Hello again, I am afraid that despite quite a few flames I will still be ploughing on regardless, as usual, but first to the reviewers, some of whom were lovely and gave pointers, some of whom were... less than lovely.

Steelsheen -thank you very much! I think that elves need a bit of a break from falling eternally in love, but for those who worried about a Legolas/Lothiriel fic, I hope this chapter clears the air a little. Ah yes, the sexism of Eomer. You gotta feel sorry for the guy. But he will soon come to realise the worth of his lover-to-be and I hope not everyone thought he was overtly sexist, just misguided. Please review and tell me what you think!

Barneyrubble (and betty!)- yes I think all kids and their parents fight -just like all girls get periods like Lothiriel! Brothers' whereabouts uncovered in this chapter.

Bert -apologies. Nest time she sees him she will bow to the ground.

Lady Hades- I'd get into a fight with you about your rather mean comments, but after looking at your own fics I see that you are already fighting with several other people. Please, if you don't want to read what I write, then just don't. Before I sign off to you, hoping I'm not being too rude back, I'd like to point out that three companies is extremely different to three armies. Also that there is no way that a Princess can be a normal woman. There is a world she was born into. Do feel free to review again, excercising manners or at least being vaguely civil. Many thanks.


disclaimer -I am not JRR Tolkien, I am skinnyrita.

The Tale of Éomer and Lothíriel.

PART FIVE.

"But father, you must see that I should have been at the council myself! Therefore-"

"I do not see that, why should I see that? Benadil assumed his rightful leadership to lead your side of the council, in your stead, and a conclusion was brought under a sensible discussion and vote. Can I make myself plainer?"

"But I- No, father, you cannot make yourself plainer."

Imrahil exited the chamber leaving Lothíriel to scowl at his retreating back like a sulky toddler. The council has been carried out through her unconscious state and had reached solutions without her. By splitting their forces, which were conveniently outnumbering their foes, they would conduct two ambushes. The Three Companies, which normally operated in three sections (foot, artillery, and riders), would carry out the first ambush. The Riders of Rohan would be supplementing the riding company of Dol Amroth. And this is what was so greatly offending to Lothíriel, who smugly considered her riders to be well above the average when such skill was required. In the back of her mind, a little voice nagged her that the Rohirrim, who were all born and bred for such combat, were probably largely superior. The second raid would be conducted by her father's swan-knights of Dol Amroth and the Gondorian army.

She was still sore from learning about the successful raids that had been undertaken in her absence. She conceded that it was obviously a very good thing to have conducted an ambush successfully, but her pride had been hurt. The most unhelpful remark had been from Éomer, who, though bloodied a little from battle, had been to her chamber as soon as she awoke to ask her if she was feeling 'quite well enough to fight in the coming week.' He meant to be kind and repair any damage that had been caused by their frosty introduction. But in her mind, she thought he was rubbing her nose in his war technique. She was jealous.

"Thank you sir, I am quite well," she had replied, inclining her head as little as could still be termed polite. She was sitting up in bed swathed in furs, ignoring the dull period pains in her womb, with the battle strategies and the council notes spread out before her. Éomer continually addressed the floor, not knowing where he could politely look when addressing a young woman in bed before him. She had noticed, and smirked secretly.

"The command of the Companies has always been shared between three. They were my brothers, of course. Now Benadil takes the foot soldiers, Neoman holds the artillery, and I have the riders. Is that alright?"

Éomer cleared his throat. "The Rohirrim will supplement your riders."

"I am aware of that, my Lord."

"Ah," he looked towards the window, its white curtains billowing in the breeze. "I take my leave, then. Please accept my best wishes for your returning health, my Lady."

"I thank you for your regard, sir."

The door closed. Lothíriel released a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Her legs felt suffocated under the restrictive blankets and she yearned desperately to get down to the shoreline to stretch them. She shook her head and attempted to concentrate on the papers before her, memorising where each of the Three Companies would be in relation to the main battle site, and where the riders would be hopefully concealed in the woods to the side. She marked a little dot on a page where she would wait with the scouts to give the command. Her wrist flicked up irritably; that would mean that Éomer would have to give the main command for the actual ambushing. Damn. She'd wanted to do that bit.

