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Lothiriel met her Uncle outside of the Houses of Healing, where he stood in the finest garment he'd taken with him, ivory swans embroidered thickly on the front of his deep blue tunic, his helm tucked under his arm. She was aware, strangely, of his height, his grandness, of what a fine noble figure he made. She fancied it must have been her moments at the side of the Elven Prince...she saw the high blood clearly now in her Uncle.
"Lothy." He smiled, reaching to embrace her. She smiled back, but there were questions in her eyes.
"Good morning, father." She replied, keeping her tongue for the moment.
"A good morning it is indeed, to be down by the river, where little sign of war lingers." But he made no move to walk there yet...Lothiriel could see he had something he wished to tell her. She decided to ask herself."The Elven Prince Legolas said that there would be a meeting of commanders today." She said, "To what purpose, though? For though ill, Faramir rests well and shall live, and our enemy has been driven away. What more are we to do here?"Imrahil looked upon her for a time, studying a face that so resembled his sisters, his line...and yet, she had something in her that was not of his blood. Something wild and untamed, he could see. He smiled again, this time a bit sadly it seemed to Lothiriel. "Yes, my sister-daughter, our enemy has left this place." He said softly. "And yet, for how long? This is what the commanders must discuss. For you see, this enemy will not be stopped in his war...it is all he desires."
In an instant, Lothiriel suddenly recalled her very first of the dreams that had come to her since the cloud had come upon them...of standing by her father, on a hill overlooking what she now knew as Rohan, watching it burn in the fires of evil. Of seeing fell things roaming the lands freely, of the Winged Beasts flying unchallenged overhead...
"I understand." She whispered, eyes wide as if a great secret had been told to her. Her land, her family...would never be safe until this was gone for good. "So..." She looked back to Imrahil. "You would let me sit at a counsel of commanders?"
"I would." He replied, nodding. "You have proven yourself these past days, Lothiriel. Proven that you have the spirit to stand among soldiers. You are of my kin, it is only right that you, a soldier of my family, come as well."
Lothiriel grinned up at him, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead...
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"My Lord?" A hesitant, yet strong voice addressed Imrahil, and Lothiriel felt a pleasant tingle at the sound, unable to stop the smile from spreading on her face. They turned, to see Eomer standing not far away, he too looking to be dressed in his finest, green and gold and white... "Are we to join our Lord Aragorn below?"
"Yes, and let us make haste." Imrahil roused himself to action, smiling softly at Lothiriel as he started walking to the stairs that wove through the levels of the City.
"Might I walk with you there, Lothiriel?" Eomer asked of her, in a voice that betrayed his nervousness, yet with eyes that sparkled with fine humor. She could not help smiling back at him.
"I would like that very much, my lord." She nodded, taking the arm he offered. She suddenly realized just how odd she must have looked, and found herself giggling.
"What amuses you, my lady?" Eomer asked with a slight laugh, for her outburst had been so merry. Lothiriel shook her head, in doing so freeing a few wayward curls of her dark hair.
"Oh it is no great thing." She replied, "I just wonder if you do not find it strange to be walking with a woman dressed as a man."
"And who wears a well-earned sword at her hip?" He smiled. "I'm honored to walk with such a woman."
Now Lothiriel smiled softly to herself...he respected her for coming here...
"So, off to the fields, are we?" An overly perky voice said at her other side. She looked...to see Edemer standing quite close to her, with a mischievous grin on his boyish face. "Lovely! I'll walk with the two of you, if you do not mind."
Lothiriel sighed. But could not help a smile, as the King of Rohan started talking merrily with her brother, while taking her hand in his own.
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And so it was that a Lady of The Seaside Halls sat in war council with the great commanders of the lands of Arda. And though, in the years to come, many a mother would tell her young daughter of the Great War Maiden of Dol Amroth sitting proudly among the heir to Gondor, the King of Rohan, the Sons of Elrond, and The White Wizard, the truth was that Lothiriel felt as an awestruck young girl among the company.
