Chapter 1
On the morning she was set to depart, it seemed to Lothíriel that her father was much more nervous about her journey than herself. His dear, noble face had a mildly concerned look from the moment she joined the family for breakfast and he kept asking if she was sure she had remembered to pack everything: her new sturdy riding boots, her warmest clothes for the chilly winter of Rohan, and a multitude of other objects smaller and bigger that one would need on a long ride north.
Eventually she just had to go round the table and wrap her arms around his shoulders.
"Father, I will be all right", Lothíriel said gently and kissed his temple. "I'll be among friends. And I'll be writing to you very often."
"Yes, yes", he said and patted her back clumsily. "I know everything will be fine, and it is a good thing for you to go. But I wouldn't be your father if I didn't make a fuss for a bit, do you think?"
She laughed and kissed his cheek once again.
Her brothers were much more relaxed as the family made their way for the great harbour of Dol Amroth. Elphir and Erchirion took turns in lecturing her about how to behave in foreign court, as though she didn't already know that, and Amrothos made an occasional complaint for not being allowed to go with her. But like Elphir was glad to remind him, all three sons of Imrahil were needed now that King Elessar was starting the task of rebuilding Gondor.
"And it's not like Lothíriel is going there for a vacation, brother. You'd just be in way, and I don't recall Éomer mentioning that he needs a court jester", Erchirion quipped, much to the amusement of everyone except Amrothos himself.
"Well, the man could use a laugh or two, so maybe I should volunteer", he shot back and made a face at his brother.
"Erchirion, Amrothos, do you really wish your sister's parting memory of you to be this nonsense? Try and behave", Elphir chided them, sounding so much like Father that Lothíriel had to muffle her laughter. She was going to miss them all dearly.
After many hugs and kisses at the port, they finally let her board the proud ship that would bear her as far as Harlond near Minas Tirith. She was promising to send her first letters from there, but then the captain had to come and hurry up the goodbyes. Father was looking more tearful than he had been upon taking his leave of her upon riding to the Black Gate, and so she gave him one extra kiss before she half ran after the vexed captain.
But though it was indeed the start of her first longer separation from her entire family, Lothíriel did not feel scared. Instead, she was excited and a little nervous to finally get to try her own wings in the world – and in the court of Gondor's most powerful ally, no less.
She was quick to temper the current line of thought. This was not to be some amusing tour or a chance to show off herself. She was going to help her friend in a land that had suffered badly under the horrors of war, and it would be prudent to remember this fact at all times. She wanted to make her father proud and that would require dignity, grace and modesty. And if that won her the good opinion of King Éomer... well, then she would be most lucky indeed.
The voyage upriver was calm and quiet, though she saw the Knights keenly watching the eastern bank as they strolled on the deck. Erchirion had told her it was still unsafe in Ithilien and probably would be for a few years more, until forces of Gondor were rebuilt and strong enough to guard the land against Mountains of Shadow and the southern road. Standing at the stern of the ship, she wondered what direction Rohan gazed at in concern. Éowyn had said the war had not yet won the complete safety of her homeland...
Not that Lothíriel worried for herself. Between the Swan Knights Father had provided and the elite Riders of King Éomer, she knew she would be quite safe. Most of them would return home once they had got her to Edoras, as she would hardly need twelve fully armed Amrothian Knights in the Golden Hall of Rohan's King. And by the time she returned, it would be with Prince Imrahil's own escort. But as the ship sailed closer to Mins Tirith, Lothíriel did not much ponder these matters. Instead she wondered whether King Elessar would be willing to teach her in the matters that concerned Rohirrim and particularly the ruling House. The better she understood where Éowyn came from, the more she could help her.
