We meet at the lights
I stare for a while
the world around disappears

Let me surround you
my sea to your shore
let me be the calm you seek

Oh and every time I'm close to you
there's too much I can't say
and you just walk away

And I forgot to tell you
I love you

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Lothiriel hurried outside, taking a deep breath of the cool spring air. The moon hung above, pale and silver, seeming to smile at her. She sighed, wandering toward the gardens that surrounded the tower. She did not know why she was so emotional...or perhaps she did. They were emotions that welled up in her, reactions...she'd killed.

But she shook her head, willing these thoughts away. It was not time...

She found a bench under the trees to sit on, looking up at the clear sky filled with stars. The Princess was reminded of the night before, when Eomer had spoken to her outside of the Houses of Healing. With a soft smile, she reached up to spin one of her dark locks around her finger, wondering, all the while feeling like silly young girl, if she would ever speak with him under the stars again...

"Lothiriel?" As if he'd heard her thoughts, there stood the King of Rohan, looking at her with concerned eyes under the stars. She smiled, nervously. "Your brother was worried for you. Are you well?"
"My brother fancies he can send the King of Rohan to check after me?" She grinned, yet steered the conversation. "His head must be getting too big for him with all this battle and such, I should send him home to his Aunt to have some respect put in him."

Eomer grinned back, coming to sit beside her. "He did not ask me to." He told her, and she looked down at her hands, smiling softly to herself. "Lothiriel..." He asked again, and she did look up. "Are you well?"

"I..." Her voice wavered, "I...am just homesick, that is all." She said, "Silly, perhaps, but all that my brother spoke of...the sea, the sand, the breeze. I miss it all."
"Very understandable." Eomer nodded, "He described a place of much beauty...but I sense there is something more, Lady."
"No..." She shook her head slowly, looking down so that her dark curls curtained her face. "There is nothing more..."

Eomer nodded as well, and in silence looked out on the spring gardens in the night. "Never have I seen battle as we saw it yesterday." He murmured after a time, and Lothiriel felt her back stiffen. "It almost felt as the first time I'd ever drawn a sword against a man, not an orc." He went on. "Ten years ago, it was, and how shaken I was to take his life, though he was an evil Easterling. Still a life cut short...and the first time I saw one of my kin die by the sword. Not by the slow accepting time of old age or even sickness, but by one swift stroke. It seemed to haunt me for days."

Lothiriel felt her shoulders begin to shake at his words...she brought her hands up to cover her face, lest her tears escape their prison of her stubbornness. But then she felt a strong arm upon her shoulders.
"It is all right to weep." He whispered, tucking her hair from her face with the hand that did not hold her arm, and then drawing her hands away. She looked at him, jaw clenched against the emotions.
"Not for me." She whispered. "I would seem weak, a weeping woman who should not have been brought into battle."
"There is only myself to see you." Eomer said, still softly, "And I would never think you weak, Lothy."

And it was those soft, gentle words...his affirmation of his respect for her and the nickname her father had first given her...that broke Lothiriel's resolve. She trembled again, and Eomer drew her to him as she let the tears fall, as she let herself weep. He held her close to his heart, as the pain was eased away.
"Fenliam was his name..." She heard herself sob, "He was a year younger then even I...and we would play together on the beaches. Would play out the stories of old that were told to us." Another shudder. "When...when the siege began, when they...." He brushed at her hair, as if to tell her he knew. She gulped. "It was his face I saw first." No more words could come to her, only tears, and so Eomer simply held her to him.

"I have never met a soldier with a heart of stone, Lothy." He said, and felt tears stand in his own eyes. "Yes, they grow to understand that death comes with battle, but they never grow cold to it. I..." He wavered only slightly. "I wept for Theoden...and my sister, for I thought her lost as well...all of that day. Even as I shouted orders, as I broke through that sea with an unhindered rage..." He paused. "Tears were shed. Tears for my beloved Lord. For my beloved Sister. It is well that you should weep."

And so she wept, for a time, until she could weep no more. She felt her breath come again, easily, as if the weight that had pressed against her lungs that day were lifted. Now Lothiriel could breath the air of the night, feel the beat of Eomer's heart against her...she was suddenly aware of the scent that clung to him, one familiar and pleasant. Of leathers and the outdoors. She shut her eyes...

"Does my Lady feel better?" He asked in a whisper, and she nodded against him, then lifted her head. His eyes gazed into hers for a time, before she felt a warm flush come to her face, and she looked away, up at the night sky.