In that war tent, she was granted understanding...that there was one who could overthrow the Dark Lord, and that they would do what they could to buy him the time to do so. More battle...Lothiriel shut her eyes, even as the agreement was made to march upon Mordor in two days time. When they ended their council, she quickly slipped from the tent, to make her way through the encampment of the Lord Aragorn's men and to the river.
She stood there a time, letting the winds there rush over her and pull her hair free of its pins. Arms crossed, feet apart, she stood watching the water rush by.
So this time they would again go looking for war and death, this time a few against so many more. Relying on the tiny chance that a Halfling would make it to the fires of Mordor unscathed. Lothiriel tried to have faith in the powers above; in the powers the Istari Gandalf served. But what if it be in the stars, that their fate was to fall?
She shut her eyes, trying to banish that thought. But it could not be wrong of her to fear.
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"This river is peaceful." She heard a tired, familiar voice not far away. Lothiriel turned, to see Imrahir on his haunches, watching the water a ways to her right. 'He looks so old...' The thought came to her unchecked, and it worried her. Her cousin was only five and twenty, yet there was a shadow on his face that made him seem so weary.
"Yes..." She murmured in reply. "It has washed away all sign that there was much battle here...unlike others." He looked at her, and she at him, and he had to look away. Tears fell from his eyes, but his face remained stoic, as if no feeling touched them.
"I saw him die, Lothiriel." He said quietly, "I felt shame at leaving his body on the battlefield, and then..." There was a twitch by his eye, "What will I tell Lindenna?" He whispered.
Lothiriel took the few steps to his side, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Tell her that her father died bravely. It would make her glad to know that much."
"I could have gone for his body before we retreated..."
"And be hewn yourself, leaving Lindenna with neither father nor husband?" Lothiriel finished softly, "What is done is done...she will have you to comfort her."
Imrahir nodded, his mask of weary war shock cracking a bit. "Oh but Lothy, I saw...I saw his face..."
"I know..." Lothiriel choked, remembering herself...but no, she'd banished those images, those memories. Still they came...a man who'd been a young boy playing with her in the fields, now looking at her, the horrid last moments of torture frozen on his face... "We...we will be all right." She said shakily, "Our spirits will be lifted, with time." Oh, but would they?
"I fear they will be all but buried before this is over, Lothy." Imrahir said, despairingly.
"Don't speak in such a way!" She scolded, shaking the weight from her shoulders. "We will not fall to hopelessness, Imrahir." She said with conviction, "Not again. We will stand fast!"
"I will heed you, little one." He breathed, eye drifting up to the heavens. "Ahh, this is all madness though! Do you not find it madness Lothy?"
"Of course." She nodded, also glancing at the deep, blue sky at midmorning. She smirked. "But what else is there for us to do?"
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Much of that day was spent in preparation. Runners were sent to muster the peoples far apart to come and join the fray, an army to be made up of so many peoples, which should come to so little a number. The wounded in the City were tended, those who were already healthy again taking up their weapons and armor and making ready. The furnaces in the blacksmith shops were set to blazing again, the armories filling with weapons to be fixed, sharpened and cleaned.
The Rohirrim went out to see if any of the horses they'd lost had survived. When they returned late in the afternoon, they had only a dozen perhaps, some with scrapes, one with ruined legs. But among the healthy handful, there was Bela.
"Bela!" Lothiriel gasped, running from the ruined gate to take the lead of her horse from the tall Rohirrim who lead her. "Oh I knew you'd return to me, my spooked goose of a mount." She grinned, leading her dark brown mare within, up to the royal stables on the third level. "See? I'm forgiving you your foolishness by giving you a comfortable bed tonight." Lothiriel put her in a roomy stall, and did not hesitate in taking up a comb to rid Bela of the brambles and blackness that clung to her coat.
"A mare for a warhorse?" A deep voice asked, and Lothiriel turned, smiling to see Eomer entering the stall beside Bela's to pet the nose of a great white stallion that wore a green saddle blanket of Rohan.