They reached Minas Tirith, and there King Elessar and Queen Arwen hosted her for a few days. The returned king was indeed happy to tell her about the land in the north, like she had hoped. He had spent time there in the past and knew Rohan, or the Mark as he called it, as well as he knew the people named Rohirrim. Proving he too had interest in making Éowyn's way a little smoother, the king cleared his schedule for the entire afternoon so that they could converse in peace. And so they walked in the gardens of the Citadel and he talked to her about fierce Dunlending tribes, famously hostile against the horselords, and wild things that roamed in the wild lands to the north. There was a frown on his face when he mentioned his concern: it was believed that many orcs had taken refuge in the Misty Mountains, near to the borders of Rohan. They would yet be a thorn in the side of King Éomer.
After these very informative conversations Lothíriel felt more confident to begin the journey to Edoras, even knowing more about dangers in the north. Now she understood Éowyn's home a bit better, or so she hoped; it was a beautiful land of songs and green fields and brave horsemen, but also one that had not known peace for a long time. That was something, she imagined, to go deeply into one's heart and mind. No wonder Éowyn had been so full of despair when she had first wakened in the House of Healing...
But those things were now behind, and there was no more solid proof of that than the several thick letters Faramir asked her to deliver to Éowyn. Her cousin looked unusually flustered when he passed them to her, but Lothíriel hid her smile, gave him a tight hug and promised to bring them to his betrothed.
The company escorting her, however, did not appear to ponder much the state of Rohan or potential danger. They were brave and able men, seasoned in battles and more than qualified for this very simple task of transporting Imrahil's daughter. As far as she listened to them talk, particularly those tasked to stay with her, it seemed their chief interest was in getting to train with Rohirrim and perhaps meet some laughing maidens of the north. Lothíriel said nothing, but shook her head and hoped that their captain would make sure they'd keep up the good name of Dol Amroth while they remained in Rohan.
Once crossing the Mering Stream they were officially on foreign soil. Wide green plains and rolling hills spread as far as eye could see, but Lothíriel only had a brief moment to admire this sight. For when the last of the company had crossed the river, they could see many Riders approaching. Wearing green cloaks and bright mails, their blond hair in braids, they were quite the sight as they sped to meet the escort. Lothíriel had seen many Rohirrim up close back in Minas Tirith, but they never made such an impression as when they were horseback. During the many festivities after the war, Amrothos had taken her to see some of the elite warriors performing riding tricks with their horses. Such level of understanding and co-operation between man and beast was something she had not seen even back in Dol Amroth.
But now a man who seemed like the leader of these Riders began to approach her escort. Once he was at speaking distance, he lifted his hand and greeted them in the Common Tongue.
"Well met, travellers. Do I have the honour of speaking to the Lady Lothíriel, daughter of Prince Imrahil?" he asked and bowed his head. Thick brown mane he had, streaming down from under his polished helmet, which he now took off as if to signal his friendly intentions. He was bearded, just as the rest of his company. Used to the cleanly shaven lords of Gondor, Lothíriel couldn't say whether the man was handsome. But his eyes were bright blue and his smile was ready as he regarded the Amrothian travellers.
"I am indeed. Did Lady Éowyn send you?" she asked, smiling at the tall, long-haired man.
"No, my lady. It was Éomer King himself. He bids you welcome in the Riddermark and hopes that you will allow us to escort you safely to Edoras", he replied to her surprise.
Éomer King himself! Lothíriel had expected her formal dealings to be with Éowyn, but on the other hand, perhaps this was simply the King of Rohan nodding his head at her father the Prince. It was simply politics, not a reason to feel overly important.
"Thank you, captain...?" she said, letting the question hang in the air until the leader of the Riders supplied her with an answer.
"Folca is my name, my lady. I serve under the command of Marshal Elfhelm", he answered and bowed his head again. "We have been waiting for your arrival."
"In that case, shall we get going? It is a long road to your capital, and one travels easier with a party of trained Riders of Rohan. I am pleased to have your company for the rest of the way", said Lothíriel and she tried to meet the eyes of each man following Captain Folca. Father had said Rohirrim were a proud people, and she wanted to show them every respect – especially now that they were on the soil of Rohan. Lothíriel didn't know what these men expected her to be, but she was going to show them from the start that they were not dealing with some haughty Gondorian noblewoman.
