Title: Bright Horses

Rating: T

Pairings: Éomer/Lothíriel

Genre: Romance/Drama

Summary: They were not looking for one another. But everyone's got a heart and it's calling for something, and his was obviously calling for hers.

Disclaimer: The Lord of The Rings is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien and his estate. This is a work of fanfiction, written for the enjoyment of myself and others. No financial profit is made by writing this.

Author's Note: Look, don't ask me what this is. I was intending to take a much longer break from writing, but this story just started to write itself in my head, and you can very well guess the rest. So here we are and I'm publishing yet another story, because that's what I do. Also, I suck at writing summaries, and I guess at this point, I'm entitled to saying: just read the story as it unfolds. (I will admit at this point, even I don't know what it's going to be.)

I also suck at coming up with titles for my stories. This one is named after a song by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, called "Bright Horses". That one song has been haunting me for some time now, and somehow brings Éomer to my mind. I recommend you to listen to this song!

I hope you will enjoy the story. Let me know what you think!


Bright horses of wonder springing from your burning hand

- Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds


"So what is this all about?"

The question was spoken by Amrothos, the son of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, on a fair and bright summer's day. A year had passed since that great calamity which was now called the War of the Ring – an entire year of peace and rebuilding, although there were still some who seemed unsure if it all was but a lovely dream. To Lothíriel, the daughter and youngest child of the same Prince of Dol Amroth, it appeared that even now all three of her brothers were at various stages of making peace with... well, peace. She supposed it was not so quickly done because they had spent most of their lives preparing for war.

Amrothos, the youngest of the brothers and closest to her in age, had plopped himself down on the couch in her cabin almost as soon as he had boarded their father's ship at the haven of Pelargir. Recently returned from errands given to him by King Elessar, he was the last one to join the Amrothian party, which was presently sailing up the river Anduin. Now there he sat in a position that could not be doing good things to his back, clutching a cup of wine she had poured for him and waiting for his sister to answer his question. Father and Elphir were busy going over some messages from Belfalas and Erchirion was in charge of the ship, so it left Lothíriel the only one available for Amrothos' pestering.

The cabin was comfortable, with wide windows and beautiful furnishings. This was not one of Father's warships, built for speed and power, but a veritable sailing house for safe and comfortable trips from Dol Amroth to Minas Tirith, or whichever port in between was the destination.

"You know the answer, brother, or at least I expect you would – you were present when Cousin Faramir's messenger arrived earlier in the spring", she reminded him evenly from her seat by the small window. She was adding final touches to her new gown, which she was planning to wear to the great occasion ahead. Not that she expected to outshine her cousin's new wife, or especially the Queen Arwen, but she was Imrahil's daughter and a lady of her standing ought to represent the glory and might of her father. Doubtless he was also hoping to show her off a little bit – she was the only maid of marriageable age in the family – even if he had promised she wouldn't be married off against her will, or to a man she disliked.

"Was I? Well, you will have to refresh my memory. These past weeks, King Elessar has been hounding me like the slave driver", Amrothos said and took a large gulp of his wine. He wore a tragic expression of one who has indeed been put through untold torments, but she knew it was far from the truth. Amrothos enjoyed action wholeheartedly and puffed up with pride anytime he got to explain just how much the new king relied on him.

"I know for a fact he has done no such thing", she said calmly and fixed her eyes on her gown once more. "As for your memory, I suspect it leaks more than a broken sieve. Otherwise, you would be well aware that Cousin Faramir and his new wife, the Lady Éowyn, have invited family and friends to join them at Emyn Arnen. They have finally settled down after their honeymoon and wish to show everyone their new home."

That new home was also the first permanent settlement on the eastern side of Anduin in years, except for the secret strongholds Faramir and his Rangers had used in times before. With the war ended and the King returned, many things were being reordered in Gondor. The Steward was no longer needed to rule the great kingdom, but the fair land of Ithilien required a wise and strong guardian to secure it, and to begin the rebuilding. There was no man better equipped for this task than Faramir himself, who had long roamed in the woods as the Captain of Rangers. And Lady Éowyn, who they said feared no man living or dead, was just as suitable.

