and painful to realize she had fallen in love with him. She decided it'd be better for the moment to focus on her meal and she helped herself with no less than three servings of apple pie which she devoured rather fiercely, as she was brooding.

When the music started, Lothíriel left the table with the other young girls who flocked together, giggling and pointing at a few men who had also rose from their seats. While her new companions chose their partners – one of them did get her hands on Amrothos – she debated whether she'd dance or not, for she felt a bit too full because of the pie. The other girls quickly scattered, so did the young men, and she peered around the vast hall in search of Éomer – she needed all her concentration to spot him, for it was very crowded in there. As she had presumed, he was dancing, and with none other than the exquisite Rosefled, whose golden hair matched his. It was a strange and unsettling emotion that seized her when she saw him laughing with her, holding her hands, and Lothíriel wondered if he had been so genuinely happy with her, during their short time together in Minas Tirith. She stared at them, musing on this love she felt for him and that she had so stupidly ignored as she had tried to convince herself that Éomer was just another one of her unusual friends.

"You did everything you could to keep him away, did you not?" she muttered to herself and she decided she had tarried long enough at the banquet, for tears threatened to fell from eyes and she had had enough of weeping.

It was quite a challenge to navigate amidst this cheerful folk – she did wonder how the Hobbits managed not to be run over at times like these – but she was swift and flexible, and she had good reflexes. In a few minutes, she had reached the smaller rooms, behind the main halls, where the atmosphere was quieter, and it crossed her mind she could use some more hot tea to cheer herself. Thus, she was following servants on their way to the kitchens, when a hand fell on her shoulder, grabbing it softly. She spun around, thinking one of her voracious brothers was on a quest to find more food, and found herself facing Éomer.

"Am I forbidden to go to the kitchens?" she blurted, blinking like an idiot.

"No, why would you…?" he said, as bewildered as she was. "I saw you leaving the banquet, I was… curious."

"I was merely looking for some hot tea," Lothíriel said, doing her best to conceal her anxiousness. "And perhaps some more of this apple pie…"

He smiled, nodding. "It was very delicious indeed."

Without really thinking about it or worrying about the consequences of what she was about to say, Lothíriel took a deep breath and asked:

"Éomer, may I have a word with you? In private…?"

"Yes," he replied.

He lead her through a small corridor and into a small sitting room which had most likely not been used for years – there was a thick layer of dust on all the furniture and the tapestries. It was not the setting Lothíriel had imagined for this conversation, but she could make do with it. Having taken in her surrounding, she took a few steps towards Éomer, but she remained silent, absorbed in her thoughts.

"I believe you should speak first," he said, staring at her with expectance.

"Oh, yes, of course… Éomer, I… I wish to apologize for what I have said back in Minas Tirith. I was awfully rude to you and to your people and, though I am not proud to admit it, I was not even aware of my own stupidity at the time."

He was about to say something, but she gestured at him and continued:

"I shall not try to persuade you it was a mere blunder from my part, for I have realized I have treated you poorly overall, and I do not expect to be forgiven either. I simply hope you will understand those words were those of a foolish maiden and that they do not reflect the opinion of my house on you or your kingdom. And… and I should thank you for having spared my father… the disappointment… Well, I sincerely thank you for your discretion, even though I am undeserving of it…"

This time she seemed to be done and she was waiting for his verdict, nervously twisting between her fingers one of her dress's ribbons.

"Lothíriel, you are forgiven," he said with such gentleness that her face was flushed. "I have seen how this situation has affected you and only genuine contrition would have brought you here."

"You are too kind, Éomer, too kind…" her voice trailed, and she frowned a little. "I do wish you the best, from the bottom of my heart."

"Why are you being so solemn?"

"You are a king and you said so yourself, the last months have been filled with hardships. Thus, I wish life will be sweet to you from now on."

He considered her, puzzled.

"Lothíriel, you speak as if this is our last meeting."

She deemed it was indeed their last meeting, in a way. They'd see each other again, for she would be staying in Rohan a while with her father and her brothers, and their paths would cross on several occasions – the wedding of Éowyn and Faramir would be the first of these. Yet Lothíriel thought it would never be just the two of them, like it had been in Minas Tirith.

"Oh no, I merely… I meant to do this in due form and it seemed I should…"

She was at loss for words and Éomer decided to put an end to her struggle.

"I thank you for your good wishes," he said. "Then we are friends, are we not?"

"We are, although I've come to think my friendship comes with little gain."

"You need not depreciate yourself like this. I was sincere, I forgive you."

"I heard you well, but… I am not sure I am yet so different from this girl who was so prompt to belittle your kingdom, in some orchards of Gondor," admitted Lothíriel and she added, with growing confidence, "Fortunately, I happen to be a tad stubborn and I intend on correcting this habit of mine to emit opinions on the sole basis of silly prejudices. And I shall start by improving my knowledge on Rohan."

Éomer beamed at her. "And how will you accomplish such feats?"