"Aye." Lothiriel nodded, combing Bela's neck fondly. "She knows to behave herself...or rather she does most of the time." She added ruefully, giving her horse a mock glare. "I cannot blame her for throwing me though...she is not used to battle."
"I would not think much hurt would be able to make its way to Dol Amroth." Eomer noted, and Lothiriel nodded, with a sigh.
"No, we do not see much strife." She murmured, stroking Bela's coat gently. "My family is safe there..."
"And will always be so, if our campaign is successful." Lothiriel smiled again.
"I'd do well to keep that in mind," she replied, her wavering voice betraying some hidden emotion, and she was not aware of as the smile stayed. Eomer, however, took note of it.
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The Lords dined that night in Ecthellion and Lothiriel was there of course, dressed once more in a gown of pale blue that...she was told...had been the dress Finduilas had always worn on the Eve of Midsummer. It was light and simple, yet fell elegantly from her shoulders and breast. A dress made in Dol Amroth, to be sure.
Though the meal was good, the talk was all of war and battle strategies that would be taken. Soldier or not, Lothiriel found that she was tiring of it. She found herself longing for the dinners in the home of Imrahir and Lindenna of the past summer, when talk was of merry things. But those days now seemed so very, very far away.
And so she did not listen to the talk as she ate, rather let her eyes wander about the white stone walls draped in blue tapestries, around the great table of polished wood they ate upon. She noted the sons of Elrond...Elladan and Elrohir, she remembered. They fascinated her, as did The Prince Legolas. She'd never taken much to the legend that her mother's people had Elven blood far back in their lineage, until now. The way they held themselves, Elrohir especially she noticed, was so very like her father, dark-haired, tall, regal and commanding.
Her gaze drifted then, to the setting across her, where Eomer sat, his great arms upon the table and a pipe in one hand, as he was speaking to Edemer. He caught her eyes, and smiled, and Lothiriel felt herself blush. But then Edemer was asking him a question...asking him what the kingdom of his father was like, away from the mountains. And Lothiriel found herself leaning forward to listen, hungry for such information herself.
She listened with a hand to her neck, Eomer's voice reminding her suddenly of her father's, as he described rolling hills, endless plains, all covered in a waving sea of hazy green grass. He described Edoras, something Eodier had never done, described the Golden Hall in detail, it's flying banners and stone steps and the view that let one gaze over all the kingdom it seemed. Lothiriel felt closer then she ever had to what her father had left behind, had been too filled with grief and sad memories to stay with. A Lord of The Golden Hall, at the side of The Marshal of The Mark, now King. More then ever now, she wanted to see that green country with her own eyes...
"Would that I could see it." Edemer voiced what his sister thought, a gleam in his blue eyes.
"I would have it be so, Edemer." Eomer assured him, "We will return there together, you and I, when all of this is over and done with."
The younger man grinned, but Lothiriel felt a sudden shock of realization. Edemer would go to Rohan. Of course it was meant to be so, she'd known that she supposed. By blood, he did have a loyalty to Eomer, friendship or no. Their father had sworn his service to Eomund. But now it had been spoken aloud, and would surely be so. A sigh slipped past her lips. But even as she looked at her smiling brother, joking with the King of Rohan, she knew he would be happy to live in Rohan, to ride at the side of Eomer. But oh how she would miss him...
"But I ask you, Edemer, what of the sea?" Eomer asked merrily, taking a drink of his wine, "Is the land as fair as they say?"
And Edemer proceeded to tell of the land Lothiriel had called home for near half of her life, of the dunes, the waves, the halls open to the sea breezes. Suddenly, she felt a wave of homesickness sweep over her. She missed home...she missed the sand, her bed, the sound of the waves lulling her to sleep. Without a word, she rose, pushing back her chair and making for the doors.
"Lothiriel?" Imrahil called to her, and she turned, forcing a smile. "Are you all right, my dear?"
"Yes, Uncle, quite well." She managed, "I just need to take some air."
Imrahil, she could see, did not believe her for a moment, but let her go without another word.
