"I don't believe it."

Lothiriel snorted as she swung herself down off the mare Eomer had given her only that morning. Delighted, she had insisted that they go for a ride; now she was beginning to wryly regret her decision.

"It's true, anyway." She retorted. "I can't help it if you Rohirrim don't believe in hereditary names; some of us are stuck with them."

Eomer, too, dismounted and walked over to stand next to her. "I know, I know, different customs and all that, but really… What did you say it was again?"

Lothiriel rolled her eyes. "It's not that difficult. Aranel Lothiriel Imrahil Adrahilion Yende, it's only five names."

Eomer spluttered delightedly. "Only five names? Over here you'd be lucky to get two!"

Lothiriel smirked, turning to face him. He couldn't help noticing how appealingly her skirts swirled from the movement, like rippling grass in the winds. "We couldn't get by on less. How else would we keep track of hereditary when nobody thinks to write it down? My name has my title, the name of my father and my grandfather and the name I use. It's how we show our heritage."

Eomer smiled. "Here, we strive to be worthy of remembrance, not just have it handed to us on a silver platter. The names of those who do great deeds are graven forever in our minds."

Lothiriel was silent for a moment. "That a beautiful way of doing things, I think." She remarked softly. Eomer smiled more broadly. Somehow it seemed important that he gain her approval.

"Your name is beautiful, too. It sounds like a song." She flushed prettily at his words. "What does Aradel mean?"

Lothiriel laughed. "You mean Aranel, I think. That means Princess."

Eomer stared at her. "Princess is actually your name?"

She shrugged, giving him a funny look, as if she could not see why this should be at all unusual. "Of course. It's part of who I am- it has to be. In my name, it's a constant reminder that I have to make choices not only for me, but for my people as well."

Eomer looked at her for a long time, his intense eyes sad. For one who had kingship so swiftly thrust upon his ready shoulders, it seemed unthinkable to be raised from the first moment of your life as one responsible for the needs of a whole Principality. To be so totally infused with one's title, such a necessary if painful attribute of royalty, was so utterly divorced from his own experiences that for a moment Lothiriel, his dear companion, seemed almost a stranger to him.

And yet she is not burdened by this weight, but carries it as naturally as if it were…

…part of her…

But of course, it was. That was what she had been saying. He regarded her with a childlike wonder in his eyes, and she smiled up at him. He was suddenly aware of just how clearly her brilliant grey-blue sky eyes shone from the silvery, sculptured haven of her face, each feature perfectly sculptured. Her long dress was in green and gold, the colours of Rohan, and Eomer realised how beautiful she looked in them, and how he would like to see her in them again.

Every day…

As they road back to Meduseld, still smiling, Eomer's mind was full only of whirling skirts, beautiful maidens, and sky-coloured eyes.