"Oh, I have a few ideas," she replied vaguely, for she was not sure she should tell him about it.

"Well, I am looking forward to it. Shall we return to the feast, now that matters are settled between us?"

Lothíriel almost agreed, yet she had a flash of him and Rosefled dancing together, and she said, "I will go get some tea and withdraw in my chambers, if you do not mind."

"Alright… But you shall no more flee before me, shall you not? I will have a word with Éowyn…"

"Worry not, I will not flee," Lothíriel assured him with a smile and she lingered a little, in the doorway. "Thank you, Éomer. Your forgiveness means a lot to me."

He watched her leave, happy, but also slightly concerned. She had seemed genuinely grateful, however she was still hesitant and he would have liked to know the reason behind this – but, he had finally learned it, Lothíriel did not open her heart so easily.


Part 4 – Old Gamling's farm

With the help of a new friend, Lothíriel's 'few ideas' quickly became a clearly established plan to which her father had agreed – it would have been surprising, had he said no. Even though everything was ready, she would still wait for the Hobbits and the Elves to depart from Edoras before taking the first step and this would occur a couple of days after the feast. And while Lothíriel was quite absorbed by her projects and, although she'd loath to admit it, by keeping an eye on pretty Rosefled, she could not forget that soon Meriadoc would leave Rohan and that it was time she was sincere with him as well.

Yet she had no need to look for him, for one day he knocked at his door, quite early in the morning.

Lothíriel had been expecting one of the Rohirrim girls, but she beamed when she saw the Hobbit, for she was truly happy to see him. "Merry!"

"Lothíriel, I seem to never be able to find you, these days, thus I came here since I have a favor to ask you."

"What is it, Merry?" she asked, curious.

"I must say it is an official request. I will be knighted by King Éomer this afternoon and I would very much like for you to be there."

"I shall gladly attend the ceremony," she replied, her smile widening. "It is quite an honour you are bestowed by the King, yet I reckon it is fully deserved."

He was cute with his curly hair which she sometimes wanted to ruffle, like she would do to a child, yet she had to remind herself he was older than her – and also that, as small as he was, he had defeated the terrible Witch-king.

"Thank you," he said, bowing elegantly. "I do have another inquiry…"

"Have you?"

"Please excuse me for asking me now, but since I have not met you once in weeks… Have you perhaps been avoiding me lately, Lothíriel?"

"Avoiding you? Certainly not, I have been a bit busy as of late…" Her voice trailed, for she could not bring herself to lie to the Hobbit. "I have not treated you very well, have I?"

"Oh, you broke my heart," he teased her.

"I never asked you how it feels to have fought against the Witch-king," she said in low voice.

"Wonderful, I believe, for my name shall forever be associated to this great deed in songs and lays and generations of Hobbits will sing the praises of the brave Meriadoc Brandybuck of Brandy Hall."

His enthusiasm and good mood were such that Lothíriel could not help but chuckle a little. "Surely. However, what I meant was that I never really took in consideration the fact that… this battle almost cost you your life."

The Hobbit shook his head. "There is no reason for either of us to dwell on these gloomy matters."

"Still, I should have better acknowledged the ordeals you had to go through during the war."

Merry looked at her, surprised. "You are being quite grave."

"Well, I…"

"Has this anything to do with you and King Éomer going at length to stay away from each other?"

Lothíriel let out a sigh. "Yes and no."

The Hobbit would have liked to pry into this matter, but he feared it would be discourteous. And if there was one thing he had understood about Lothíriel it was that she barely spoke of her inner thoughts.

"Meriadoc Brandybuck, it has been a privilege to befriend you," she declared at last, genuinely.

He blushed a little and replied, a bit awkwardly, "And it has been a great joy to make your acquaintance, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth."

He then grabbed her hand and kissed it, quite formally. A while, they stood facing each other in silence, and suddenly, they both broke into laughter.

"Was this not worthy of a lay?" said Merry.

"Absolutely!"

"Then you will come, this afternoon?"

"I will," she promised.

Thereupon, he went away to prepare for his knighting – he said something about an armour that needed some cleaning – and, as she went back into her room, Lothíriel decided she'd gift him with one of her brooches, a wonderful piece of work, with silver swans and sapphires. It was not much, but she wanted to give this small token of their friendship.

In mid-August, it was bittersweet, to watch him leave with his companions. She understood how greatly he must have missed the Shire, that he had perhaps thought he would never see again, during the darkest days of the war, but she wondered when they would meet again. She could foresee it was not farewell yet, however where would the roads lead them? She knew not and she hoped they'd both find happiness, he in the north, she in the south.


Whatever Lothíriel was doing to get more acquainted with the Rohirrim's lifestyle, she was not doing in it in Meduseld, nor in Edoras. Éomer had completely lost track of her, to the point that he would have believed she had gone back to Gondor, had she not been so serious when she had told him she planned to learn more about Rohan. If he really gave it some thoughts, she seemed to have disappeared some time after the departures of the Hobbits and that had occurred a little more than a fortnight ago. At the beginning, he did believe she was merely busy, as she had stated she would be, but he was now seriously wondering where she had gone. Since Prince Imrahil was not especially worried about his daughter and her whereabouts, she most likely was doing well, and one morning Éomer chose to ask him if he knew what Lothíriel was up to – too bad if he was not very discreet.