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next chapter: some of my best fluff EVER, I like to think ;-)
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Lothiriel met her Uncle outside of the Houses of Healing, where he stood in the finest garment he'd taken with him, ivory swans embroidered thickly on the front of his deep blue tunic, his helm tucked under his arm. She was aware, strangely, of his height, his grandness, of what a fine noble figure he made. She fancied it must have been her moments at the side of the Elven Prince...she saw the high blood clearly now in her Uncle.
"Lothy." He smiled, reaching to embrace her. She smiled back, but there were questions in her eyes.
"Good morning, father." She replied, keeping her tongue for the moment.
"A good morning it is indeed, to be down by the river, where little sign of war lingers." But he made no move to walk there yet...Lothiriel could see he had something he wished to tell her. She decided to ask herself."The Elven Prince Legolas said that there would be a meeting of commanders today." She said, "To what purpose, though? For though ill, Faramir rests well and shall live, and our enemy has been driven away. What more are we to do here?"Imrahil looked upon her for a time, studying a face that so resembled his sisters, his line...and yet, she had something in her that was not of his blood. Something wild and untamed, he could see. He smiled again, this time a bit sadly it seemed to Lothiriel. "Yes, my sister-daughter, our enemy has left this place." He said softly. "And yet, for how long? This is what the commanders must discuss. For you see, this enemy will not be stopped in his war...it is all he desires."
In an instant, Lothiriel suddenly recalled her very first of the dreams that had come to her since the cloud had come upon them...of standing by her father, on a hill overlooking what she now knew as Rohan, watching it burn in the fires of evil. Of seeing fell things roaming the lands freely, of the Winged Beasts flying unchallenged overhead...
"I understand." She whispered, eyes wide as if a great secret had been told to her. Her land, her family...would never be safe until this was gone for good. "So..." She looked back to Imrahil. "You would let me sit at a counsel of commanders?"
"I would." He replied, nodding. "You have proven yourself these past days, Lothiriel. Proven that you have the spirit to stand among soldiers. You are of my kin, it is only right that you, a soldier of my family, come as well."
Lothiriel grinned up at him, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead...
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"My Lord?" A hesitant, yet strong voice addressed Imrahil, and Lothiriel felt a pleasant tingle at the sound, unable to stop the smile from spreading on her face. They turned, to see Eomer standing not far away, he too looking to be dressed in his finest, green and gold and white... "Are we to join our Lord Aragorn below?"
"Yes, and let us make haste." Imrahil roused himself to action, smiling softly at Lothiriel as he started walking to the stairs that wove through the levels of the City.
"Might I walk with you there, Lothiriel?" Eomer asked of her, in a voice that betrayed his nervousness, yet with eyes that sparkled with fine humor. She could not help smiling back at him.
"I would like that very much, my lord." She nodded, taking the arm he offered. She suddenly realized just how odd she must have looked, and found herself giggling.
"What amuses you, my lady?" Eomer asked with a slight laugh, for her outburst had been so merry. Lothiriel shook her head, in doing so freeing a few wayward curls of her dark hair.
"Oh it is no great thing." She replied, "I just wonder if you do not find it strange to be walking with a woman dressed as a man."
"And who wears a well-earned sword at her hip?" He smiled. "I'm honored to walk with such a woman."
Now Lothiriel smiled softly to herself...he respected her for coming here...
"So, off to the fields, are we?" An overly perky voice said at her other side. She looked...to see Edemer standing quite close to her, with a mischievous grin on his boyish face. "Lovely! I'll walk with the two of you, if you do not mind."
Lothiriel sighed. But could not help a smile, as the King of Rohan started talking merrily with her brother, while taking her hand in his own.
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And so it was that a Lady of The Seaside Halls sat in war council with the great commanders of the lands of Arda. And though, in the years to come, many a mother would tell her young daughter of the Great War Maiden of Dol Amroth sitting proudly among the heir to Gondor, the King of Rohan, the Sons of Elrond, and The White Wizard, the truth was that Lothiriel felt as an awestruck young girl among the company.
In that war tent, she was granted understanding...that there was one who could overthrow the Dark Lord, and that they would do what they could to buy him the time to do so. More battle...Lothiriel shut her eyes, even as the agreement was made to march upon Mordor in two days time. When they ended their council, she quickly slipped from the tent, to make her way through the encampment of the Lord Aragorn's men and to the river.
She stood there a time, letting the winds there rush over her and pull her hair free of its pins. Arms crossed, feet apart, she stood watching the water rush by.
So this time they would again go looking for war and death, this time a few against so many more. Relying on the tiny chance that a Halfling would make it to the fires of Mordor unscathed. Lothiriel tried to have faith in the powers above; in the powers the Istari Gandalf served. But what if it be in the stars, that their fate was to fall?
She shut her eyes, trying to banish that thought. But it could not be wrong of her to fear.
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"This river is peaceful." She heard a tired, familiar voice not far away. Lothiriel turned, to see Imrahir on his haunches, watching the water a ways to her right. 'He looks so old...' The thought came to her unchecked, and it worried her. Her cousin was only five and twenty, yet there was a shadow on his face that made him seem so weary.
"Yes..." She murmured in reply. "It has washed away all sign that there was much battle here...unlike others." He looked at her, and she at him, and he had to look away. Tears fell from his eyes, but his face remained stoic, as if no feeling touched them.
"I saw him die, Lothiriel." He said quietly, "I felt shame at leaving his body on the battlefield, and then..." There was a twitch by his eye, "What will I tell Lindenna?" He whispered.
Lothiriel took the few steps to his side, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Tell her that her father died bravely. It would make her glad to know that much."
"I could have gone for his body before we retreated..."
"And be hewn yourself, leaving Lindenna with neither father nor husband?" Lothiriel finished softly, "What is done is done...she will have you to comfort her."
Imrahir nodded, his mask of weary war shock cracking a bit. "Oh but Lothy, I saw...I saw his face..."
"I know..." Lothiriel choked, remembering herself...but no, she'd banished those images, those memories. Still they came...a man who'd been a young boy playing with her in the fields, now looking at her, the horrid last moments of torture frozen on his face... "We...we will be all right." She said shakily, "Our spirits will be lifted, with time." Oh, but would they?
"I fear they will be all but buried before this is over, Lothy." Imrahir said, despairingly.
"Don't speak in such a way!" She scolded, shaking the weight from her shoulders. "We will not fall to hopelessness, Imrahir." She said with conviction, "Not again. We will stand fast!"
"I will heed you, little one." He breathed, eye drifting up to the heavens. "Ahh, this is all madness though! Do you not find it madness Lothy?"
"Of course." She nodded, also glancing at the deep, blue sky at midmorning. She smirked. "But what else is there for us to do?"
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Much of that day was spent in preparation. Runners were sent to muster the peoples far apart to come and join the fray, an army to be made up of so many peoples, which should come to so little a number. The wounded in the City were tended, those who were already healthy again taking up their weapons and armor and making ready. The furnaces in the blacksmith shops were set to blazing again, the armories filling with weapons to be fixed, sharpened and cleaned.
The Rohirrim went out to see if any of the horses they'd lost had survived. When they returned late in the afternoon, they had only a dozen perhaps, some with scrapes, one with ruined legs. But among the healthy handful, there was Bela.
"Bela!" Lothiriel gasped, running from the ruined gate to take the lead of her horse from the tall Rohirrim who lead her. "Oh I knew you'd return to me, my spooked goose of a mount." She grinned, leading her dark brown mare within, up to the royal stables on the third level. "See? I'm forgiving you your foolishness by giving you a comfortable bed tonight." Lothiriel put her in a roomy stall, and did not hesitate in taking up a comb to rid Bela of the brambles and blackness that clung to her coat.
"A mare for a warhorse?" A deep voice asked, and Lothiriel turned, smiling to see Eomer entering the stall beside Bela's to pet the nose of a great white stallion that wore a green saddle blanket of Rohan.