And she would give her father every reason to be proud of her.
For many days they journeyed on the Great West Road, riding through the green land of the horselords. They passed villages and even a small town on their way. In these settlements, there was much to see, be it the homes of Rohirrim or the people themselves. Though this was not the first she met Gondor's northern allies, most of them had been warriors. But here in their own land she finally got to see their families – tall blonde women, their flaxen-haired children, and the old with lined faces and bright eyes. Their dress and homesteads were both simple and alive with detail at the same time. Well-made wool was dyed with the colours of earth and intricately embroidered. Their jewellery was usually brass and bronze, with occasional flash of gold. All they wore echoed the complicated knotworks carved in wood. They looked like a strong, hearty people, but there were many faces among them where hardship and grief were furrowed.
On the fields, people were hard at work, but many halted to watch the large party ride by. When they stopped by a village to water the horses or to purchase some goods, local folk gathered around the Swan Knights to get a closer look at southern warriors, their blue cloaks and polished and engraved armour. To her amusement, Lothíriel also saw a few young maidens bat their eyelashes at the tall, dark-haired men of Dol Amroth. This did not seem to amuse the local lads or fathers of said maidens; but their gruff demeanour usually softened as soon as the escort continued their journey.
She got her share of attention. Noble lady of Gondor was a rarity in these small villages, even if some had taken part in King Théoden's funeral. Small parties of women would gather around her and shoot questions in a bold, unashamed way, almost like she was their long-lost cousin. Whoever knew most Westron was appointed the spokesperson, and Lothíriel would find it quite impossible to leave. But eventually one of Folca's men, or the captain himself, came to shoo the crowd away and tell her it was time to move on.
Between villages miles and leagues were long. As the two companies grew friendlier, passing time also became easier: songs were sung, stories told, and riddles were debated. Folca explained that Rohirrim often passed the long rides by singing; some of their longest songs could take hours to complete. But even while they were jesting and story-telling, the Riders remained alert. One scout rode ahead and one was behind them at all times. Lothíriel did not ask whether this was necessary: Folca did not need her counsel in the matter of escorting the daughter of King Éomer's personal friend.
At night they camped near the Road. The Amrothians had tents to shelter them, one for each pair of Knights and one for Lothíriel herself, but Folca's Riders were seemingly content with the sky above their heads. On the first night, she discreetly asked the captain if his men wished to share the tents. But Folca let out a low, warm laugh and looked at her with a friendly twinkle in his eyes.
"It is all right, my lady. My lads are used to sleeping outside. We prefer to stay near our horses and be able see them at all times. Don't you worry about us", he said to her gently and bowed his head.
Lothíriel felt a little embarrassed to have made assumptions, but Folca was just as discreet and made no joke about the lady's ignorance.
While the Swan Knights were busy setting up the tents, Rohirrim were also fast at work. Horses were tended to, camp fires started, and supper prepared. They were quick and efficient, proving that these men were well used to being out in the wild; Folca was quick to explain that many Rohirrim lived as nomads, following the herds over the plains, and most families still sent their young among herders to spend a few seasons learning the ways of old. After hearing this, Lothíriel didn't wonder to see the Riders completing their tasks before all the tents were even up.
The first night was a bit tense at first, as so many of the company did not know one another, but eventually a few younger Riders began to sing songs of their land. Music worked like some kind of a spell to loosen the mood, and soon enough the Knights and the Riders were talking softly. Horsemanship was the safe first topic to melt the ice.
Yet perhaps the most revealing and most unexpected insight to the land of Rohan came about a week into their journey. September's morning was crisp as Lothíriel emerged from her tent, still bleary and sleepy as she wrapped her cloak more tightly around herself. However stimulating it was travelling towards the capital of the horselords, there were moments she dearly missed comforts of home. She had not had a hot bath since Minas Tirith, most of her clothes smelt of horses, and she couldn't quite get used to waking up to chilly mornings. But she kept these thoughts to herself. No doubt her escort was used to much worse.