They had married in the house of her fathers, the Golden Hall of the Kings of Rohan. Some had said it was an unusual decision, perhaps even inappropriate. Wasn't the glory of the White City good enough for the northern Shieldmaiden? But Faramir had written in earnest how his bride had insisted on it; she needed to say her goodbyes properly and make her marriage in the land of her birth. Lothíriel took his word for it, although she had been a little disappointed for not being able to join the wedding celebrations in Edoras. This invitation to Emyn Arnen was the next best thing.

Of course, Amrothos had a different idea.

"Sounds terribly boring. At least compared to the actual wedding back in Rohan. I bet there won't be half the drink or music. No offence to the Lady Éowyn, but she seems much more temperate hostess than her brother. I don't know why Father insists I should come along", Amrothos complained and drank more of his wine.

She cast him a stern glance.

"Don't let him hear you say that out loud, brother dearest. Faramir is family; it's not like he has much left besides us. And know well how highly Father regards Lady Éowyn and her brother the King. Why should you be whining? I thought you'd be excited to meet your Rohirric friends", she pointed out and carefully lifted her gown to examine it. She knew her brother didn't mean anything by his words, and soon enough he would be telling everyone how wonderful of Faramir and Lady Éowyn it was to invite them all together, but sometimes he could be so thoughtless.

"Of course I'm glad to meet them. Maybe they will bring some life to this party", Amrothos said, yawning as if to press his point.

"How very like you, Amrothos. You got to participate in every ball since the war ended. You've met them all – the famous Halflings, the Elves, the whole host of Rohirrim if I understand correctly... and I didn't even get to come to my cousin's wedding!" Lothíriel said. She was aware she was the one complaining now, but this unfairness had vexed her greatly.

"Well, you know Father needed somebody to hold the fort in Dol Amroth – somebody he could trust. And let's be honest, Lothíriel. You know about statecraft and managing a household more than I or Erchirion ever did. We two were brought up to be warriors and sailors and knights, not stewards or caretakers of land and people", Amrothos replied and drank some more of his wine. "And believe me, balls and banquets get old very quickly."

She was quiet for a minute before saying anything. When he said it like that, it made her feel petty and selfish for wanting to go to parties when she had duty for Dol Amroth and her family. On the other hand, maybe it wasn't just about the balls or the merrymaking – it was the feeling of being left behind and the long agony of waiting. How many nights she had lain awake, listening to the sea and wondering if the next dawn would come with tidings of loss? Her father and her brothers had marched to defend Minas Tirith, and then joined the Host that challenged the Dark Lord. And there was her, Lothíriel Lady of Dol Amroth, left to rule the greatest principality of Gondor in a time of war while waiting for the worst to happen: almost her entire family slain on the battlefield, and the destruction of all she knew and loved.

"Still, I can't help but feel like an outsider. I haven't even met my cousin's new wife – all I know are the stories told about her, and most of them are heavy with hero worship. What she did was marvellous, I do not mean to downplay it, but does she really want everyone and especially her new kin to treat her like some kind of a living relic?"

"No, she does not – that much I can confirm. Lady Éowyn is very down to earth for a woman who took down the Witch-King of Angmar", Amrothos replied absently. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, "I wouldn't recommend 'hero worship' with her brother, either. I've seen a few ladies using flattery to catch his attention, and it wasn't pretty."

Oh, yes, the almost equally famous brother of the Slayer of the Witch-king. King Éomer, the new Lord of Rohirrim, whose loyalty, courage and prowess at arms were praised throughout the kingdom. It so happened he was also unmarried and dashing for a horselord, or so the gossip would have it; she had heard a few ladies comment how dreadfully big and hairy the Northmen tended to be but even so, she wasn't sure what 'dashing' meant in relation to one of them. Gossip also had it was strange that this extremely eligible young king had left Gondor without a second glance at the maidens of the south, even though he could have picked any that he wanted. What or whom was he saving himself for? Meaner sources had it that he had some sort of a scullery maid waiting for him back in his own land, and he would make her his queen. But if she knew anything about what had been going on in the world or in Rohan, Lothíriel's own suspicions were that the King had been simply too busy putting down fires to think of marriage – or scullery maids.

