Lothíriel thought about those endless moments staring out her window toward the sea. Her father had ridden away, likely to his death, in support of her uncle. Her brothers had busied themselves with securing the castle, for the attack all thought was coming. The shadow was descending. She remembered her endless pacing, wishing she knew what she could do. She remembered then taking quill and parchment, and trying to write every last memory down. Maybe if they all perished, her words would survive, and others would know of the last stand of Gondor, before the darkness fell.

Before the Anduin was overrun, a boat bearing messages informed her that her cousin Boromir had perished, and that his cracked horn had found its way back to Denethor. She could see her cousin so clearly, tall and proud, nearly as stern as his father. But there was also a kindness in Boromir that she'd never been able to sense from her uncle, one that told her that he still felt love in his heart. She remembered Boromir teaching her cousin Faramir and brothers how to fight. Slowing his own motions to model them, laughing as he danced around their attacks, lecturing them about how they gave themselves away, first in their swordwork, then in their footwork. He was gone, consumed by the darkness. Everything will be taken, she'd thought gravely, the best I can do is make sure there is meaning in my end.

But the attack never came. Someone had overtaken the Umbar host, and had sailed the Corsairs past Dol Amroth. The King, it was said. Her brothers rejoiced, but Lothíriel felt an unease. Their father was still on the front lines. She remembered the great tremors of the earth on the day the darkness fell, and how her heart suddenly felt lighter. How she had danced that night in celebration of an unknown joy. Then a great Eagle passed over the land and exclaimed that the free people of Middle Earth had been victorious: Sauron was gone. And… a King had returned. It took three more days for news of Imrahil to make it to Dol Amroth.

My dearest children,

I write in haste so you know that I have survived. Your uncle Denethor has tragically passed. Your cousin Faramir was also wounded, but is recovering in the House of Healing. I've met not one but two remarkable Kings on the last march, and look desperately forward to seeing you again. The paths are not yet safe, but once they are, please make haste to Minas Tirith to celebrate the coming of the New Dawn.

Love,
Ada

They immediately started making arrangements to leave for Minas Tirith. Elphir, ever the big brother, refused to let them go until the Amroth fleet was ensured safe passage up the Anduin, and they were assured safe passage from the castle to the harbor. Lothíriel pushed a letter into her brother's hand, "at least if you keep us captive until they make sure all is safe, you could see this delivered to Ada."

The letters between them started flowing then. Lothíriel started to see a pattern. So many letters discussing the young King Éomer of Rohan. Of his valor, of his honor, of his kindness. Lothíriel suspected her father's purpose. But as if to make it completely clear, Imrahil had drawn a picture of the King. Her father was trying to set a marriage match. It made Lothíriel's stomach turn. Was she to have the fate of Morwen? A Gondorian princess ferried away to the land of the Horse Lords? She loved her father and she trusted him deeply, but… this seemed… strategic. Yes, his words about the young King piqued her interest, and it sounded as if Ada was genuinely becoming friends with the man. So Lothíriel, ever the dutiful daughter, had agreed to come. Agreed to see if there was something there.

When the next letter included news of her cousin's betrothal to Éowyn Wraithbane, Éomer's sister, she gave her father's requests more serious thought. Perhaps all that had been bandied about in court over the uncivilized world of Horse Lords had been wrong. Rohan had come to Gondor's aid when it was most desperately needed. And the greatest of them had defeated an enemy beyond even the most skilled warriors of Númenor. Rohan, so oft overlooked, could be overlooked no more.

Lothíriel began to think about the man in the drawing. Herself a queen at his side. He was a warrior. Would he be kind? Was her father's friendship with this man a sign that he was warm and good of heart? Lothíriel shuddered. She did not want to suffer the fate of her aunt Finduilas either, given away to a stern older man and forced to live under the shadow, away from the sea. Was Éomer older? Ada had never said in his letters, but the drawing made it look like he was young. Perhaps younger even than Faramir.

When the coast was declared clear of enemies and arrangements were made to travel, Lothíriel could not help the butterflies in her stomach. She looked out every day at the sea, wondering if these were some of the last days that she would call Dol Amroth home. She was not sure that she was ready to face that fate yet, but here it was. She would face her future with an open heart and open eyes. Standing upon that precipice, she could feel both the excitement of perhaps finding love, and the fear of leaving all she knew as her home.