The rest of the camp was waking as well. Riders and Swan Knights spoke in soft murmurs as fires were stoked back to blazing and food was prepared. Lothíriel uttered "good morning" as she passed by the members of her escort. The words almost disappeared in a mighty yawn.
Near the camp there was a small stream, bubbling cheerfully even in this early hour. Folding back the hems of her riding skirt, Lothíriel knelt down and splashed her face with cool water that presumably came all the way from the White Mountains. It was clear enough at least, without the tangy taste of fenlands further north.
Cold water made her shiver and chased away remnants of sleep. She now looked up and about, more open to the landscape and before. It was very quiet still and not even the wind had yet risen. Wisps of mist rested heavily in the dale beyond the stream. It was almost dreamlike.
Suddenly she noticed movement in fog. At first she wasn't sure if she was just imagining it, for it was so faint, but then shades began to materialise. Pale as the moon they were, which had helped to hide them in the mist until now. They moved with quiet grace so that for a minute she even wondered if these were some kind of phantoms. They all had fine, silvery coat that shimmered in early morning's light.
The herd halted some fifty feet away from her. Some of them looked her way, others were nibbling at long grass. They were larger than any other horses she had seen and nobler – except one. Lothíriel watched them as though one spell-bound, forgetting time and even herself. Here in the mist and dawn's first hour, the world of Men was faraway.
The horses began to move again, noiseless just as before. They moved on, vanishing into the mist once more, and left her there feeling like she had seen something significant, though she couldn't say what it was.
She shook her head and washed her face again. As Lothíriel began to make her way back, she wondered if it had been real, or some kind of a waking dream.
The vision of horses remained close to her thoughts even as she took seat near the fire and received some breakfast in her hands. The captain of her Swan Knights, sitting close by with his own meal almost finished, was quick to notice her strange, quiet mood.
"My lady, is everything all right?" he asked her. Lothíriel startled on her seat but was able not to spill any food in her lap or the ground.
"Captain?" she asked back in faint embarrassment; she had not made notice of the words, just the voice calling to her.
"Are you quite well, my lady?" he pressed on and frowned slightly.
"Yes, yes. Do forgive me – I was lost in thought", she hurried to reply. "I just saw some horses by the stream. I was thinking of them."
Immediately she felt quite silly. To see horses in Rohan was hardly news to anybody.
"What kind of horses?" Folca asked suddenly and she turned sharply to look at him. She hadn't noticed he was present, too.
"The kind Mithrandir used to ride in the war. The one called Shadowfax", she explained. She had seen the stallion in Minas Tirith and wondered at the extraordinary animal; he had stood out even with horses of Rohirrim. But she had not thought much of it until now.
Folca's eyes widened and he nearly dropped the piece of bread in his hand.
"My lady, are you certain of this?" he asked her urgently, leaning forward as though he dearly wanted to grasp her by shoulders and shake the answer out of her.
"Yes, very certain. Even if it seemed like a dream", she replied, wondering about the man's heated reaction.
"Then that is a matter of great import. The horses you saw are called mearas, and Shadowfax is their chief. Béma – that is Oromë in your tongue – brought them long ago in Middle-earth. They are unlike other horses in mortal lands, for they are stronger and swifter, even understanding speech of Men. Since the days of Eorl the Young, they have been the symbol of our land. Only those of his House may mount and ride them, save for the Wizard Gandalf", Folca explained quickly. His words roused several questions in her mind, but the man was talking too eagerly to be interrupted.
He went on, "My lady, no one has seen mearas since Théodred Prince died. It was taken as an ill omen. But if they have been seen again, then that is good news indeed. I wonder, though..."
Folca fell suddenly silent, and Lothíriel's own thoughts turned inwards. Not that she considered herself a particularly superstitious person, even if recent events might give you a reason to be, but she knew the horses she had seen were unusual. She could well understand why they were important to Rohirrim – and why people would be concerned if they vanished. But why would she, a Gondorian visiting Rohan for the very first time, be one to witness their return?
