Chapter 1
March 3008, Dol Amroth
It is said that sometimes the events of early childhood make such an impression on a young mind that the person in question carries that event with them all their lives. Being saved from the waves by Éomer, son of Éomund, was that kind of a thing for young Princess Lothíriel.
Her family first expected that she would soon forget all about the incident and Éomer, but their expectations quickly proved to be wrong. The girl often talked of the boy, how she had all kinds of plans for when he'd come to Gondor again, and she carried with her the small wooden horse he had made for her all the time. It was her favourite toy and she took good care of it, better than small children of her age usually do – certainly a curious choice of toy for a princess. Lothíriel often dreamt of Éomer returning Dol Amroth, even though she eventually came to realise that as the nephew of the King and a son of the First Marshal, Éomer had better things to do than visit her. So, perhaps it would be a better idea if she would visit him! The idea grew in her mind and became larger, no matter how many times Father told her that such a journey to Rohan was too dangerous for a small girl like her.
"Éomer wouldn't probably even remember you", said her eldest brother Elphir. "You're just a little girl who wouldn't stop bothering him when he was visiting here. Why would he give you anything more than a passing thought?"
Though Elphir's words were hurtful, Lothíriel didn't say anything – even if she did want to point out that Elphir was just being jealous. During his time in Dol Amroth, specifically after the incident by the seaside, Éomer had always seemed to be more interested in spending time with the little princess than with her brothers. Her second oldest brother Erchirion, who was something of a bully that time, said Éomer was a weird boy to prefer playing with small girl when he could have had sword fights with her brothers, and that he wouldn't have wanted to associate with such an odd outlander anyway. Erchirion did not know it at that point and nor did Lothíriel, but Éomer had just lost his father in a battle against orcs – in such situation, playing with swords was perhaps the last thing the young Rohir wanted to do.
Time went by, and it was often that Lothíriel would climb up the walls of the city to see if a small party of riders was nearing the city. Sometimes riders came, but they were mostly just messengers from Minas Tirith, or sometimes even from Rohan, but usually the letters would be for Grandfather Adrahil or Aunt Ivriniel. But every now and then Lady Lótesse, whom Lothíriel did not remember very well from Éomer's visit, would send greetings from the young Rohir. That always made the little princess very happy, although Erchirion rolled his eyes: according to him, it was probably just Lady Lótesse indulging the foolish little girl.
Then one day, soon after Lothíriel's ninth birthday, a letter came.
Lady Lótesse was gravely ill and it looked like she would not make it. The healers had said she would live few months at best. The woman did not want anything more than to just see her friends from Gondor one last time, especially Aunt Ivriniel. Aunt had always been very close to Lótesse, so she quickly organized a party to visit Rohan's capital, Edoras. When such a chance appeared, Lothíriel became so excited that she feared she would explode. She begged father to let her go, to see the land of horselords and maybe Éomer, too. Her grandfather Adrahil and her own father Imrahil were reluctant at first, because they thought the journey would be too dangerous for the little girl. But then a surprising and a rather formidable ally appeared, as Aunt Ivriniel began to demand that Lothíriel be taken among the entourage. The girl herself knew nothing of how the topic of the unmarried Prince Théodred was discussed and how an alliance between Gondor and Rohan was more important than ever. True, Lothíriel was a child still and it was years before a marriage could take place, but it was a reasonable idea and one that Ivriniel hoped to discuss about with Théoden King. In fact, her youth was an advantage, for it meant an early introduction to the Rohirric culture would prepare her for future marriage with the heir to the throne. Royal princesses were valuable currency, and Lord Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, would absolutely agree about that.
So, a day before the departure, Aunt Ivriniel called Lothíriel to her chambers and told her the great news: the princess would join the entourage and travel to Rohan, land of the horselords.
There was no way she could ever have explained what joy she felt for the prospect of seeing Éomer, son of Éomund, once again.
If Lothíriel had expected a highly comfortable journey from the White City, she was soon proven wrong. Of course she had already received many riding lessons on her beautiful white pony she had named Niel, but she had never spent an entire day in the saddle. So by the time they stopped that first day of riding after they had left Minas Tirith, Lothíriel was aching all over and impatiently asking her aunt if they would arrive very soon. That was a silly thing to ask, of course; you did not ride from Dol Amroth to Edoras in one single day. Unless, perhaps, you happened to be in the possession of a dragon.