Having seen his sister fade from a marriage that lacked in love, Lothíriel was certain that her father would not condemn her to a similar fate. She would be free to decide if she loved the Rohirric King, and he would be free to decide if he loved her in turn. It comforted her. Her hand was hers to give. And her Ada would never force her hand into another's.

The days on the ship passed ever so slowly, taunting her with their sloth. She passed the time writing. Instead of writing of the end of days, she wrote poems and songs. Songs of the sea, playful poems about her brothers, sonnets about love. She wanted to meet Éowyn, to understand the woman who was able to finally bring happiness to Faramir. She wanted to know how she had done it. Lothíriel had become adept at drawing smiles out of her thoughtful cousin, once in a while even eliciting laughter. But she could never remove Faramir's sadness. That seemed to run deep into his heart, impenetrable. Had Éowyn found the way in? Lothíriel could not wait to find out.

The last few leagues were truly endless, but finally, they were there. Lothíriel was in her father's arms, crying. She now owed Amrothos one of her pink salt rocks, but she cared not. Her Ada was alive and whole. She hurried back to her room to take a quick bath. He was coming. Lothíriel's cheeks reddened thinking about it. She chose one of her favorite dresses, plain, but it reminded her of the sea. She looked at the many accoutrements she could have adorned herself with. Should she wear a pearled snood? Perhaps rouge her cheeks? No. She would come as she was. Rouged cheeks and adorned hair were for ceremony. This was not a ceremony. And she would not let this moment feel like one. She nodded at herself in the mirror, and descended the stairs into the garden.

Not two minutes had gone by since she had emerged into the courtyard before a knock came on the door. Imrahil had launched himself towards it as if a dragon were chasing him. Lothíriel blushed. She knew who was at that door. She and her siblings stood to welcome their royal guest. Royal guest, she thought, a King come to call. To look upon me. She felt like a piece of meat, about to be appraised. She knew it was not entirely like this, but it sure felt as if it was.

When Imrahil emerged from the doorway, Lothíriel's breath caught. Behind her father was such a man as she had never laid eyes upon. He was tall, as tall as her cousins. He had long blond hair tied back and was wearing a tunic embroidered and gold and green. The colors of Rohan. His shoulders were broad and his chest was well-muscled, honed no doubt by the sword. His face was fair, and though it was full of youth, his eyes contained sadness of a man who'd already lived through many sorrows. But in his eyes also shone light, and they were the color of the forest. Lothíriel wanted to know this man. She wanted to understand why one so young had such wizened eyes as he.

Éomer looked struck dumb as he followed her gaze, and it made her smile. She saw fire in Éomer's eyes. And fear. Well, Éomer King, it is time for me to know your soul, Lothíriel thought, trying to suppress the feeling of excitement that was overtaking her. Just before she spoke, Éomer walked deliberately forward and took her hand, placing upon it the gentlest of kisses. Lothíriel shuddered at the sensation, then closed her eyes to savor its echo through her nerves. She did not yet know if he would be her husband, but all the doubts she had about meeting Éomer had fallen away. Her father had taken notice, and Lothíriel wanted to crawl into a large hole as he grinned and delighted in the sparks he seemed to believe he orchestrated. Lothíriel would have to figure out how to explore these fledgling feelings for Éomer far away from Ada, and his insufferable grin.

Imrahil beckoned all to sit and tell the tales of the war, and Éomer had taken the seat directly next to her. She could smell his scent, some combination of soap and… lavender? It was faint, but there it was. Being so close to him, she now saw just how solid the young King was. His voice was rough but musical, deep and regal. But it was only when he began recounting stories of the war, egged on by Imrahil that she truly understood why people would follow Éomer into battle. There was an unrelenting draw to him, to be in his presence, to listen to his words. When he spoke of his sister, or of the Hobbits, Éomer's face would light, and she could see that his smile penetrated to his core. She wanted to see that smile. She wanted to be the cause of that smile. And she desperately wanted to meet those who could make him smile like that.

A knock on the door interrupted their stories. Both Imrahil and Éomer jumped up at its sound. Faramir and Éowyn, Lothíriel nearly jumped up too for excitement. But she was a lady, and so she sat. When the tall figure was in the doorway though, Lothíriel launched herself into his arms with nearly the fervor she had greeted her own father. Faramir had to regain his balance, and Lothíriel saw that he had flinched. Suddenly, she could hear musical laughter.