"But where would they go, if they have not been seen?" she asked carefully. Folca looked up again and she could see his eyes were veiled.
"They wander freely over the plains, my lady. And the Riddermark is wide land, with most of our dwellings near to the Great West Road. What this riddle means, I cannot say. But either way I'm glad to know mearas have not abandoned our people", he answered gravely. Then he said no more, but sat lost in thought for a while until he suddenly left the camp fire.
The new of the sighting spread among Riders like wildfire, and by the time the camp was down and they took to road again, they all knew of it. Lothíriel could even hear some of them speaking quietly about it; she didn't understand conversations, but could make out the word mearas and King Éomer's name.
She didn't know if she just imagined it, but she felt like after that morning, Riders looked at her differently. Mearas did not make another appearance, yet she didn't think she would soon forget about the morning by the stream.
So the days and nights proceeded as they rode westward. Folca taught her some simple Rohirric expressions; by the time they reached their destination, she might perhaps be able to introduce herself in their tongue and not feel like she had mangled the words over much.
Closer to Edoras they got, more there was traffic on the road, and bigger the villages on their way. Eventually they passed by Aldburg, the birth home of Éowyn and her brother the King. It was also where Eorl the Young had first raised his seat in Rohan. But they did not enter the town, as there was still hours of daylight left and they were eager to reach the capital. To herself, Lothíriel wondered if coming autumn and winter would present a chance to travel there with Éowyn.
At long last in the middle of September, Lothíriel got her first glimpse of Edoras, the capital of horselords. It stood on a great hill, surrounded by wide plains. Mountains loomed ahead, white and lofty, but did not shadow the city. A great Hall dominated the view and she knew at once it was Meduseld, the famed residence of the King of Rohan. At once she understood why it was called the Golden Hall, for it gleamed bright in sunlight. On the slopes of the hill many thatched houses stood and a great wall of pikes defended them. It was a sight not out of this age, Lothíriel thought to herself.
There was some traffic on the road to the capital, but way was made to the company of Riders and Swan Knights. Lothíriel rode in the middle of them and tried to focus on her horse instead of curiously ogling at the new sights around her, particularly the way her Rohirric escorts bowed their heads when they passed many mounds near the front gate of the city. Tiny white flowers grew in abundance over the mounds.
"Here lie their kings of old, my lady. They call it Barrowfield", said the captain of her Swan Knights, who had accompanied Father when he had travelled here for King Théoden's funeral.
Lothíriel simply muttered something in agreement. She would have a lot of questions for Éowyn.
The gates were open and the company rode through. The climb began almost immediately. A paved road snaked its way through the city; on its streets, Lothíriel saw more of the fair-haired folk, tall and lively and proud. Even in passing she noted these folk were generally wealthier than the people she had met on the way here. Some of them curiously watched the southern company and spoke among themselves. Smiling wryly to herself, Lothíriel wondered what they thought of Amrothian steeds, and if they judged the southerners' horsemanship very harshly.
Riding toward the top of the hill, one's eyes firmly fixed on Meduseld and remained so until the moment one reached the courtyard of this great Hall of Men. She could see that those who had built this place had put forth all their cunning in woodworking and carpentry. The result was surely worth their effort. Meduseld was golden indeed, with carvings so beautiful and intricate that one could easily lost sense of time trying to follow the patterns. The emblem of the blazing sun glimmered in the exterior, further convincing any traveller that this was indeed the light that shone in the heart of Rohan.
To other buildings Lothíriel paid yet little attention, and there was not a chance to take much in anyway; an army of stablehands swarmed around the newly arrived company, ready to take horses under their care. She felt a bit dazed when she dismounted and glanced around to see her Swan Knights ready and waiting.
