Disclaimer: I don't own Prince Imrahil, Eomer, Legolas, Aragorn, or any other character from Lord of the Rings that may come into this story. I don't own Guthlaf either. I don't even own Lothiriel. See The Return of the King, Appendix A, The Kings of the Mark, Third Line, Eomer Eadig for information on her. Everything belongs to JRR Tolkien or whoever he sold it to. Too bad, isn't it?

Title: Lothiriel is the working title. Am trying to think of something a bit more... interesting? Ideas appreciated.

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Chapter 2- The Best Friend



When Lothiriel woke up, she found herself curled on the stone floor of her chambers. She stretched and climbed to her feet, listening for the noise that had woken her up. There it was again! She turned on her heel and saw the pebbles strike her window before falling to the ground three stories below. Only one person had the nerve and sheer cheek to throw gravel on the Princess of Dol Amroth's chamber window. She almost fell over in her hurry to open it.

"Guthlaf!"

The broad, dark-haired young man looked up, squinting against the setting sun. "Loth? Is that you? What are you waiting for- get down here!"

The princess' mad dash down the stairs threw the chambers below her into disarray. The servants opened their mouths to complain, but thought better of it when they saw the prince's daughter. Lothiriel, totally oblivious to the mess she had caused, threw herself into the arms of her best friend.
"By the Valar, Guth, I missed you," she breathed against his chest, ignoring the shocked looks the maids gave her. Their princess, in the arms of a messenger from Rohan? She increased their dismay by kissing him on the
cheek as they strode off arm-in-arm.

***

"How are they treating you here, Loth?" asked Guthlaf, who had been quick to notice the dark circles under her eyes and the excessive thinness of her waist, but had not commented at first. "You don't look like you're sleeping much- or eating much, either, for that matter."
Lothiriel kept her eyes on the path. She spoke carefully, but there was a hard edge to her voice that hadn't been there until recently. "They treat me... like a princess."
"It's that bad?"
"Worse."
They walked in silence for a little while, with Lothiriel thinking and Guthlaf waiting. As usual, she told him everything at once, in a burst of emotions that she never let anyone else see.
"He's always there, Guthlaf. Trying to make me love him one moment, and rebuking me the next. He killed my mother, Guth, killed her, and he expects me to forgive him. I'm so sick of his overbearing airs and his orders. Just this morning he told me I had to 'rule Dol Amroth in his stead' and made me feel like I was deserting my people by…"
She stopped there and avoided Guthlaf's eyes. Her cheeks flushed and she muttered, "That's not the point."
'I'm not so easily fooled, love' he thought, and said "By what?"
"Nothing."
"By. What."
There was no arguing when he got that tone to his voice. She met his gaze squarely and said defiantly, "By slicing my head off with his sword."
Guthlaf winced at the harsh voice and pulled her in to hug him. "Oh, Lothiriel."
For the first time in months and months, she was sobbing into his shoulder. "Guth, our times are coming to an end. The Shadow is stretching further and further. It won't be much longer before he reaches us all. I cannot bear to see the world when that happens. I want to be dead. The Prince's manner helps not at all, either… he thinks he can just go to Minas Tirith and charge at the head of some army and defeat the Dark Lord. And the worst part is, he gets to go do it, while I sit in a castle and look over the kingdom, going insane with lack of news."
The messenger of Rohan spoke slowly, knowing that she would not like his next words. "But I'll think of you when I go with them, Loth."
He was right. She pulled back, her tear-stained face narrowing in comprehension. "Go with them."
Guthlaf sighed. "King Theoden... his standard carrier was killed three days ago... This is my last trip as the army's messenger."
"And your new job is to carry the king's standard in battle." It was not a question. Lothiriel was familiar with the hierarchy in the Rohorrim.
"It's an honorable position, and one I am glad to have."
"It's terribly hard to defend yourself in battle with a great banner in your hand!"
He opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say. "Loth... you know I love you. As my best friend," he added hastily at the look on her face. He knew to whom her heart belonged, and wasn't about to go there. "I know it kills you to stay here. But there is nothing to be done about it. I have to go. Your father has to go. But you have to stay."
He was expecting her to fly into a rage, or draw blade, or hit him. But she just stared darkly at her hands, not trusting herself to look at him. As a rule, Lothiriel did not cry. Lothiriel did not get upset, or angry, or happy, or afraid. Guthlaf, her best friend, was the only one she had ever really trusted enough to confide in.
Well, almost the only one.
'Don't,' she thought to herself. Now was not the time or place to think about him.
She forced herself to look up. For the first time, she noticed how far they had actually gone into the forest. And the sun had set hours ago.

Her best friend was noticing the same thing. "We're going to have to camp here tonight."
Lothiriel laughed humorlessly. "My father is not going to be pleased tomorrow."
Prince Imrahil had never approved of his daughter's friendship with King Theoden's messenger boy. She knew that he was secretly afraid that they were in love, and would elope if they got half the chance. He needn't have worried. The princess and the king's page loved each other, but they would never be in love. And what was more, they were both wise enough to know the difference.

***

That night, as Lothiriel lay asleep in the light of the fire, Guthlaf reached out and stroked her long, golden hair. "If only she could understand," he said aloud to himself, "that it wasn't the prince's fault. And if only she could show all the rest of them the part of her she shows me. How much better it could be for her!"
But the princess was as hard and cold to the rest of Dol Amroth as she was to her father. And it would take a long time and a remarkable series of events to change that.