But when her body began to get accustomed to riding, she started to take in what she saw around them. Lothíriel had never travelled far from her home, except for Minas Tirith where her family had an extensive house for times when they would visit their relatives there or when her father had business with Lord Denethor. And even then, those trips were usually made on ships so the most she had ever seen were the riverbanks of Anduin.
The party tried to keep up a good pace, for who knew how long Lady Lótesse would be strong enough to cling to this life? Still, riding fast was not an actual option – that seemed to be standard for travelling royal parties. There were the heavily armed Swan Knights Grandfather had insisted sending along to guard the travellers, servants, personal maids, tents for shelter, entire chests of clothes, food supplies and hundreds of other things that needed to be taken with the group. The wagons containing the supplies rolled forward with annoyingly slow pace.
Still, Lothíriel couldn't help but notice the beauty of the lands of the Men. The fertile fields, the tall and proud people, the farmhouses and villages... It was a land one would expect to be full of life and happiness, yet even young princess could sense the shadows in people's minds and eyes. The darkness was becoming thicker in the east, it was said, and the rumours of marauding orc bands wreaking havoc on innocent people reached even Lothíriel's ears. The future was becoming so dark these days, with no certainty of a break of dawn at the end of it. Who would rise up against the darkness? Courageous Elven lords of old were long gone, and none of the remaining seemed strong enough to fight against the forces of evil. There was no Eärendil now to sail West and ask for the help of Valar. The days of heroic deeds had ended long ago already.
But as the party travelled deeper into the lands of the Riddermark, Lothíriel could feel the shadows falling back as she took in the beautiful sight of vast grasslands. The wind that had no hint of the familiar scent of the sea, blew through the wide plains and tousled her hair with mighty blasts. The sky looked somehow larger than back home, with great mountains reaching for the sky, and suddenly she could understand the horselords' love for this land. She even saw a small pack of horses feeding on fresh grass, guarded by two riders, and she waved at them enthusiastically. It was spring and everything smelled new, and Lothíriel felt an unexplainable joy bursting inside her. Seeing Rohan for the first time left an unforgettable impression on young princess.
There was a small group of Rohirric riders waiting for them on the border, all armed and armoured. Prince Adrahil had insisted upon sending a messenger before the actual group to ask the permission to pass through Mark; according to him, it was a polite thing to do. Lord Denethor may have his opinions about the riders of Rohan, but Adrahil (and his son after him) had always regarded them highly and insisted on treating the northern allies in according manner. King Théoden had sent some of his riders to accompany the party of 25 Swan Knights, several members and relatives of Prince Adrahil's family and their servants. The young princess had hoped that he would be there, to receive her and to recall that day by the sea – the day Lothíriel herself remembered so well. But when she sat up on her saddle and tried to find him with her eyes, she could not spot him amongst the riders Théoden King had sent to escort Lady Ivriniel's entourage. Disappointed, Lothíriel could feel her heart sinking. She had been almost sure he would have been waiting for her, just as anxious as her. What if Elphir had been right and her friend wouldn't remember her?
During their journey to Edoras they saw many Rohirric villages and towns. It was a fair country, built on the windy plains and the bravery of the people. As they advanced and left the more dangerous borderlands behind, it seemed that the atmosphere became more carefree too. The people of the villages came to greet the travellers, but most of them did not know enough of Westron to actually communicate – Lothíriel, who was already planning to try and learn their language, could understand only some of their well-wishings. Somehow she felt welcome here, as if she had been on a long journey and only now returned the place she loved and regarded her own.
Edoras, the capital of Rohan, of course struck the young princess with wonder and delight. The city was built on hill that shot up on the plains, almost in the very embrace of the mountains. The Golden Hall stood on the highest top with its strong walls and golden ceiling that looked like it was on fire in the light of afternoon; the sun hit the ceiling of the King's house in such way that made it appear like it was blazing with embers. Lothíriel almost believed the King's hall was on fire until one of the horselords accompanying them explained in heavily accented Westron how the roof's gilded surface would give such an appearance. When they came near the gate of the city, they rode past nine and seven mounds, covered by delicate white flowers. As the horselords rode past these mounds, they bent their heads to honour those who lay under them in eternal sleep. These were the tombs of past kings, explained the same horseman who had told Lothíriel of Meduseld's gilded roof.
