Lothíriel woke slowly, trying half-heartedly to open her heavy eyes before giving up and snuggling deeper into her bed. Rarely did she feel so bone-tired, but even more rare was the reason for her exhaustion: she had only climbed into bed just before dawn, having spent the entire night talking with the king!

The lingering, hopeful feelings from so many hours in his company brought a smile to her sleepy lips. Never before had she felt so unabashedly...herself. He had listened to all that she said, and he offered much insight into his own life, which she found supremely interesting. She found it astonishing that a man who had lived his life as a warrior, burdened with desperate worries could be so kind and warm-hearted towards her. Not that she was complaining—he had held onto her hand for most of the night, which had made her feel so much more comforted. She clenched said hand under the covers, wishing that it did not feel so empty now.

Her chamber was unnaturally bright, and as Lothíriel finally roused herself from her pleasant reverie, she opened the bedcurtains to see a cold breakfast tray sitting by the hearth. The curtains which covered the window had been opened, and the sun was high in the sky. What time was it, anyway?

Her limbs felt unusually heavy from so little sleep, and Lothíriel yawned as she trudged over to nibble on her breakfast of a fruit-studded scone and tepid tea. She really had slept late! She wandered over to the wardrobe, considering her potential activities for the day as she stared down her collection of frocks. But she pursed her lips as she stared the rows of dresses, unsure what to wear that would be best suited for her day.

What Lothíriel wanted was to see the king again. She wished to enjoy their easy camaraderie, their friendship, their laughing and joking. But she was unsure of what he intended to do that day, nor was she feeling quite brave enough to seek him out purely for her own pleasure. Her eyes fell on her riding clothes, freshly laundered since her calamitous ride two days earlier. That was what she ought to do—it would fill her time until she saw the king again, which would be at suppertime at the latest. She sighed to think of how many hours away supper was!

Lothíriel tugged on her riding clothing, braiding her hair back with her newly acquired skills (Hamwyn having taught her to braid her own hair in recent days). Her boots, practical as they were, slipped onto her feet too easily. They remained far too large, and had complicated the riding situation to a slight degree. But they were better than slippers! Inspiration struck her, and she pulled her boots back off again, and wadded up some scrap parchment into the toes of the boot before putting her feet back in—much improved!

Before leaving her chamber, she took her time to wash her face and hands, the cool water jolting her out of her still-hazy tiredness. She shook herself, and set off to the stables, suppressing another yawn.

Widfarla was not there but Ranulf was, and at her polite bequest he was saddled Moon Shadow for her. The corral was empty as most of the hands were at luncheon, and disliking the idea of riding a long distance, Lothíriel led Moon Shadow to the yard. Together they practiced trotting and cantering, there not being enough area to gallop. Soon she felt energy filling her veins; fatigue quite disappearing beneath Moon Shadow's hooves. Bliss at the memory of the king remained.

Time passed by quickly when she was riding, and during the course of the afternoon her skin grew damp from sweat, and she began to feel sticky and thirsty. But she was unwilling to yield her sensation of freedom quite yet.

A figure was walking down to the yard from Meduseld, and Lothíriel turned Moon Shadow about to see that it was, indeed, as she suspected—the king. Her heart thumped most uncomfortably, and she steered the mare to the fence as he approached.

"Hullo!" he called, and once they were within reach he took a moment to scratch beneath Moon Shadow's chin.

Lothíriel paused to wipe the sweaty hair from her face, wishing that she was not so filthy. "Good afternoon," she said, remembering her manners.

"I have a gift for you," the king said, and he held up a pair of boots, which she had not noticed that he was holding.

"I—I thank you, sire, that is very thoughtful."

"They belonged to Éowyn," he explained. "I was arranging for her things to be sent to Ithilien when I found this pair; I believe she wore them when she was fourteen or fifteen. I believe they may fit you better, and they are certainly more attractive. The ones you are currently wearing have seen better days."

"Indeed, that is kind of you," Lothíriel said, patting Moon Shadow's neck. "Though I do not quite think it was worth your time to bring them all the way here."

"Nonsense," the king said. He was leaning on the fence, studying her with a grin. "I wanted to see how your lessons were going. You are riding incredibly well, Lothie. I am impressed."

Warmth spread across her skin which felt like a trail of kisses, and she lowered her eyes. Lothie. Good heavens, he had a pet name for her! "I thank you, sire," she said. "For...the compliment and the boots."

"Are you very tired from last night?"

Lothíriel fiddled with the reins in her hand. "I am well enough," she said with a smile. "And you?"

"Never better."

She stared at him, wondering if he was teasing. But his eyes held nothing but sincerity, and he did look rested. How could that be?

"There is a harpist coming to perform at the hall tonight," the king said suddenly. "I hope you will come."

"Of course. Why would I not?"

He shifted his stance. "I am never sure of what you will do," he said after a moment. "But—you will be there?"

"Yes! Will you always force me to repeat myself?" Lothíriel felt like laughing; a new sort of feeling which she was unused to was filling her limbs and making her feel rather giddy.

