A/N: Wondereye, silverswath, and Mary07, thanks for the reviews!

The following (unbeta'ed) vignette is dedicated to heckofabecca.

Lothiriel wiped her eyes with the back of her hand as the castle gained clarity. The spires gleamed in the early dawn light. "I never thought I'd see home again."

Amrothos straightened in the saddle. "That would have been up to you." He nodded to the wide-eyed guards who were opening the large wrought-iron gates. Several of his men dispersed to enter by the paddock way, but the main retinue filed through behind them.

"Father has some meetings today," Amrothos remarked as they dismounted and Lothiriel fussed her way over to the carriage to check on her boy. "We may not see him until - oh - "

Lothiriel closed the carriage door gently so as not to wake Ecthelion. She turned at Amrothos' exclamation, to see her father hurrying down the wide marble steps. Amrothos stood to the side as their father sprinted across the flagstones.

"Lottie." In the Riddermark, Lothiriel thought her father might have crushed her in an embrace, but instead he fell to his knees on the dew-slicked cobbles. He grasped the muddy hem of her dress and brought it to his chest.

"Oh," Lothiriel started, "Father, don't." She said the first thing that came to mind. "You'll stain that damask."

The Prince of Dol Amroth burst into tears. The guards looked decently away.

July - Dol Amroth - Father and daughter

The blue dress did help, but the first few days back were tense all around. The only exception was Ecthelion, who was fascinated with the sea and the maps and his doting, well-educated uncles who explained to him the stars and the tides and how Malath and his little cottage were only a few days' ride away. Why, he could measure that distance easily with his hands on grandfather's desk chart. Grandfather had a wonderful collection of little wooden ships, just the length of his fingers; the sweat-stained strategic maps that they had been pushed upon during the war had been hastily rolled away.

Lothiriel studied Ecthelion on the floor. "I cannot be sorry about him, Father, but I am sorry for bringing shame to the house."

Prince Imrahil sighed. "You are not at fault, little swan. Boromir should have known better, the Valar grant him peace. The man had lived in Minas Tirith all his life. He knew what the stakes were for you. He should never have acted in such a way."

Lothiriel swayed on her feet. Her father thought the indiscretion was no fault of her own! Had her past years been for nothing? Had all of her scheming, to save herself and her family from shame, been unnecessary? Well, not wholly unnecessary, for Ecthelion would never be looked at as a proper son, here in Gondor. But did her father really mean what he said?

"Cousin Boromir was an honorable man," Lothiriel feinted. "It was I who was- who behaved-" She could not say the words after all, and stopped speaking, mortified.

"Boromir was a man twice your age. He should have known better, no matter what temptation you posed - and I do not want to hear about it," Prince Imrahil added, holding up one hand which she saw out of the corner of her eye. "But I am glad you are here."

Lothiriel smiled at him tentatively, and the prince began gathering some of the breakable objects on his desk together. "Perhaps this will interest you. Your cousin Faramir was looking through some documents. Denethor had drawn one up, soon after Boromir left for Imladris, that the firstborn child of Lothiriel's would be given a tract of hunting grounds between the City and Lossarnach. What does that tell you of what Denethor knew of your child, and his feelings on the matter? And your cousin Faramir, when presented with this document, he did not object. He did not reassign the land. No, he immediately had it brought before the King and made official. What does that say about your cousin's opinion of you?"

Lothiriel sat down suddenly into one of the study chairs as Imrahil continued. "I think Denethor knew, when he was himself, that there was a chance that Boromir would not return. There was nothing he could do for you directly, Lothiriel, no way to undo centuries of custom and thinking in a day, but you would have been able - you would be able - to live on that estate. You wouldn't lack for anything, and neither would the child. " He smiled at her. "My sister, your Aunt Finduilas, enjoyed those grounds, for hawking. It was her favorite estate. I am sure Denethor remembered, and doubly so that Faramir did as well."

Lothriel watched, speechless, as the prince stowed the last of the breakable objects in a high cupboard and shut it surreptitiously as his grandson plotted the course of the wall-sconces with the wooden sextant. "But since you did not know that before, I must ask: what changed to bring you back, daughter?" He had gotten used to her presence in a week. He knew her reason was not really himself, and that she could have stayed in Rohan forever, his poor old heart notwithstanding. King Aragorn was sure to get a chuckle over this episode. Well, with any luck, the king would learn just how thoughtlessly inconsiderate of their parents children could be.

"I am the princess who should marry Eomer King."

Aha. Well, that reasoning was direct. "You have heard about your cousin Elle?" It had been a desperate thing to do. Eomer had not been pleased with what he considered a deception, but had understood how important the marriage was to the people, and how advantageous it was to be able to tap into a general confusion that he was marrying Imrahil's daughter rather than a distant niece.

"Cousin Elle wants nothing more than to marry Lord Berin, and she and Eomer do not suit."

Prince Imrahil sighed. "You have a son, though, Lothiriel. Now, I understand, and your brothers understand, but-"

"Eomer King will consider me no less. I know it from his subjects themselves." She did not add that she had also heard it from the king himself, that night in Minas Tirith. "My worth is more in the Riddermark. Ecthelion adds to it rather than detracting. Even were we to go to Uncle Denethor's estate, Ecthelion would be scorned. But in the Riddermark, he could be adored." She did not add that Ecthelion was already adored, by the man she planned to marry.

Prince Imrahil regarded his daughter, dressed in the wools of Rohan, with wooden carved pins adorning her hair, from whose lips words like 'the Riddermark' flowed with the cadence of the north.

"Let me write to Eomer and tell him you are found."