Maybe that was also why her father hadn't yet suggested a match with the Rohirric King. Even she had to admit such a union would make a lot of sense as far as politics went – at least, given that the fires were indeed put down. Which just might be true now. For an entire year had passed since the war and things were much calmer in both kingdoms than last summer.

With some alarm, she looked up at her brother.

"Do you think Father is planning something? About me and the King of Rohan?" she asked him uneasily. What better opportunity to show her off to the young sovereign than this party at Emyn Arnen?

Her brother did not seem concerned as he shrugged.

"I'm sure the thought has crossed his mind, but he hasn't said anything, at least not to me. And Éomer is... well, if he wanted a political marriage, he would have arranged one already. He tries to be stern and serious, but beneath that exterior there's a softer heart than you'd imagine. Father knows that too. Mark my words, sister: there won't be an offer for your hand unless somehow you manage to make that man fall hard for you", Amrothos said and drank some more wine. She wasn't sure if she shouldn't be a little bit offended by his nonchalant tone. He made it sound like the Lady Elbereth was more likely to visit them for tea than King Éomer ask for her hand in marriage.

"I'm not sure when this conversation went from 'what is my father planning' to 'you are a minx trying to trap the King of Rohan'", she commented wryly.

Amrothos snorted and spluttered his wine over the front of his coat.

"Thank you for that choice of words, sister. All I'm saying is King Éomer is a proud man, but not self-centred. His sister is much like thim. If you want to make friends with them, keep that in mind", he said as he wiped himself. With a grimace, he muttered, "Oh, Morgoth's balls. This is going to stain."

"You can be such a pig, Amrothos", she told him. "And even if you are already bored, I at least look forward to this party. I believe it will be quite wonderful."

The family of Imrahil of Dol Amroth arrived at Emyn Arnen the next afternoon. A well-trodden path lead from the pier by the side of the river and from behind herself, Lothíriel could hear Erchirion telling Amrothos that the new Prince and Princess of Ithilien already had plans of building a small port here, and also a road to the manor house where they lived. She thought to herself, all their plans would keep her cousin and his wife well occupied for years, if not decades to come.

But already Faramir had been busy as a badger: last year the old manor house had been little more than a pile of sad ruins, but now it had been rebuilt and fortified, barracks for Rangers were underway, and apparently the hammering and toiling had only stopped for the party. Once the guests left, the work would continue. It would probably go on twice as speedily now that there was a lady in the house.

Yet even if construction work was ongoing at the manor house, its courtyard was tidy and well-kept. The Lord and Lady of Emyn Arnen clearly liked to keep their house in good order. The manor house had originally been built of stone, but parts of it had been replaced with wood, and same applied for much of the outbuildings. Lothíriel quickly noticed the wood had not been worked just by Gondorian hands. There were carvings here and there unlike anything she had seen before, rich in knotwork patterns that had no ending or beginning, and animal heads and bodies twisting with the intricate shapes. Once she explored the manor house more closely, she would often find the horse emblem worked into the wood. It would also leave her with a curious, warm feeling. Faramir loved his lady and from the beginning, had wanted to make this a home for them both.

The pair of them were expecting the visitors at the front doors of the manor house. Faramir, tall and grey-eyed like his kin, was beaming. He had never seemed quite as full of life or vigour as he did now, almost glowing with enthusiasm. By his side stood her, the Lady of the Shield-arm. She was tall for a woman, slender and graceful; at the first glance, Lothíriel had a hard time imagining her armoured on the battlefield and smiting undead wraiths. But there was also pride and strength in her posture, the kind you didn't get if you spent your whole life fluttering about in court. Lady Éowyn's long hair was like pale gold, streaming down her back freely. At first it was surprising to see that her eyes were a similar grey as among the Amrothians, but then Lothíriel recalled that Faramir's new wife was a distant cousin of theirs through Morwen Steelsheen of Lossarnarch, whose foremother had come from Belfalas by the sea. The blood of the Dúnedain of Gondor had passed through her to the North, and the House of Eorl. Lady Éowyn was fair indeed, every bit as much as the stories had claimed. Father had said that the King's House of Rohan was noble and its members formidable, but Lothíriel had not really understood what he meant until she saw the Lady Éowyn. She couldn't help but wonder if this famous woman's brother was anything like her.