She took a deep breath and headed for the great stairs leading up to the terrace where Meduseld stood. Halfway up to the stairs, a blur of white and gold rushed to meet her. Strong, sinewy arms wrapped tightly about Lothíriel and a laughing voice greeted her: "Welcome! Welcome to Edoras!"
"Thank you, Éowyn. It's good to see you", said Lothíriel, slightly taken aback by this enthusiastic greeting, but also pleased.
"It's good to see you, too! I hope the journey went well?" said the blonde woman as she pulled back to regard her Gondorian friend. Éowyn seemed happy and hale, with healthy colour on her creamy skin. It was quite the change compared to the pale, listless thing Lothíriel had first met in the Houses of Healing. And she was glad to know her friend had so fully left her despair behind.
She smiled.
"It was fine. I felt like quite the precious cargo, having so many warriors escorting me", she wryly noted. Her words made Éowyn laugh.
"I said as much to my brother, but he can get so overbearing sometimes. Nothing less than the very best for his friend's daughter", she said fondly, but then her expression grew apologetic as she went on to add, "Well, perhaps that sounds a little contradictory considering he's absent. Éomer meant to be here when you arrive, but he was unexpectedly called away a few days ago. There was some business in the Westfold that couldn't wait."
"Oh, it's quite all right. I don't expect either of you to drop everything just for my sake", Lothíriel hurried to say. She wasn't sure why, but a part of her was relieved King Éomer wasn't present. Why should she fear meeting the man? Even she didn't know.
"It's good you came, though. It should remind us both that there's a world outside the borders of our own land", Éowyn said seriously. But then another smile lit her features and she pulled at Lothíriel's hand. "Now, let me just make sure your Knights will be taken care of, and then we can get inside. There's so much I want to show you, but first I would think a hot bath and supper are in order!"
With a smile, Lothíriel followed her friend inside. As long as Éowyn's warm geniality persisted, she could very well handle one grumpy horselord.
Lothíriel's first days in Edoras passed swiftly. Éowyn, along with a few lady friends, was absolutely delighted to show her just about everything first in the Golden Hall and then on the streets of the capital. She took her guest on a full tour of Meduseld, excluding only the King's rooms. Lothíriel felt like they could spend hours just exploring the feasting hall and the abundance of detail in it. Carved wood, colourful stones paving the floor, rich tapestries and proud pennants... Éowyn and the other ladies knew countless tales about things that had happened here, and the White Lady's voice grew vehement when she showed her favourite hangings to her friend and spoke of events depicted in them.
She was given lodgings in the Golden Hall itself, as that would be more convenient for her stay of several months, and Éowyn was the eager hostess wanting to provide the esteemed guest with every possible comfort. Lothíriel's room was not large, but it was homely and cosy, with beautiful and warm beddings, soft pelts on the floor, and same well-made furniture as in the rest of the Hall. She especially loved the green and gold blanket of finest dyed wool, which was as warm as it was lovely. Lothíriel decided right away she would have to purchase one like it if she was able.
As they made their way in Meduseld or around the royal holdings, Éowyn would introduce her to the people they met, servants and guards and nobility alike. Some were too busy or wary to pay much attention to the Gondorian lady, but others had a multitude of questions to the southern guest. Lothíriel soon learnt that Rohirrim had their own name for Gondor, and it was Stoningland. It was one of the few words she could recognise in the flowing speech of the horselords in addition to the most basic greetings Folca had taught her. It seemed her reputation had rather preceded her, and many introductions began with the same question: "Aren't you the one who saw mearas?"
It didn't take Lothíriel to realise that what she had seen that morning was even more significant than she had first conceived.
Much more remained to be seen. The kitchens with its own little universe of bustle and haste, the King's stables where some of the finest horses of Middle-earth were tended to, and the streets of Edoras filled with noise and life. She couldn't help but admire the wealth of detail in Rohirric crafts, even if materials were simple and common. But the wool cloth she was presented to at the markets was finer than anything she had seen in Gondor and animal pelts so shiny and well-tended that she imagined it wouldn't be long before these things brought unseen levels of trade to Rohan.