Upon hearing his inquiry, Prince Imrahil laughed merrily. "It seems all my children have scattered throughout Rohan. Elphir and Erchirion have gone hunting in the Westfold, Amrothos is wandering somewhere in the East Emnet, and even Lothíriel has gone to stay in a farm, a few miles from here." He eyed Éomer, smiling mischievously, and added, "I believe she needed to spend some time in the countryside, to ponder over important matters."

Disconcerted, Éomer pretended to know nothing about these important matters. "I have heard she was ill before our departure from Minas Tirith, I hope the journey was not too difficult for her."

"Oh, worry not, her health is excellent. She was affected by the war, of course, but she will soon recover from it all."

Here and there, Éomer had gathered that Lothíriel had remained in Dol Amroth throughout the war and that seemed to be a good thing, for it meant she had been spared the worst of it. However, those days when she had faced alone the threat of the pirates of Umbar, all the while worrying about the fate of her father and her brothers, had leave a mark on her – that was what he had sometimes caught the glimpse of in her eyes.

"Then a prolonged stay in our meadows should indeed do her good. There is something quite soothing to the soul in the gentle sway of daisies in the summer breeze."

Prince Imrahil was not distracted by Éomer's lyrical speech. "A prolonged stay? I must say I bade her to come back to Edoras within the next days, for I shall not spend another fortnight deprived of my dear daughter. It would simply be insufferable."

He had said these last words in such a manner that Éomer felt they were directed at him.

"And where has she gone exactly?"

"In a charming place where a man called Gamling dwells. Lothíriel was invited there by his granddaughter and, surprisingly, she agreed to go. I daresay it seems she is rather enraptured by your beautiful kingdom."

"I am glad to hear this," said Éomer who dearly hoped his face was not reddening, as he felt he was under the benevolent scrutiny of Prince Imrahil.

"I'd wager that with a steed as fine as yours, you could reach the farm no later than this afternoon. Such pleasure it would bring with me, should at least one of my children return to me."

Éomer needed not be told twice and, around noon, he was departing from Edoras for what he had said to be a 'quick excursion along the Snowbound'.


Old Gamling's farm had been build in the middle of vast prairies, a mile or so from the Snowbound. By any means, it was a small house and the barns surround it were much larger, for there humans were outnumbered by horses, cows and sheep. There Éomer was welcomed with great deference, but also with some surprise, for he had come alone and unannounced and he surely had no intention to volunteer to help with harvest. It was only after the young King had declared he was in search of Lothíriel that Old Gamling and his family understood the situation and there was some laughter when they escorted him to the pen where Lothíriel was playing with children. It took a few chaotic minutes, during which toddlers and dogs run around excitedly, but in the end Éomer and Lothíriel were given some privacy.

Her long black hair was braided in the fashion of Rohan and a few wild flowers were entwined in it. She wore a simple white, that was stained in several places, and her cheeks were flushed, for she had spent the day in the outdoors, exploring the meadows around the farm. Dear Ioreth would have been scandalized, had she seen them in that moment, for Lothíriel's outfit was simply not proper and, while there were no donkey nearby, she was surrounded by a dozen sheep – yet it was a sight that delighted Éomer.

"Lothíriel," he said promptly. "Why have you disappeared like this?"

"I told you, I wanted to learn more about Rohan and I thought immersion would do me good," she explained.

She had also thought he'd be good for him not to see her awhile, but it might have appeared a bit pretentious of her to say this to him.

"Has this been an agreeable experience?"

"Very much so, although I have greatly underestimated the difficulties caused by the language barrier," she replied, giggling. "The younger people here all have a decent grasp of Westron and have been gracious enough to teach me some of the basics of Eorling, however my conversations with the elders are laborious at best. But what brings you here, Éomer? Have you some dealings to do with old Gamling?"

"I am here on behalf of your lord father," he said, a bit too seriously.

"My father? Is he well?"

"He is," he assured her quickly, "yet he is missing you."

Their gazes met and Lothíriel said, "I do miss him too."

"Won't you come back to Edoras?" he asked, taking her hands in his. "We have so few time left together…"

The contact of his skin against hers made Lothíriel shiver. In this instant, she felt she could have done anything to please him, anything to make him happy, for he thoroughly deserved it.

"I will follow you."

His face broke into a smile, as relief washed through him. "Do you think perhaps I could the spend the night here? I too could enjoy some of the fresh air."

"Oh, we can find a place somewhere in one of the barns for you," she teased him, staring at him adoringly.

Chuckling, he let go her hands, only to cup her face.

"I am glad I have found you, Lothíriel," he said, putting a kiss on her forehead.