First as they approached her cousin and his wife, Lothíriel felt a little bit nervous, but then Lady Éowyn's features melted into a smile and a glimmer ignited in her grey eyes, which made her even more beautiful. She was not quite so intimidating when she smiled. Were all the women of Rohan like her, proud and stern and as likely to wield a sword as a loom?

She was still thinking of this, and not yet quite prepared, when her father gently pushed her closer to the tall, fair-haired woman.

"Éowyn", he said, resting his hand gently on Lothíriel's back, "Here is my daughter, Lothíriel. She has been eager to meet you."

The Slayer of the Witch-king didn't quite seem like someone you spoke to so informally, but on the other hand, it was her father who had effectively rescued this woman from the battlefield as she lay close to death. If that did not earn you some informality, nothing did. And truth be told, he had always spoken of the lady and her brother the king like they were long lost family.

Lady Éowyn did not seem to take insult with Father's familiarity. Her smile only grew warmer.

"My pleasure. Your brothers have not spared their praises when speaking of you, Lady Lothíriel", she said. Her voice was clear and strong, and her Westron was excellent, only with traces of accent – some cadences then and again and an angularity about the words, if that was the correct way to describe it. Lothíriel recalled that the lords and ladies of Rohan were fluent in the Common Tongue, and only spoke their own language between themselves.

"I hope they have not painted too pretty a picture. I would like to be able to live up to their words", she said, smiling as well. Now that Lady Éowyn had proved herself to be a pleasant woman, not at all a cold and haughty ogress, she could finally relax. Some reports had indeed implied negative things, but Lothíriel suspected more strongly than ever that those tales had little to do with reality and everything with envy and disappointment. There were many noble families that would have liked nothing as much as seeing their daughter as the wife of the Steward of Gondor.

Lady Éowyn let out a soft laugh.

"Older brothers can be that way. I know it well. Sometimes I myself feel like I am two people – the one that I really am, and the one my brother thinks me to be", she conceded.

"Are the King and Queen here yet?" asked Amrothos close by, elbowing himself into the conversation in his usual casual manner.

"They arrived a couple of hours ago and are resting at the moment. You wouldn't believe how Aragorn coddles Arwen sometimes, now that she is expecting their first child", said Lady Éowyn with a small shake of her head, although her tone was fond.

"She is well, then?" Father asked.

"Oh, yes, she's the very picture of health – although it seems impossible to convince Aragorn. He keeps coming up with these improbable scenarios of what could go wrong", she replied.

"New fathers are sometimes more troublesome than new mothers", Amrothos commented sagely and cast a sideway glance at Elphir, who was talking quickly with Faramir.

"I had a similar thought, although I'd never admit it to Aragorn", Lady Éowyn replied, her eyes full of laughter.

"What about your brother? Is he due to arrive today?" Father inquired, looking around himself as if King Éomer might materialise from behind some dark corner. Lothíriel glanced about as well, even though she had a feeling that if the Lord of Rohan were present, they would all know.

A faint shadow passed across Lady Éowyn's face.

"He should have arrived earlier today. He had not yet reached Mundburg when Aragorn and Arwen left the Citadel", she replied in a lower voice.

"Perhaps he has been held back by something. I'm sure he will be here soon", Father said gently, as comforting and convincing as any parent of four might be. Sometimes Lothíriel thought he considered himself a father to any younger person who had lost their own parents, just like Lady Éowyn or Faramir.

"Yes, his advisers sometimes hound him as though he alone has answers to even the smallest of problems. I keep telling him he needs to slow down, but does he listen? Béma, if he would just take my advice and find a wife. He needs to try to live for himself a bit, too", she said with the exasperation of one who has long suffered the stubbornness, nay, the obstinacy of others. She shook her head and smiled once more. She said, "But we shall talk about that later. Now let me take you inside and show you to your rooms. You'll want to freshen up after your journey, don't you?"