But though Lothíriel could see the makings of new prosperity, it was also clear that war was still close. Food was nothing extravagant even in Meduseld. Folk of Edoras seemed fairly hale, but at the markets she also saw some whose last hearty meal was but a distant memory. Others there were with missing limbs and haunted eyes, and one day when Éowyn was distributing alms in the poorer district of the city, Lothíriel even saw one man whose both arms had been amputated. In a quiet, solemn voice Éowyn said that the capital had received many refugees after the burning of Westfold. Some families had found it simply impossible to return to their ruined farmsteads and villages that no longer existed, and others had come to seek a new life here when their husbands and sons had fallen in the faraway fields of Gondor.
Éowyn must have seen something troubled on her face, for she hurried to add in a lighter voice, "It may seem severe now, but there's hope in the land. Aragorn promised to send grain to get us through the winter and the first shipment should arrive in a few weeks. And our own goods will be distributed more efficiently than before according to the need of each region. My brother has worked hard to make sure every mouth will be fed."
"I hope my being here with my Knights won't exhaust your stores over much", Lothíriel said a little uneasily. She hadn't known the situation was so grave.
Her friend shook her head and made a dismissive gesture with her hand.
"Of course not, sweet fool! You are our guest, Lothíriel. It's a matter of honour that you'll find yourself comfortable during your stay", Éowyn stated firmly. "Like I said, help from Gondor is already coming, and Aragorn was more generous than he needed to be."
Her words consoled Lothíriel, but even so, the conversation remained close to her thoughts. In coming months, modest appearance and manner would be wise. A people as proud as Rohirrim would not take it well if she were to flaunt her father's wealth while they were still recovering from war's torments.
Meals were a lively business in Meduseld. Most of the household gathered together to eat – and make noise, as it sometimes seemed. The feasting hall would fill with clatter of dishes, voices rising and falling depending on how well the kitchen staff had succeeded, until tables emptied again and folk wandered off to their labours or to pass the night. First few days Lothíriel felt quite overwhelmed in the middle of all this, even though her seat was on the high dais next to Éowyn. Her friend's tact never failed, though, and some evenings they took supper alone in what had once been the Queen's Solar but was presently in Éowyn's use. After the meal, they would spend the rest of the evening quietly, unless she invited a few ladies over
So passed the first week, and it went by so quickly that the two women did not much get to the actual reason of Lothíriel being here. It was agreed they would start the lessons once she was settled down and knew her way in the capital. Most of her guard departed again, having rested and packed provisions for the journey home; while some training with Rohirrim would no doubt have interested them, they hoped to avoid the autumn storms that would eventually begin. With the Knights Lothíriel sent her first letters back home, telling her family she had arrived and was now safe and sound in Meduseld. With them went those of Éowyn's to Faramir – a pile equal to the one he had sent to her. Lothíriel wondered if her friend had slept at all for the entire week while composing her answers.
One thing only was yet lacking, and that was the King of Rohan himself. On the other hand, his name was often spoken especially in the Golden Hall, making one feel like he was present even now. Lothíriel was quick to understand these people put high hopes in their new king – he was respected and admired among them as a tireless, just leader.
These notions softened her own expectations a bit and she began to feel like she had been quite foolish to be nervous to meeting King Éomer again.
As it happened, she was soon to question herself once more.
Lothíriel had been six days in Edoras when dark clouds rolled over from the west, covering the capital with heavy but swift downpour. It passed already at midday, leaving the courtyard full of little pools and muddy spots. In the air, there was the unmistakeable scent of autumn that even Lothíriel recognised, though she was used to Dol Amroth's milder climate. But she found she liked the crisp feeling of it and as Éowyn was busy with some errands, she decided to go and take a short walk outside. She kept close to the Golden Hall, though. While Edoras was not as big as Minas Tirith, she still didn't know it well enough not to get lost.