"You will need new soothing salve if this is the greeting you get from all your family members!" her blue eyes were alight as she looked at Faramir. Éowyn.

"I hope I did not put too many dents into you brother," Éomer had joined in.

Faramir gently put Lothíriel back on the ground and she nearly gasped. The gray eyes, full of shadows and sadness were twinkling at her. She stopped and just looked into them, where were his shadows? Lothíriel then turned back to Éowyn and marveled. She walked directly to her, and threw her arms around her then in turn.

"I did not think it was possible," she whispered in Éowyn's ear, "that I would ever see that kind of joy in my cousin's eyes. You truly are a miracle, Éowyn, daughter of Éomund."

When she pulled away, she fixed her gaze into Éowyn's eyes. She read in that moment that Éowyn had as much gallantry and nobility as even the Kings of old Númenor. Never again would she question the quality of her brethren in Rohan. She looked furtively at Éomer, who was smiling through his whole person, with a bewildered and delighted look at his sister. At her. She realized then that launching oneself at the royal family of another country was not particularly befitting her station. She could feel the blood rising to her face, and she rapidly stepped away from the Shieldmaiden she had captured in her surprise embrace. The entire courtyard had erupted into laughter, but their laughs were full of joy.

Éowyn came forward and pulled Lothíriel in for a continued hug, then whispered for her ears only, "your cousin saved me as much as I saved him. Thank you for your lifetime of love for Faramir. Without his love, I would have succumbed to the shadow."

Lothíriel was not sure if it was possible to love a person from the first moment she met them, but if it were, she knew she loved Éowyn. No wonder Faramir was so besotted. She turned her eyes back to Faramir, who was wiping a tear from his eyes and regaining his composure.

"Laugh all you want cousin, she has you under her spell," Lothíriel spoke in Sindarin.
"Entirely."
"Perhaps I will find my lips loose enough to share the story of your adventures with the Kracken," the last, Lothíriel spoke in Westron. Faramir went a bit white.

"Kracken?" it was Éomer.
Amrothos and Erchirion had doubled over, unable to control their laughter.

"Settle settle, children," the sternness in Imrahil's voice was betrayed by his continued attempts to stop from giggling, "This is behavior unbecoming a royal family."

"I thought this get-together was informal," friendly challenge was in Lothíriel's voice now, "So you could introduce us to friends without worrying about our stations."

Imrahil threw his hands up in surrender. Lothíriel knew he would. She smiled. Éomer looked uncomfortable at her words, but when she met his eyes, they shared a smile just for them.

"Uncle?" Faramir broke the moment, "Your ledger. So that it does not drag on, can we take some minutes to discuss it?"

"I suspected you'd ask. Sure, my sun room awaits." Imrahil replied, and the two headed into the house.

"Even when he is attempting to be informal, I don't believe Faramir can do it," Lothíriel rolled her eyes.

"This seems a perfect opportunity to tell us the Kracken story," Éowyn spoke softly but clearly.

Lothíriel grinned. Yes, she liked Éowyn.

"When I was 12 years old, Faramir came to visit us. He was walking along the beach when he came across a stranded octopus. We see them a lot, and mostly leave them be. But Faramir couldn't, he wanted to save it," Lothíriel started, "So he picked it up to put it back into the ocean. But the thing stuck to him, and wouldn't let go. He started screaming and shaking his arms, then tripped over himself and fell into the water. Finally the octopus released him. When he returned to the palace, his arm had these little sucker marks on it from where the octopus had held on. We called them his hickies. We kept asking him if he was going to marry the octopus, and it just became a running joke."

"Wait, how old was Faramir when this happened?" Éowyn was studying Lothíriel.

"28, I reckon," Lothíriel replied

Lothíriel had not thought about that detail before. Faramir was a man grown who nearly died trying to save an octopus. The laughter was starting to come to her throat again, and she could see both Éomer and Éowyn had started to giggle as well. Suddenly, their laughter broke through and started to crescendo.

"Sister! I daresay you have a challenger for your love!" Éomer heaved as he spoke.

"Sounds like I need to spit roast some Amroth octopus!" Éowyn offered, snorting in her continued laughter.

"Poor heartbroken thing! All she wanted was to be hugged!" Lothíriel offered, and the laughter broke amongst them again. Amrothos and Erchirion had joined in.

"We'll make sure octopus is served at your wedding. A gift from the children of Dol Amroth," Amrothos grinned.