With that, a happy bustle filled the courtyard and the entrance hall of the manor house, her family talking excitedly and servants carrying bags and travel chests. Inside it was beautiful and airy, but Lothíriel had to suppress her urge to linger and admire everything she saw, and allow herself to be led to the guest wing. Her room had that same airy feeling as before and there was still a faint smell of sawdust and plaster lingering. The linens in the bed looked brand new. Best of all was the view over the manor's garden and the woods beyond. Late afternoon's golden light lingered in the garden and once she opened the window, she could smell the warm and fragrant air of Ithilien in summer. There was a sense of calm and hopefulness about this place and it was so strong, it was easy to forget how close it was to the Mountains of Shadow.

She ached to go and explore the manor grounds, but there would be time for that later, and right now she ought to be getting ready for dinner. Her maid was already digging through her travel chest, looking for a fresh gown. One of the house maids brought in water for washing.

While she was changing and washing, she idly thought about Lady Éowyn and her brother, and why he might be late to the party. Everyone said she was so brave to have left her old life behind and coming to live in this fair but still dangerous borderland, and it was true. But what about the nearly equally famous sibling? She considered you probably had to be just as brave to let somebody you loved go like that, knowing you would spend the rest of your lives apart. Lothíriel felt like she understood them both a little bit. Yes, Lady Éowyn would want her brother to have company. But was it a wonder he sought for meaning in his work for the kingdom? A shudder went down her spine when she thought of how lonely it must be.

She shook herself. She hardly knew these people, so her guesses and impressions were not necessarily true. But they were now a part of the extended family, so of course she would be intrigued. And she couldn't help but feel for them, knowing what they had gone through and how much they had lost. Amrothos had called them both proud, though, so they probably wouldn't take it well if they believed she pitied them.

Having washed, she changed into a fresh shift, and then her maid began to lace on the soft gown of midnight blue, trimmed with silver – the colours of her House. It was a simpler dress, well suited for tonight's dinner, which would be a less formal occasion between family and friends. Well, for them it was, but for any outsider it was also the company of the leading Houses of Gondor. Lothíriel thought it was amusing how sometimes, you couldn't tell the difference between the gatherings of the most powerful families of Middle-earth and family events. And for her it was easy to think of them all in such terms, for her own family was big. Lady Éowyn and her brother were not the only ones who had suffered loss; Faramir was all that was left of his kin, and King Elessar's parents were long gone. Queen Arwen still had a father and brothers in the North, but by choosing a mortal life, she had given up all her claims to them and said farewell. What she had left was this circle of friends and family.

Perhaps it was a job for the Amrothians, close-knit and still mostly alive, to bring them all together.

Afternoon had turned into an evening as the company began to gather downstairs, all settled down, refreshed and changed out of travelling clothes. When Lothíriel descended, her hand on her father's arm, she saw them gathered in small groups and talking to one another. The atmosphere was warm and relaxed, and King Elessar and Queen Arwen almost looked like they might have told her not to show them the usual deference. The Half-elven Queen was radiant as ever. She seemed to fill the room with a soft glow that smoothed and ennobled even the weariest faces around her. Pleasantly she inquired for news on Lady Ivriniel, Lothíriel's aunt, and a light conversation followed from that. Although one could feel nervous and even intimidated before the daughter of Lord Elrond, she had a way of disarming those sensations and making her company feel like they were good friends.

The only one feeling some anxiety was, apparently, Lady Éowyn. Her eyes were constantly drawn to the windows or the door. She was waiting for her brother, still absent. Twice her housekeeper discreetly approached her, and though Lothíriel didn't hear their words, she guessed Lady Éowyn was giving orders not to serve the dinner yet. But eventually Faramir intervened – probably mostly on the behalf of Amrothos who was getting dangerously impatient and was downing his third drink. The lady of the house did not seem entirely happy, but at last she invited the company to join them for dinner.