"How old were you, when you first drew sword against an enemy?" Lothiriel heard herself asking softly, still gazing up at the skies.
"I had seen eleven summers." Eomer replied, "My cousin Theodred allowed me to ride at his side when orcs were roaming our boarders."
"So young..." She gasped, and Eomer nodded.
"Perhaps it would seem so." He said, "But I was ready. They were no more the monsters from stories to me then...and they still are, now and then." He smiled a bit. "But surely there are much happier memories we can dwell on..."
Lothiriel smiled...for once, not feeling that she hid anything with it. She just smiled. "Yes, many."
"What was the manner of your life in Dol Amroth?" He asked, eyes fixed on her lovely face. Her smile widened as she looked up at the sky.

"It was a very happy one, a very beautiful one by the sea and sand and rocks..." She replied, "And filled with love. My brother, my cousin and I, we all referred to each other as siblings, for that was how close we became. They taught me to ride, to fight, to throw a punch..." At that, Eomer's laugh broke into the night, loud and merry.
"You can throw a punch?"
"Quite well." She grinned
"I shall have to watch myself then." He replied, still laughing a bit.

"And what of yours?" She asked, and Eomer sighed.

"It was happy when I was very young..." He told her, "My father, despite the temper and morose spells he was known to have, was a very good man. As was my mother, Theodwyn, a fine lady. I was young, but I remember them both well." His smile faded a bit. "After their death we were raised in Meduseld, and it was rather lonely. Theodred was much older then we were, but Eowyn and I still had each other. But as the years passed and danger grew more frequent, the black cloud ever nearer, Eowyn began to change from a merry little girl to a cold young woman." He sighed again, "Still, we were confidants, she and I. And then after she turned eighteen, she stopped warming to anyone. But I know...when all of this is behind us, she will find joy in the world again."

Lothiriel heard herself suck in her breath...thinking of all the times she had shuddered at the cloud in the East, thanking the stars that she did not live in the lands that bordered Mordor. Now she felt a touch of shame. She had not wanted her brothers to go to war...how would Gondor have faired without The Swan-Knights? They had been the largest army before the Rohirrim had come, and without them Gondor would have been rubble before the Horse Lords had even arrived. Eomer noted the change of her countenance.
"Lothiriel?" He frowned, but she shook her head, finding herself smiling.

"It is nothing." She sighed, "I was just thinking...that despite what has befallen, what has been lost, how glad I am that my people are here." Her head turned, and her eyes caught his. Spirits meeting, looking at each other from behind the glass, as if they'd seen each other in times long past. "How glad I am to be here."

Eomer reached up, to touch the side of her pale face, a face so like an Elven Lady of legend, but with eyes wild and unruly and sea-colored, as of an untamed mare running over the green grasses he knew so well. She was strong, she was unafraid...and she had stirred his heart like no other ever had, some force inescapable drew him to her.

Lothiriel shut those eyes for a moment at his touch; a hand calloused from riding, and tanned from days on end spent outside. When she opened them again, she saw a face that was defined, framed in gold, eyes intense yet gentle. His was a face so handsome, and so different then those she'd known in Dol Amroth, yet it was a comfort. He was kind, merry, strong...he reminded her of days long past, of fires on winter nights, of long walks in the mountains at springtime...

And so when she felt his lips upon her own, it seemed so very right. It was as if, at the moment their lips met gentle and chaste, they had known one another for all of the Ages before them. That their meeting of hands was in the stars above.
Lothiriel looked away after a moment, a soft smile on her slightly parted lips, the rose in her pale cheeks no young girl's nervous blushing, but rather a flush of warm life within her. Her heart was light, her eyes dancing, and then shutting as the King of Rohan ran a hand through her dark hair.

"I tell you this..." He whispered, close to her ear, breath stirring her hair. "I had never thought myself a man to have a heart for anything other then riding and battle and country." He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and Lothiriel sighed. "Until the day I saw you standing outside of the Houses of Healing, smiling at me as if to say all would be well." He took a breath. "And I believed those unspoken words, that flew from your gaze, before I even knew my sister lived. As if you were a friend to my soul, and it could trust whatever yours told it. I tell you, Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, that I love you."

Lothiriel was amazed she found the air to reply. "And I you." She heard herself say, knowing with all of her heart that it was true. And then she was being drawn to him again; in a fierce kiss that took what breath she had away. She might have been frightened, were it anyone else. But no... though her lips had been chaste before that night, she knew him. Somehow, she knew him. Lothiriel reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck, brushing at his long golden hair...
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Eowyn was just waking, eyes opening slowly from a dreamless sleep. The light in her room was the new light of morning, and she smiled softly. She still felt so very tired and weary of heart...but that light was a comfort. Turning her head away from the window, she beheld her brother sitting not far from her, but with his somewhat troubled gaze fixed on his hands.

"Eomer?" She asked softly, frowning. He looked up at her with a start, then quickly smiled.
"Are you well this morning, sister?" He asked, taking her hand fondly. Eowyn smiled, nodding.
"My body feels so limp and useless, but yes, I am fine." Her smile dropped. "Are you well, brother?"
"I am..." He paused, lines crossing his face, and Eowyn squeezed his hand. He went on in a whisper..."She would stay here, if you asked her to Eowyn. She has sworn loyalty to you and..."
"Oh brother..." Eowyn's voice was tender, suddenly understanding. "You know I could not do that. Lothiriel wants to ride with her kin. She does what I cannot."
"I know." He sighed, clenching the hand that did not hold his sister's hand into a fist. "It is what I admire her for, and yet...suddenly the thought of her riding with us tomorrow, into death and fire..."

"And you think it will be any easier for her to see you go?" His sister asked, still softly. "Why is it that men seem to think the death of a woman more of a tragedy then the death of a man? Because you are meant to be our protectors? Of course, that is what you are, but so the women are the protectors of the home while the man fights in war. You and I should know this well, for we have grown up in a land where all must carry a blade. If you truly care for this woman, brother, let her ride with you. Let your fate be shared."

"Your words are wisdom, sister." He nodded, and then cast his glance out the window. "Still...the thought of what might happen to her haunts me."
"As the thought of what might happen to you haunts her, I am sure." Eowyn said tenderly. "She is well suited to you, Eomer. She has your noble heart."
"Would that I could guard it better." He sighed.
"Well, we shall pray that there will be plenty of time for that when this is over."
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The little boy was running, running as fast as his small legs could carry him. It always seemed he was running from something, to somewhere...but this time, he just could not find what he was looking for. However, he did know what chased him. With a cry, the sound of his small feet on the stone hall was cut off as he went tumbling to the ground.
Pinned down by a weight nearly twice his own, the little boy tried to breathe, as a childish laughter reached his ears from above. With a fierce little glare, the boy pushed his pursuer off of him.
'You know da said to stop doing that, Boromir!' Faramir shouted, looking down at his scratched knees while he bit his lip. He did not cry, though he wanted to. Only babies cried, and he was a big boy of five.
'It was only in fun!' Boromir grinned, reaching out to muss his little brother's dark curls. 'You'll be needing to learn how to fight someday...' His eyes widened though, when he noticed his brother's knees, which were bleeding a bit through Faramir's little leggins. 'Why, I really did hurt you! I'm sorry, brother.' He grabbed his brother by the hand. 'Come along, we'll go see mama, she'll take care of you.'

As they hurried along, Faramir grinned a little. For all his rough games, Boromir truly was a good brother. They hurried through the halls; laid out like a labyrinth and yet the boys knew their way through them by heart. In only a matter of minutes, they were outside of their mother's rooms. But the two boys stopped, wary, for others were by their mother's door as well. Faramir recognized a few of them, save the old man who wore a long grey cloak.
After a moment, Denethor came from the room, his face grim. He said some words, but they were a blur to Faramir. He looked to his brother...Boromir's face had gone dead pale, his feet frozen in place it seemed. Faramir remembered turning, and running away...away from what they were saying....he wanted his mother. He wanted her to make everything alright....

His vision was coming blurry and chaotic, sounds and colors and a raging pain in his head. But there was one sound that was steady, calm, simple. A voice singing. Faramir blinked, slowly letting the world come into focus. He could not remember much, could not say what had brought him there...but the song he knew. It was simple, of herbs and waves and air, the moon at harvest time...a face came into view, a profile, sitting at his side, tending a wound he felt in his arm.

"...Mother?"

Lothiriel looked up with a start, and then let out a relieved sigh. She smiled. "You're awake."
"My mother used to sing that song." Faramir murmured, shutting his eyes. "What day is it, Lothy?
"It is the 17th of March, and the battle is over and won, for a time." She replied, finishing her rewrapping of his wound from the black dart. "This wound was close to your heart...there is much luck with you, cousin."
"I remember...we were riding..."
"Yes," Lothiriel nodded, "a Wraith's dart caught you here..." She touched the wound. "Imrahil carried you back to the city..."
"The Rohirrim? Did they come?" Faramir tried to sit up, as the memory of the battle came upon him full force.
"Yes," She smiled. "As did friends from the North. The enemy was driven away."
He settled back into his pillows with a long sigh, shutting his eyes. "The battle is won...for a time." He repeated, then opened his eyes, looking at his cousin. She looked down, busying herself with the herbs and bandage scraps in her lap.
"We march on Mordor on the morrow." She said quietly. Faramir's eyes went wide... "My uncle has had leadership in the city..." She went on briskly, "For the time you are yet ill."
"Yes, as I would wish it." Faramir mumbled distractedly. Pieces started to fit together in his head...the hobbits...the battle...he winced. His head still hurt. A dizzy spell fell upon him.
"Rest, cousin." Lothiriel smiled at him. He forced one back.
"You look very weary yourself, Lothy." He noted.
"I'll be just fine." She smiled wider. "You need your sleep. Need to dwell on pleasant things."
"It will be hard to do so, knowing you will all be riding out without me..." Faramir sighed, and Lothiriel let out an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes.
"You men and your love of battle." She grumbled, gathering her things and rising to go. Faramir felt a touch of surprise at the harshness of her reaction. But just as suddenly as she'd given oath, she gave him a brilliant smile. "I'll be sure to see you later today. Perhaps then you'll be clearer of head and of battle matters, and may speak with Imrahil." Without waiting for reply, she was at the doorway and out the hall.
Faramir felt the dizziness upon him again, very sharply.
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In the evening of that day, the eve of the Host's march, Eomer was walking through the Houses of Healing, to see how his wounded men fared. Many of then brightened at the sight of their young king, pledging loyalty anew and to be well enough to march with him the next morning. And thought these words made Eomer's heart swell, they also drove nails through it. Only two days before, they had said the same to Theoden. Theoden! Just barely returned to them from Grima's hold, only to be taken from them two weeks later! But Theoden had died honorably...he should not be mourned so.

Eomer was about to leave the houses, when he heard a sweet, familiar laugh from within. He turned, to see Lothiriel, kneeling by the bed of an aged soldier of Gondor. He was a great big man, but at the same time he looked much older then most of those who had fought, his beard and hair touched by much frost. He was telling the princess some story, which had a soft smile on Lothiriel's face.
As if sensing him watching her, she looked up to meet Eomer's eyes, and she smiled wider. The old soldier saw this, touched her hand, and bade her go.

"My lady..." Eomer smiled as she came to his side, unbinding her long hair that had been up all day as she'd tended wounded. He took up her hand and kissed it, keeping hold of it as they stepped outside.
"My lord..." She grinned.
"How fare they all?"
"Oh most are well, a few will be up and ready tomorrow, they just need rest." Then she shook her head... "But there are those who are still gravely hurt..." She laughed then, slightly. "And not to shed a bad light on Gondor, for they do not like being bedridden, but the Rohirrim are most adamant that they all be up and riding tomorrow! They do not want to disappoint their king!"
"We're a stubborn people." Eomer laughed as well, but again, he felt a slight pain. Theoden had deserved such loyalty...as if she could read his thoughts, Lothiriel held his hand tighter.
"And they are right to be so, for they have a most admirable king." She told him, as they made their way toward Ecthellion. Eomer smiled at her...then noticed she had stopped, studying the tower with a faraway look in her eye.
"Lothiriel?"

She shook her head. "I was just thinking..." she said. "An aunt I never knew was Queen of this city. Oh I know she was not really a Queen, but as close as Gondor ever had to one since the days of Isildur." Lothiriel sighed. "And she lost all hope and joy in this place, all alone except for two little boys who could not help her." She looked back up at Eomer. "That soldier I was speaking to, when you saw me...he knew Finduilas. In his fever from the battle two days ago, he thought I was her." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I mean by all this except...I share her blood. What if I should have the same fate?"
"You won't." Eomer told her, pulling her toward the doors of the palace. "You keep your hope." He smiled as they went inside, then paused. "And you're not alone." His words were met well. Lothiriel smiled broadly. Eomer looked ready to say something else as well...he looked at her, taking both of her hands in his, worry seeming to take hold of his face...Lothiriel pulled him toward her until she could drop her forehead against his chest.
"I know what you would say." She whispered, shutting her eyes. "But do not yet...for tomorrow there will be the toil, but this evening, there will be nothing but talk of good things."
Eomer nodded. "Tomorrow then." He pulled away, kissing her once, then smiling softly, pulling her along through the halls once more.

And so they made their way to the dining hall. She saw her Uncle, her cousin...her brother. No, she was not alone. But though the talk was indeed of good things...of riding and hunting and of land and families, and though Lothiriel had new strength to draw upon within herself, nothing could keep her from being afraid...
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