Faramir and Imrahil had emerged, still in intense discussion. Upon seeing the conspiratorial grins on all faces around them, both stopped dead.

"I… do I even want to know…" Imrahil looked amused.

"Min elskede, I've asked that they serve octopus at our wedding." Éowyn's face was calm and still as she said this, though the twinkle in her eye was unmistakable.

"Oh no." Faramir put his hand to his forehead.

"She still misses your embrace cousin!" Lothíriel matched the calm in Éowyn's voice, feigning concern.

Another round of laughs began. Poor Faramir. Lothíriel turned her attention back to Éowyn and Éomer. Again, her eyes were captured in Éomer's. It was all there. Fire and reverence. And dawning comprehension. It was only then that she realized the comprehension was her's. It had started. Those butterflies when she looked upon the tall and handsome young King. Who loved his sister. She did not know how long it would take for him to win her heart fully, but she recognized now that he would, and that she wanted him to.

"Come and let us continue this revelry over snacks and drinks," Erchirion spoke, "I should want to hear more. Éomer, Éowyn, can you tell me of your time with the new King?"

"Tomorrow you will meet him cousins," Faramir smiled, "He, as well as the Hobbits, have accepted Imrahil's invitation."

Éowyn had gone slightly stiff at this conversation, and Faramir's hand was immediately in her's. There is more to that, Lothíriel thought, I wonder what.

"Alright then, I have patience enough for that," Erchirion replied mildly, "Then tell me stories of Rohan."

Both of the golden siblings obliged. The afternoon was full of songs and tales, of calamities that each in turn had found themselves in. Éowyn had nearly drowned as a child too… Éomer without trying came off as a loving and fiercely loyal older brother. He sat quietly while Éowyn told stories, and jumped in at his parts. At their explorations of the mountains. Of chasing the sunset on their horses. But there was sadness there too, something that was going unspoken. Seeing Éomer's pain made Lothíriel want to reach out to him, take his hand, and try to will the sadness from his soul. But she stayed it. For now.

"We must be going," Faramir stood, "Éowyn and I have pressing plans. Uncle, Éomer, please remember council tomorrow. The book of the dead awaits us."

Both nodded solemnly, and Faramir and Éowyn were off. Her head laid lightly on Faramir's shoulder as they exited the courtyard. Amrothos and Erchirion followed, wanting to enjoy the merriment in the city below them.

"Father? Might I be able to wander the city tonight? I can hear music on the lower levels," something about the courtyard was pressing in on her, and Lothíriel wanted to experience the celebration for herself. She knew he would have to find her an escort. She did not care. Not tonight.

"I could… accompany you," Éomer offered, furtively.

Both Lothíriel and Imrahil looked at the young King, who was turning red. Did she want to be alone with Éomer already? She was unsure.

As if reading her mind, Éomer coughed, adding, "The Steward sees that the King of Rohan has an escort. His name is Beregil. Former Ithilien Ranger, now assigned to Éowyn and me. Fine man. I have wanted to wander the city, unhailed, and hear the songs of celebration for myself… so… if you wanted… company…"

He was worried she wanted to say no. He was worried he was pushing too hard. It was almost too sweet for Lothíriel to bear. Escorted by a King, through a city she knew and he did not. As no more than two people enjoying the new dawn.

"Yes," Lothíriel's answer came without a cloud of doubt.

Éomer almost looked surprised.

"But…" Lothíriel smiled "change your tunic. Your hair announces you are Rohirrim without the threads that suggest royalty. And… keep your sword. For tonight you are no more than a soldier being escorted around by some unknown Gondorian woman."

"As you wish. I shall return shortly," Éomer stood (he was pleasantly tall…), bowed, and took his leave.

Lothíriel exhaled. So this is how it started.

"Don't give me that look Ada." she frowned.
"I didn't say anything," his smile was aggravating.
"I don't know… yet." Lothíriel said it, but knew in her heart that was a lie.
"Okay mir tel'ear," she wanted to bop his nose to make him stop smiling like that…
"Goodbye father."
Lothíriel rose, kissed her father's forehead, and ran to her room.

She changed into a plainer dress, and braided her hair. Tonight, she would walk the city as Lothíriel, maiden of Dol Amroth to join in the celebration, with Éomer, man of Rohan. Thoughts and designs of princesses and kings could wait. Tonight, all she wanted was to get to know Éomer the person.