The food was delicious. The venison had been brought in by Faramir's Rangers, vegetables had grown in Lady Éowyn's own orchard, and Ithilien had generously provided the many herbs used in baking and preparing the meal. Emyn Arnen was not yet self-sufficient and it relied much on farms on the western side of Anduin, but at the other end of the table, Faramir was eagerly telling Father how he already had plans for establishing a few homesteads close to the manor house once the region became a little more secure. Elphir and King Elessar took part in the conversation, while Lothíriel continued the talk she had started with Queen Arwen before the dinner, and Lady Éowyn joined in, although her look was absent-minded at times and she fell silent now and then. Erchirion was trying to contain Amrothos.

They were just finishing the meal when the steward of the household suddenly entered the dining room. He bowed before making his way to Faramir. Some quiet words were exchanged, and then Lothíriel's cousin gave a sweeping glance to the rest of the company, smiling as he did. His eyes fixed on Lady Éowyn.

"It seems your brother is finally about to arrive, wife mine. His outrider has just come in", said Faramir, much to the excitement of everyone present. Lady Éowyn nearly flew from her chair.

"We must go and welcome him!" she announced and did not wait to hear what everyone else thought. But her proposal was quickly accepted as the rest of them, King Elessar and Queen Arwen foremost, followed Lady Éowyn's lead. The others trailed after them.

Twilight had fallen outside and the courtyard was lit by torches and lamps. The atmosphere was excited, even anxious; everyone seemed to be waiting with bated breath for the King of Rohan to arrive. Stable-hands were standing by and Lothíriel thought some of them looked rather excited. She guessed it was because the horses of Rohan were legendary, and none as much as those the King of Rohan and his company rode.

There was clamour outside the gates of the manor house, and then from the deepening shadows of the evening, a company emerged.

Lothíriel had never seen their like. Tall, heavily armoured men riding great horses spilled into the courtyard, and she scarcely knew where to put her eyes. She couldn't say what was most striking: the long, clean limbs of the magnificent horses, the tall spears that glittered in the hands of the warriors, the flowing green cloaks that some said caught the likeness and motion of the vast grasslands in them, or the Riders themselves. Only one of them stood taller than her family, as she was to find out very soon, but none were small or sickly; they looked fierce and vigorous and brimming with life. And just as the stories told, from underneath their bright helmets streamed long, blond hair that glowed in torchlight, and she would soon see their lively, bearded faces, their bright and keen eyes. Their voices were loud but not rough, and at times the words of their tongue clashed like swords or flowed like rivers of song. There was something noisy and urgent around them, as though each moment was to be lived with the passion of one who does not expect to survive long. It was as if this company of Riders had brought the very airs of the North with them.

Most of them halted as soon as they had entered, but one man kept coming, and instantly she could see he was their leader. Tall, broad of shoulder, armoured from head to toe, bearded and with braids in his golden hair, his eyes bright and glittering as if by some inner fire – King Éomer of Rohan was every bit as striking as stories had it.

His steed, a beautiful dappled grey, was still moving, but he slid down from the saddle in one fluid motion that did not disturb his stride or the horse's. Very much the entrance one would expect from a lord of horses.

"Sweostor min!" he exclaimed as he came, eyes fixed on Lady Éowyn, and paying only passing heed to the rest of the company, although protocol dictated he should greet King Elessar and Queen Arwen first. A quick glance at their faces implied they were not at all offended; they were smiling brightly as the King of Rohan strode to his sister, picked her up in a huge bearhug, and lifted her in the air. That was quite something, since Lady Éowyn was tall for a woman, and you generally did not think of Slayer of the Witch-king as somebody you just picked up like that. But then, her brother had seen her go through all the awkward stages of childhood and youth, had probably looked after her when they were children, and he would always regard her through those shared memories. Though she was legendary thanks to her deeds, she was still a woman and a little sister.

"Brother! We expected you hours ago!" said Éowyn, speaking in Westron instead of their native tongue, probably so that the rest of the company could follow what was being said.