The beach was devoid of people when she got there, the grainy white and brown sand stretching away for miles on either side. She slipped off her sandals and revelled in the feel of it between her toes. The wind was up, the waves crashing into the beach in a steady rhythm –how she liked it best. Salt and seawater whipped her calves as she lingered close to the edge. She glanced up at her house quickly and seeing no one, sprinted up the beach as fast as was possible with the sand dragging her feet. She was holding her dress out of the way up to her knees; sand flicking up under her heels.

When she reached a small sand dune, out of sight of the main part of the city, she sat down with her knees pulled up to her chest, her browning legs gleaming in the noon sun, the sandals tossed carelessly to the side. She crossed her knees and laid back, relaxation spreading through her bones. It was unlike her to have not kept to any sort of regime today. She liked it.

"This landscape is strange."

She didn't know how long she had been dozing, but her eyes snapped open immediately to behold Legolas –not an unwelcome sight. He sat gracefully down beside her. "Take your boots off," she said, with a rueful smile, "and you will see." He did so.

"My, that feels… very odd," he said, after a moment. Lothíriel smiled. "It's vast, isn't it?" he said, nodding towards the horizon. The waves had settled down and there was hardly a line to distinguish where the sea met the sky.

"I think you shouldn't be sitting here, Prince of Mirkwood," said Lothíriel.

"Ah, don't worry about me," said Legolas, stretching his long legs out before him. "I'm not in such a hurry to sail just yet. The time has not come yet."

"How will you know?"

"I'll know." They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching the gulls wheeling over the water and the waves breaking gently on the shore. "I wonder how I will get to the undying lands. It must be far off if the sea has no boundary to see. My love is waiting for me there, on the shores of Valinor."

Lothíriel glanced at him and noticed suddenly the burden of the many years or his life aligned on his brow. "Won't you sail to her?"

"There is time. She will still be waiting for me."

"Has she waited long?"

"Not to me. Three hundred years give or take. It's not that long," he turned to face her, his expression closed to her because it remembered something she had no notion of. "I've still got time… -You fixed it!"

His gaze had fallen to the large horn hanging at her side. The broken horn of Gondor. Lothíriel's hand went to it immediately. "I would ask you not to tell my father, sir. Or Faramir. I thought –I hoped, it might bring me luck in battle."

"I am sure, Princess, that you need no such luck. But my lips are sealed."

Lothíriel moved and searched the blue horizon again before confiding, slowly, as if what she was revealing were a secret that would be hard to understand: "I need all the luck I can get until my brothers return. They led three separate scouting parties. Two, were intercepted and lost. The last, which was that of the youngest of the three, was re-sent to discover them. None of them ever returned. My- my father, he does not say as much, but each day he fears their deaths. I feel it terribly in his mood, the onset of desperate despair… he knows my leadership is not as strong as theirs. I –I try but my heart misguides hope."

Legolas reached out and took her hands gently. She gripped them so hard that both of their knuckles were white but he did not pull away. She addressed him fully, her eyes desperate and wild for reassurance.

"There were no bodies found, no mark, nothing that could trace their deaths or survival. The men picked up the rumours of spirits that swept the lands long ago before Elves or Men settled. They are dark tales of things I dare not name but they are widely believed now and how can I restore hope? My father looks to me to make things right and I will do it but I find myself so deep in doubt. There is little wonder that he seeks to dull my authority by allying my company of riders with that of Rohan! For what am I? I am nothing, no, nothing and their commander is a King! And… a man."

She was breathing hard, her face stricken with terror as though she had said the worst curses imaginable. Brown eyes met blue and saw compassion. Sympathy and concern, kindness and reassurance. The frustrated tears that had been building for months began to flow silently. No sobbing for a heart so deadened to grief for so long. Legolas carefully disentangled the fingers of his right hand before wiping away the tears carefully. Then he leaned in and kissed her.

It was a chaste, innocent kiss that spoke of friendship and apprehension, rather than lust. It had a message of faith that the lady leaned into for a moment before they both drew back. Lothíriel relaxed and pulled her hands out of their vice-like grip. Legolas let her rest her head on his shoulder while he encircled her in his arms -a net of safety.

"Aranel, mellonamin, linwë calmcacil."


a/n -hopefully Legolas' parting words mean 'princess, my friend, keep hope', but I'm extremely terrible at finding sites to translate into elvish.

Can someone please tell me -what are the names of Lothiriel's three brothers? Or I will have to make them up as I have no idea at all.

thanks for reviews, even the nasties, please review again,

love skinnyrita xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx