::disclaimer:: someday, maybe i will…but i doubt it.

Live for the Plains

Lothíriel sat on the porch, tears stinging her face. She had known that at some point, her husband would want her to ride with him, but she had hoped that maybe he would help her. Instead, he had been offended. It was not her fault that she could not ride. What had he expected? After all, she had grown up on the sea, not on the back of a horse like he had.

She heard footsteps as someone came to where she was seated. "Go away, Éomer." She spat his name like a curse.

He laughed softly. "I hate to disappoint you, my queen, but I am not Éomer." She turned and saw that, indeed, he was not her husband. He was younger, close in age to her youngest brother, Amrothos, and leaner than the wide-shouldered king. He smiled. "I do not believe we have been properly introduced, my queen. My name is Éothain, and I am one of the king's marshals." He bowed, and Lothíriel could not help but smile at his extravagance.

"I am Lothíriel," she said, "and while I am queen, I do not wish it. I would give all the years ahead of me in this—this nadhras for a week, even a day, of freedom."

"Freedom from what, my queen?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Please, call me Lothíriel, the title makes me feel distant. And sit; I do not like craning my neck to look at people." He obliged, and she relaxed some. "As for your question, I want to be free of this." She waved a hand at their surroundings. "And of my 'queenly duties.' I did not marry the king out of love, but rather out of obligation. I do not see how anyone could believe anything would come of our marriage when he so obviously hates me."

"Hates you, my lady? I do not understand. Éomer has never hated anyone, save the Worm." He betrayed his own distaste for the former king's adviser.

"Yes, well, where there is a first, a second often follows." She sniffled slightly, and Éothain handed her a handkerchief. "But it is not my fault I was not born in a saddle," she continued. I live for the sea, not the plains. And I do know how to ride, I just can't."

"What is the difference?" Éothain asked, somewhat amused.

"If he had let me explain before he became offended, I would have told him. I know how to ride, but I'm terrible at it. If I want to go one way, the beast goes the opposite. I have to tie the creature down to get on it, and it usually shakes me off the first few times anyway. I tell you, the monsters hate me. And that is why I cannot ride."

Éothain burst into laughter. Lothíriel scowled at him as he tried to control himself. "I cannot imagine someone so terri—" He stopped short as her scowl deepened. "I'm sorry, that was unnecessary."

"But you see my dilemma, yes? I have been sent to the land of the horse-lords—married to their king!—and I cannot ride. You see why I want to escape this."

"I can see why," he said, "but I do not understand. To me, Rohan is freedom. Here, we are free from the strict court rules your people are governed by. Here, we can farm our land, ride our horses, raise our families, according to the ways we see fit. No, we are not so great or grand as yonder Mundberg, but we would not have it any other way."

"You make it sound so wonderful," she whispered. She looked at Éothain. "You make me wish to make the best of it."

"Then why do you not?" he asked. "Tell Éomer what you have told me; nothing would bring him more joy than to teach you the ways of the horses. They are a part of him, they are in his name and in his blood. Let them become a part of you."

When Lothíriel arrived back in the chambers after her talk with Éothain, Éomer was already fast asleep on a pallet in the sitting room. She looked at him sadly. She wondered what he would say if she woke him and offered to sleep on the floor and give him the bed for the night. He would probably say that he had slept in worse conditions before and that she shouldn't trouble herself with a night on the floor. Was this what she had done to herself and to him? Had she really turned into the shadow that he said she was? She did not know, and she was not sure she wanted to know.

Lothíriel looked back at him. She bit her lip and knealt beside him. His breathing was steady, and she was almost afraid to disturb him. He looked so peaceful, so calm, lying there. She took a deep breath and tapped his shoulder. He twitched slightly, muttering softly in Rohirric. She did it again, more bravely this time. He sat up suddenly, surprising Lothíriel. His eyes darted around. "Awiergan eow!" he shouted. She backed away quickly as he came back to reality. "My lady?" he said quietly. "What—can I help you?"

She nodded mutely, too frightened to speak.

"Will you tell me?" he asked.

"Teach me to ride," she whispered. "And to speak your language." She added the second part as an afterthought.

"What?"

"I know how to ride," she explained urgently, "but I am horrid at it. Teach me to ride like you do. Please."

"Yes, yes, but—" he furrowed his brow "—why the language?"

She blushed slightly. "I want to know what you said."

"Oh." It was his turn to blush. "I don't know if I'll teach you that."

She smiled despite herself, guessing at what his words had meant. "But before you can teach me anything," she said quickly, "you must do one thing."

"And what is that?"

"Call me Lothíriel."

"I will do that…Lothíriel."

A/N: this will be my last update before christmas. tomorrow, i'm leaving for florida. i wasn't expecting to have this finished, but i thought i'd give you guys an early christmas present. thank you for your lovely reviews, have a good holiday!
just a note: "nadhras" is sindarin for "pasture." i thought it was a fitting description of how lothiriel views rohan at the moment. and "awiergan eow" is rohirric (or old english) for "damb you." sort of.
also, if someone could come up with a better title for the over-all story, it would be greatly appreciated. "doe eyes" is a sucky title.