Though it was nothing like Minas Tirith or Dol Amroth, Lothíriel couldn't help but feel this great awe when she saw the capital of Mark. This was where the great horse kings of old had lived. This was where Éomer probably lived, or at least this was the place he received his orders from. Maybe he was here, amongst the King's guard and riders. Had it been up to Lothíriel, she'd have raced up to the King's house and left Aunt's entourage behind – it had been five years she had last seen her life-saver, and time could not go just fast enough until she met him again.
The company rode up to the Golden Hall, the beautiful estate on the top of the large hill. Meduseld rose up there, as if it was the very extension of the great hill. It was nothing like the graceful stone palaces back in Gondor and Dol Amroth, but the little princess found she liked it. There was warmth there, the kind you never found in places built of rock. The eloquent carvings, knotworks and the recurring horse motifs, the images of the sun, the colourful flags... The estate belonged here so absolutely that one could almost believe it had just grown from the ground.
The other dwellings were not as eloquent as Meduseld, but the similar imagery was repeated on the facades of the houses. People dressed in warm and down to earth colours as if the mere richness of them could keep away the chill of the ever-present wind: different shades of green and brown, deep red, bright gold and yellows. While Gondorians often preferred simple majesticity, the visual culture of the Rohirrim was rich and voluminous.
The people of the city came, of course, to see the visitors. Rohirrim were strong-looking, fair-haired people with bright eyes and a sense of ages past around them; it was as if these men and women were somehow more strongly connected to the heroic ages than the Gondorians were – as if the times of yore, the times of Eorl the Young, were still present. Lothíriel wouldn't have been very surprised if the legendary king would have suddenly ridden down to meet them, on his beautiful horse Felaróf.
In the yard of the King's house, stableboys were already waiting for the company. Suddenly the courtyard was full of commotion and rush, and the horses were guided to the King's extensive stables. Then the guests were escorted to the high steps that led up to the terrace and the great door of the Golden Hall. And inside the house of the kings, on the the throne, sat King Théoden; a tall, wise man, experienced warrior and a good ruler of his people. The colour of his hair was that of wheat in August and his blue eyes were kind, and though he was every bit as regal as the princess would have imagined, she also felt that it was easy to like this man.
Later on, Lothíriel did not remember much of the greeting ceremonies. She could only think of that first sight of Meduseld: the same richness she had witnessed already outside, the elegant golden knotworks adorning wooden columns and the far back wall of the great hall, the beautiful pennants and tapestries hung on the walls... Behind the throne (which was a piece of art itself) there were the banners of the Royal House, all picturing the sun and horses – the symbols of this beautiful land. There was an open fireplace on the very centre of the hall and torches on the holders on the columns. There were triangular windows near the ceiling, so during the day the hall basked in beautiful golden light, and by night it was only illuminated by torches and the fire on the open fireplace, making the rich colours somehow even warmer and stronger. There was so much to be seen there that she barely noticed anything else.
The young princess was soon reintroduced to Éowyn, daughter of Éomund and a niece of King Théoden, with whom Lothíriel would share room during her stay in Mark. Éowyn was few years older than the Gondorian princess, but she already seemed much more like an adult than a young girl; there was solemnity and dignity to Éowyn grown women could envy. She was tall, like her uncle, with the light hair of her people and graceful bearing passed down to her from Morwen Steelsheen. She was already showing signs of great beauty, yet also will as strong as steel that sparkled in her grey eyes. No doubt she would be a formidable woman one day. Éowyn's room was simple, but comfortable; there were not many pieces of furniture, but the window was big and so the scarcely decorated room was bright and had an airy feel to it. It cast something of a contrast to the main hall of the King's estate.
With ordered precision Éowyn helped Lothíriel to settle down. A truckle bed was brought for the younger girl, with her chest that contained her clothes and other important possessions a daughter of royal family possibly couldn't travel without.
"I am sorry if I disturb your peace. I did not mean to cause such disturbance to you", Lothíriel felt obliged to say when her things had been settled down. With Éowyn's serious face one did not always know how she felt about things, and even though she was very young still, she already had that aura of inviolable dignity that ignited in others a desire to win her good regard.
"Do not worry about it, Princess. I'm honoured and pleased to have you here", Éowyn only said and offered a polite smile to her guest. Lothíriel hadn't yet heard all about the tragic history of the other girl's family, but she did know that something bad had happened to Éowyn and her brother – something so bad that it had made the two siblings grow up too soon. For that same reason, Lothíriel wondered if it would be somehow offensive to ask about the older girl's brother. She had been dying to ask about Éomer and whether he was here in Edoras, but hadn't yet gotten herself to ask the actual question.