On her way back she paid a visit to her horse, now remaining under the expert care of Rohan's finest stablehands. The little mare looked finer than she ever had: her coat was shiny and her eyes bright, and Lothíriel was pleased to hear one of the stablehands comment on what a beautiful gait the mare had. She hoped he did not say so merely to flatter her.
Wondering whether Éowyn was freed of her duties for the day, and if they might even begin their lessons today, Lothíriel made her way outside once again. There was a strong blast of wind – it was starker and colder here than what she was accustomed to, and so she lowered her face against the weather and pulled her cloak tighter about herself.
By now she had a pretty good idea of where the Golden Hall was in relation to the royal stables, and so she began to make her way, swift and straight as possible.
Lothíriel did not get far. Suddenly, as she was making her way through the courtyard, she stepped in a pool and her foot slipped. She fell and groaned as her hems and the palms of her hands were soaked in mud.
But then she became aware of something else. Suddenly, she felt there were eyes on her, watching her every move.
She looked up. There not four feet from her was a great grey warhorse, and on the top of it sat a man in armour.
He was tall and fair-haired, the very definition of a horselord of Rohan. He looked absurdly big with his red-brown armour, but also at ease with himself and with his horse. His face was hard and strong, like the wind had shaped it to exercise him out of everything that resembled weakness. She noted there was a beard that made him look just a little bit wild to her Gondorian eyes, especially accompanied by his long blond hair. But his gaze met her own as sharp and strong as steel, and he sat in the saddle proud and straight. There was only one word she could think of to describe him: kingly.
But she did not think of this long. For Lothíriel was still down in the muddy pool and the degree of the man's authority only made her feel more embarrassed. Because it was him, the last man she'd have liked to encounter right now – to be witness to her less than graceful moment.
Yet there he remained in all his mounted glory, tall and fair and fierce as in songs, and all she could do was stumble up on her feet. Lothíriel managed a clumsy bow and a hasty "Sire", and then she was already making her muddy way up to Meduseld.
To be continued.
A/N: And here is a new chapter! I've had bit of a dry spell lately (as far as LOTR fanfictions go), but I think I'm back in the saddle again! :)
I enjoyed writing Lothíriel's first introduction to the Rohirric culture, and perhaps now that we have that under our belts, we can get to exploring characters and their relationships a little more. I know, I know, there was not enough Éomer in this chapter, but I hope to fix that soon! :)
Thank you for reading and reviewing! Your comments are, as always, much appreciated!
Tibblets - I hope you will enjoy this story!
Guest #1 - Thank you! :)
HannahKathleen - I do hope you like it!
Anon - Glad to hear that, so am I!
Melissa Black13 - Thanks, hopefully you will enjoy it!
Catspector - That's good to hear, as I was hoping to reveal her character before getting to the story itself. :)
Guest #2 - I hope you will like it! :) Yes, Éothiriel is what I often call it (especially at my blog) for convenience's sake. Anyway, I do hope to explore their friendship a bit more in this story, so let's hope I can deliver in that regard!
QueenLiVII - Here's to hoping it will satisfy! :)
Guest #3 - Hopefully you will like it. :)
Victoria LeRoux - And here it comes at last!
Certh - Happy to hear that! It's not always easy to create such atmospheres, so I'm glad to have succeeded. I would imagine her awkwardness over Éomer is at least in part due to insecurity, but we'll explore that, too!
Also thanks for pointing out those mistakes! I've got them fixed now. :) Please don't hesitate to let me know if you see typos or other such things.
Wondereye - Thank you!
Rubandebluie - We'll see about that! But you're right - it's always interesting to write and read about him when he is in his own element. :)
Jo - Thank you!
Katia0203 - Yes, it seemed like a nice way to let the reader know what this is about! And we'll see about those feelings, and how they take form! ;)
Nerdanel - I'm rather excited about it, too! And I guessed you probably meant something along that vein. :D
inperfection - Thank you! I hope you will continue to enjoy it. :)