"I know, Éowyn. I do apologise, but first I was detained in Rohan by some urgent business, and though we managed nearly to catch up with the original time plan, there were further complications on the road. We got lost and crossed the river earlier than we were supposed to. Then we met some orcs on the way, and had to deal with them before we could continue our journey", he explained quickly, and some alarmed looks were to be seen amongst the company.

"I can't even say I'm astonished. It's not the first time you're late to a party because you got in a fight!" said his sister, somewhere between exasperation and helpless amusement. "Nor will it be the last, I reckon."

"Where did you meet these orcs? Did any escape?" asked Faramir in earnest.

"I shall tell you everything you wish to know in a moment, Faramir. Let me greet my friends first!" King Éomer replied, turning to face the rest of the company at last. Not that Lothíriel knew much of battle, but she guessed the skirmish had not been a very serious one; had it been so, she didn't think a warrior of King Éomer's capability would be exchanging pleasantries between friends and kinsmen.

He shared a few words with each of them, and even from where she stood, Lothíriel could see the greetings were exchanged most informally. The Rohirric King clasped the arm of King Elessar like two brothers in arms might, and Queen Arwen received a very familiar, very bearded kiss to her cheek. Aunt Ivriniel would have been scandalised to witness it, but the Half-elven lady only laughed, the sound echoing like silver bells. An outsider observing this scene wouldn't have guessed it was the meeting of two kings and some of the most powerful families of Gondor and Rohan.

Up close, he was quite the thing to behold. Lothíriel nearly startled when King Éomer halted before her and her father. It was not just his height, or the overwhelmingly foreign way he was, it was also his straightforward, piercing gaze, which took her aback when she first locked eyes with him. It felt as if in a single look, he gauged her character, rummaged through the closets of her mind, and though she was not in the habit of spinning untruths, she instinctively felt it would be difficult or even impossible to deceive him. She didn't know where to put her eyes – his towering figure, or golden head that seemed to shimmer in torchlight, or the elaborate decorations of his beautiful and intricate armour, or the rich green cloak, or the unnervingly comely features. She was sure that as a well-bred Gondorian woman, she wasn't supposed to think of Rohirric men as comely.

"Here is my daughter, Lothíriel", said Father, resting his hand on her shoulder.

She wasn't sure of what she expected, but it certainly was not this horse-lord picking up her hand in his much larger one, or planting a rather delicate kiss just above her knuckles. His breath was warm against her skin, his beard softer than it looked, and for whatever reason, it sent a shiver down her spine. Just a second before he straightened again, his eyes locked with hers; there was something in that gaze that made her feel nude, and an alarming warmth spread from her neck. Silently she prayed to Elbereth that her father would take it as embarrassment for meeting such a legendary figure for the first time. Which it was, of course.

"I'm glad to meet you at last, my lady. Your family has spoken much of you", said the King of Rohan, and his voice was a deep, pleasant rumble.

"Likewise, my lord. You have frequented my brothers' stories so often that I almost feel like I already know you", she replied, and immediately felt embarrassed. That wasn't what you said to somebody like him, was it?

She was still worrying about it when he flashed her a smile, which made him look even more striking, although she got the impression he did not smile much or often. Maybe seeing his sister had put him in such a fine frame of mind that even a little nobody like Imrahil's daughter warranted joviality.

"I look forward to making a better acquaintance with you, my lady, but I'm afraid Faramir is going to pounce at me very soon, unless I go and tell him of my little skirmish with those orcs. I beg your pardon", he said, bending his head at her and Father.

"Of course, my lord. Go ahead", she said and felt strangely relieved when he turned away. Being at the receiving end of his attention was a little like being exposed to an open flame.

"Is he always like that?" she asked her father in faint whispers.

He let out a small, low chuckle.

"Rohirrim are different, my dear, and none quite so much as Lady Éowyn and her brother", he merely said, patting her shoulder. "I know, it takes some getting used to, but you'll find them the most charming people."

She thought her father may have understood her a bit wrong, but she refrained from explaining herself. She certainly didn't want to plant any ideas in his head. He was Amrothos' father, and was very much capable of coming up with ideas even if she didn't help him.

All the same, at this point she had to concede: she both looked forward to and dreaded further exposure to the King of Rohan.

To be continued.