"Honour is all mine", Lothíriel said as well as any noble lady from Gondor could, pushing away thoughts of the friend she was so desperately hoping to meet again. Aunt Ivriniel would have been pleased had she seen.
Finally, the young princess gathered her courage and lifted her eyes to meet Éowyn's keen grey eyes.
"Is... is your brother here, Lady Éowyn?" Lothíriel asked, her voice meeker than she had intended. When Éowyn smiled a bit, she relaxed.
"I thought you would never ask! You two were so good friends when he and I visited your city that I nearly thought the first we would see of your entourage would be you running in, demanding to see my brother", Éowyn said, smiling as she spoke, and the princess blushed.
"He's my friend", she just said quietly, trying to hide behind her dark hair.
"Of course. But I'm sorry to tell that Éomer is not in Edoras right now, however. He is in Aldburg at the moment, but he should return in a few days. Aunt Lótesse always adored Éomer so much..." Éowyn said. At first, she almost sounded glad, but when she mentioned her dying aunt, her voice turned quiet and sad. It must hurt, Lothíriel thought; she herself couldn't imagine life without her own Aunt Ivriniel.
"I'm sorry about your aunt", Lothíriel said, hoping she could offer some better comfort for the other girl. Éowyn nodded quietly, and the other girl couldn't come up with anything else to say. Obviously the topic was too painful for the King's niece, and who could blame her for it?
Those first days in Edoras Lothíriel spent mostly just exploring the city and Meduseld. She loved wandering in the shadowy naves of the great hall, especially by evenings. She would stare at the beautiful tapestries hours after hours; the eloquent needlework was something to envy. Each tapestry had a story of its own to tell from the past of the horselords. She especially liked the one that had a beautiful Shieldmaiden, her fair hair cut short (Aunt Ivriniel would have been horrified by such a hair style) and wearing a complete warrior's armour. For some reason, the woman reminded Lothíriel of Éowyn. There was same kind of unyielding strength about the Shieldmaiden's face that was already apparent in the King's young niece.
She often sat on the stone terrace of the Golden Hall, peering off to the distance in case a band of riders was nearing the city. And when a group of riders appeared on the wide plain, her heart would start beating faster, and she would wait excitedly until the warriors reached the courtyard. She searched for his face, but he never was amongst the arriving horsemen. Disappointed, Lothíriel would return to whatever she had been doing at the time.
Lothíriel even succeeded in making some friends amongst the children of the King's men. Many of the girls would enviously touch Lothíriel's straight, midnight black hair – an uncommon sight here, where most of the people seemed to have hair as light and wild as the wind blowing through the grassplains. They were polite enough to take her with them to their games, although sometimes Lothíriel felt bit of an outsider as she could not understand Rohirric that well.
The princess did not see much of her aunt, who spent most of her time by Lady Lótesse's bedside, but Lady Ivriniel demanded to see her at least daily to be sure that Lothíriel was behaving in a manner fit for a Gondorian lady. After all, as aunt liked to say, the princess was not just presenting herself or her family here, but all of Gondor. It was important to appear regal and graceful. As for the Swan Knights who had escorted them to Edoras, they seemed to be very much enjoying the chance to get to train with horselords on their training grounds. And what was the better place to receive exercise on riding and horses than the Mark? Lothíriel could only imagine what kind of a disappointment it would be for her pony when they returned home and the animal would not receive the kind of care it received in the hands of Rohan's best horsetenders.
But even though Lothíriel found herself enjoying the stay in Edoras, there was still one thing she waited desperately for: meeting Éomer once again. What if he wouldn't recognize her? What if he had forgotten about her? Or worse, what if she didn't recognize him? What would she say to him, anyway? She would have liked to ask Éowyn about him, but couldn't bring herself to do it. Éowyn was obviously having hard time with her dying aunt – surely she would find it bothersome for an outlander like Lothíriel asking all kinds of questions.
Then, when about two weeks had gone since Lothíriel had arrived in Edoras, a small group of riders arrived in to the city, and all her fears of if she would even know him after five years were wiped away when she spotted a tall young warrior with piercing dark eyes and serious face – the one she could never forget.
A/N: I know this is moving rather slowly at the moment, but I promise Éomer will be making an official appearance in the next chapter.
Also, I'd like to thank all who took time to comment on the story. Feedback and suggestions for improving this fic are always welcome!