"Aye." Lothiriel nodded, combing Bela's neck fondly. "She knows to behave herself...or rather she does most of the time." She added ruefully, giving her horse a mock glare. "I cannot blame her for throwing me though...she is not used to battle."
"I would not think much hurt would be able to make its way to Dol Amroth." Eomer noted, and Lothiriel nodded, with a sigh.
"No, we do not see much strife." She murmured, stroking Bela's coat gently. "My family is safe there..."
"And will always be so, if our campaign is successful." Lothiriel smiled again.
"I'd do well to keep that in mind," she replied, her wavering voice betraying some hidden emotion, and she was not aware of as the smile stayed. Eomer, however, took note of it.
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The Lords dined that night in Ecthellion and Lothiriel was there of course, dressed once more in a gown of pale blue that...she was told...had been the dress Finduilas had always worn on the Eve of Midsummer. It was light and simple, yet fell elegantly from her shoulders and breast. A dress made in Dol Amroth, to be sure.
Though the meal was good, the talk was all of war and battle strategies that would be taken. Soldier or not, Lothiriel found that she was tiring of it. She found herself longing for the dinners in the home of Imrahir and Lindenna of the past summer, when talk was of merry things. But those days now seemed so very, very far away.
And so she did not listen to the talk as she ate, rather let her eyes wander about the white stone walls draped in blue tapestries, around the great table of polished wood they ate upon. She noted the sons of Elrond...Elladan and Elrohir, she remembered. They fascinated her, as did The Prince Legolas. She'd never taken much to the legend that her mother's people had Elven blood far back in their lineage, until now. The way they held themselves, Elrohir especially she noticed, was so very like her father, dark-haired, tall, regal and commanding.
Her gaze drifted then, to the setting across her, where Eomer sat, his great arms upon the table and a pipe in one hand, as he was speaking to Edemer. He caught her eyes, and smiled, and Lothiriel felt herself blush. But then Edemer was asking him a question...asking him what the kingdom of his father was like, away from the mountains. And Lothiriel found herself leaning forward to listen, hungry for such information herself.
She listened with a hand to her neck, Eomer's voice reminding her suddenly of her father's, as he described rolling hills, endless plains, all covered in a waving sea of hazy green grass. He described Edoras, something Eodier had never done, described the Golden Hall in detail, it's flying banners and stone steps and the view that let one gaze over all the kingdom it seemed. Lothiriel felt closer then she ever had to what her father had left behind, had been too filled with grief and sad memories to stay with. A Lord of The Golden Hall, at the side of The Marshal of The Mark, now King. More then ever now, she wanted to see that green country with her own eyes...
"Would that I could see it." Edemer voiced what his sister thought, a gleam in his blue eyes.
"I would have it be so, Edemer." Eomer assured him, "We will return there together, you and I, when all of this is over and done with."
The younger man grinned, but Lothiriel felt a sudden shock of realization. Edemer would go to Rohan. Of course it was meant to be so, she'd known that she supposed. By blood, he did have a loyalty to Eomer, friendship or no. Their father had sworn his service to Eomund. But now it had been spoken aloud, and would surely be so. A sigh slipped past her lips. But even as she looked at her smiling brother, joking with the King of Rohan, she knew he would be happy to live in Rohan, to ride at the side of Eomer. But oh how she would miss him...
"But I ask you, Edemer, what of the sea?" Eomer asked merrily, taking a drink of his wine, "Is the land as fair as they say?"
And Edemer proceeded to tell of the land Lothiriel had called home for near half of her life, of the dunes, the waves, the halls open to the sea breezes. Suddenly, she felt a wave of homesickness sweep over her. She missed home...she missed the sand, her bed, the sound of the waves lulling her to sleep. Without a word, she rose, pushing back her chair and making for the doors.
"Lothiriel?" Imrahil called to her, and she turned, forcing a smile. "Are you all right, my dear?"
"Yes, Uncle, quite well." She managed, "I just need to take some air."
Imrahil, she could see, did not believe her for a moment, but let her go without another word.
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next chapter: some of my best fluff EVER, I like to think ;-)