"Not always," the king said with a grin, and he reached out to clasp her hand in his warm one. "Only when I want to hear your words will I ask you to speak them again and again…"

Was this the flirting he explained to her all those weeks ago? It felt dangerous, and Lothíriel could do nothing but stare and try to keep her knees from trembling. Moon Shadow was getting anxious, and she took her hand away. "I must go," she said. "T—tonight then?"

"Tonight, princess."

Even supper that night tasted pleasant on her palate; though whether that was because she was finally becoming accustomed to the heavy, greasy Rohirric food, or because the cooks had somehow improved upon it, was unclear. The latter she doubted, however, but it did not bother her. In fact, she was sure that nothing in the world could distress her in that moment, and she felt the king look at her again, which had been doing often over the course of the meal. At last he leaned close to her to say in a low voice,

"You look very pretty tonight, Lothie. I cannot stop myself from admiring you! And I see that I am not the only one."

She bit her lip to keep from flushing, but she was sure it did not work. "That is a kind compliment, sire, though I am sure I do not deserve it." Lothíriel did not care if every man in the hall was admiring her: it was the expression shining in the king's eyes that satisfied her.

"Nonsense," he murmured, and in a bold move, (to her mind, at least), he lifted her hand to his lips, lingering as his finger stroked along the inside of her wrist. "You deserve all the admiration in the world, my little princess, though I hope you are content with mine. Perhaps now is the time for me to warn you that I shall be a very jealous husband!"

"There is no need," Lothíriel said, tilting her head slightly as she admired the way the firelight behind them shone in his hair. It was awfully hard to keep up conversation while he was so nice to look at. "Fidelity is one of the most—"

"I am not speaking of fidelity," the king said, and he gave her a menacing grin. "I rather feel like I might thrash any man that even looks at you."

"What drivel!" She laughed, and then covered her mouth as she realized her mistake. The king chuckled with her and pulled her hand away, now holding both of hers in his own.

"Laugh all you wish," he said, and his tone grew serious. "There is no greater satisfaction—at least that I have experienced—than bringing my betrothed even a little happiness."

Lothíriel felt like sighing, but their private coze was interrupted as servants entered to clear away the food. The king released only one of her hands, and he held the other tight. "Would you—could you perhaps tell me about the harpist, sire?" she asked after a few moments, feeling shy.

"I know little of her," he said. "I know that she resides in Aldburg, and she sang for my uncle many years ago, before—before he grew ill. I have only heard her once before."

Despite the tables being moved and the lingering dinner guests, the hall was strangely quiet. Lothíriel could only observe in fascination as the candles were doused until the only light shone from the hearth. She felt the king squeeze her hand, and she turned her head away as she hid a smile.

A woman entered, wearing a regal red gown and carrying a worn, wooden lyre. She nodded and smiled at the the king, who returned it. She said something in Rohirric, and then repeated herself in Westron. "Thank you for the kind invitation to Meduseld, sire," she said, her accent thick but lilting. "I hope that my offering pleases you and your woman."

"Thank you, Aelwyn. I am sure it will."

The woman sat on a stool which had been brought to her, and began to strum her harp before joining it with her voice. Lothíriel did not understand her words, but the melodies were lovely to listen to. Occasionally the spectators would add their voices to a chorus, and the hall would be filled to every corner with the sounds. At last the fire began to die down, and the Aelwyn cleared her throat before speaking again. "I learned a song from Stoneland for our new queen, if it pleases you."

Lothíriel was astonished that such a talented singer would go to pains for her. But—why? The woman began to sing,

A ship I did see at sail
As I stood alone on the shore;
She was going along quickly on the tide;
O ho! That's my lover's boat!

I wish I were sailing away with him,
In the boat, sailing forth with my love.

Her lines were shining like silver
As she sailed forth so splendidly;
Like gold her reflection on the water,
A fairer ship I never will see.

It's my lover I saw at the helm
Wasn't he doing well!
My lad is the strongest man aboard,
The most handsome in the house.

If he were with me on the Island
With neither boat nor sail with which to leave;
O ho! Then I need not watch,
Left alone and wretched.

I wish I were sailing away with him
Or else I would keep you here with me, oh my love!

At this the conclusion of the performance, the woman stood and gave a slight curtsey. She received applause from all around the hall, and took her time to acknowledge the crowd before leaving.

"That was lovely." The king's warm murmur into her ear made Lothíriel jump. When had he come to be so close to her?

"It was," she agreed, tucking stray hairs behind her ear. She had dressed her own hair for that evening and it was severely lacking. Lothíriel gave the king a wan smile, and stood. "Good night, sire," she said. "Everything was so delightful tonight, thank you, sire."

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Surely you will."

"But when?"

Lothíriel was already stepping from the dais, though he had risen from his seat to try to assist her. "Whenever you care to find me," she answered, feeling cheeky though not nearly brave enough to allow him to escort her to her chamber.

The king grinned. "First thing, then. Good night, Lothie."


I just wanted to take half a mo' to express how much I appreciate all my readers and reviewers. I am happy to know that most of you are enjoying Lothiriel's journey as much as Hanne and I have enjoyed planning, writing, brainstorming, etc. Hugs and kisses to all! 😘