Lothíriel stood straight and tall among many other nobles of Gondor before the gates of Minas Tirith, where a great host was assembled. All eyes were upon the battalions of soldiers, from Gondor and Rohan, which had finally reached the city and halted before the multitude. All voices fell silent as eight figures broke away from the legions and approached the gates on foot.
The first Lothíriel's eyes sought was her father, tall and regal, and she smiled with pride for him, although part of her was desirous to break away and run to his embrace as she had when she was small. She held her peace however, and continued to watch the procession, able to perceive more the closer they came.
The four men walked abreast, and were flanked on either side by two pairs of smaller figures, perrianath out of legend. Lothíriel could not help but gaze at each in turn for long, wondering moments. By now she had heard the tales in fuller telling, how these had borne the Ring of Power into the heart of the Black Land itself. One of them was clad as the guards of the Citadel, another as a rider of the Mark. The remaining two were dressed simply and stately, and they looked at the crowd with uncertain expressions, their eyes full of wonder.
On the other side of her father was a young man Lothíriel had never seen, but she knew at once who he was. He wore no helm, and his hair was the color of wheat in late autumn, as she had perceived on his kinsman so many years ago. This was Éomer, the young king of Rohan, cousin to Théodred, and the sight of him caused Lothíriel's heart to wrench with pain once more, for she saw in his bearing the echoes of another she had known so well. She turned her face away, determined not to be distracted by ghosts upon this day. It was a day to celebrate life.
The third figure was not a man, but Mithrandir, or so Lothíriel knew. She had seen him once before when she was a child, but she did not remember. He was clothed in shining white, and carried a staff. In any other time and place, he might have commanded the greatest attention because of his renown, but on this day all eyes were fixed upon the fourth figure.
This was Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Elessar Elfstone, heir of Númenor, and many other names and titles Lothíriel had heard him called by. By this time the men were very close, and she could perceive the wisdom in his eyes, and the strange timelessness of his face. His features were not old, yet they were full of years and care.
When the men and halflings reached the assembly before the city gates, they stopped. A ceremonial barrier had been formed—soldiers of Gondor with their swords drawn. Behind them stood many captains of Gondor and Rohan, including Lothíriel's brothers Elphir and Erchirion. With them also stood Éowyn, sister of Éomer, White Lady of Rohan, and last of all Faramir, Lothíriel's cousin, the last Steward of Gondor.
Lothíriel was proud of the dignity with which Faramir had assumed his unexpected role. The deaths of Boromir and the Lord Denethor had been surprising and grievous to him. Lothíriel couldn't remember either man very well. She had not been to Minas Tirith in three years, and at that time, the Steward and his older son had been too preoccupied with larger matters to be concerned with a seventeen-year-old girl. Only Faramir had taken the time to show her any attention, and she'd always loved him as though he were a fourth older brother.
Now she looked on as he stepped forward to greet the Lord Aragorn, who charged him with the continued stewardship of Gondor. Then Faramir called forth to the people, and named Aragorn by name, and heralded his claim to the throne. When asked if Aragorn should be king, Lothíriel cried out her affirmation along with all the people, and a great cry of rejoicing was lifted up.
When at last the gates were opened and the king began to lead the procession within, Lothíriel was reunited with her father. She embraced him warmly, tears of relief spilling from her eyes. There was no time for talk, for there were many more for him to greet, and the king was leading them onward into the city, but Lothíriel took comfort in the moment.
As she pulled away from her father, Lothíriel observed the Rohirric King withdrawing from his own embrace with his sister, and was surprised when his eyes fell upon her. There he paused for a moment, but quickly and politely averted his gaze when he noted Lothíriel's awareness. She realized, with some puzzlement, that the gaze had not been by chance. He had deliberately sought her out, and his expression had been of mingled pity and curiosity.
Lothíriel wondered a little at this strange exchange, but put it quickly from her mind. That evening there was a great feast in the king's halls. Lothíriel would have wished to sit with her father, but he was called upon to sit at the king's high table. Instead, she sat with her brother Amrothos. As he yet had no wife, he was unengaged for conversation, and brother and sister were able to acquaint one another of their respective stories during the course of the battle. Amrothos's story was, of course, far more interesting than Lothíriel's, so she mostly found herself listening.
The banquet continued long into the night, but before it had finished, Lothíriel found her eyes drooping with sleepiness, and a servant escorted her to back to her assigned quarters. She slept without dreaming until she was awoken by sunlight and the voice of a chambermaid.
"My lady?" the voice prompted gently.
Lothíriel rolled over to face the speaker, squinting her eyes at the brightness shining off the white stone that edged the large window. She stared dumbly at the maid, trying to collect her thoughts.
"My lady," the girl continued. "Prince Imrahil bid me ask you to rise. He wishes to speak with you."
This information managed to pierce the hazy fog of Lothíriel's waking mind. She sat up quickly, and with the maid's assistance was prepared to meet her father within a quarter of an hour. She greeted him eagerly outside in one of the king's many gardens.
"Lothíriel," he said affectionately. "I have missed you so."
"I have missed you also, father. I feared for you greatly."
"I am sorry to have to wake you," he continued, withdrawing from their tight embrace, "but I fear my time will be much devoted to the king for many days, so I was forced to make time to speak with you."
"It is no matter, father. I am simply glad for the chance. There is much I wish to say to you."
They spoke of many things. Lothíriel informed him of the state of affairs in Dol Amroth as she had left it, asking his opinion on matters she had been unsure of. He offered wise answers and expressed his pride at many of her decisions. "You would have made a fine ruler, my daughter."
She also told him of the family, certain antics of her niece and nephews that made him smile, and extended greetings from Belfarion and others that had remained behind. Her father listened politely, but the more Lothíriel spoke, the more she realized that there was something weighing on his mind, something he was in some ways reluctant to impart upon her.
"Father, what is it that troubles you?" she finally asked.
He gave her a sidelong, knowing expression, and then a small smile. "I cannot hide anything from you, can I?" His expression sobered. "Lothíriel, I was grieved to learn of Théodred's death. I cannot imagine how it has affected you."
"Very poorly," she answered. She looked away sadly, lowering her face, and her father drew her into a comforting embrace. Lothíriel closed her eyes but did not weep. All tears that now remained for Théodred she bore in private.
After a moment, Imrahil pulled away again and looked intently into her face. "Daughter," he said, "it is not my intent to further your sorrow, but I haven't much time. There is something I must speak with you about which concerns your betrothal."
Year 3010 of the Third Age
Eleven-year-old Lothíriel tried her best to avoid her father's eyes as her small fingers plucked confidently on the harp beside her. It was a game of wills they played. She wanted to stay up longer, for the court of Dol Amroth was full of summer guests who had come for her brother's wedding. She did not see why she needed to be sent to bed. After all, Elphir's bride, Adlóriel, was only seventeen—a mere six years older than Lothíriel—and she was allowed to stay up as long as she liked!
So when an unexpected request had arisen for Lothíriel to play and sing before the company, right when her father had been trying to shuffle her off, Lothíriel had seized the chance, and had deliberately chosen the longest piece she could think of. Never mind that it happened to be a tragic balled of Amroth and Nimrodel, hardly suitable for a wedding. Lothíriel knew that if she met her father's eyes, he would give her a signal to cut it short, and there were still five full verses to be sung.
By this time, however, her fingers were beginning to get tired, not to mention her voice. Although she had grown almost three inches in the past year and a half, she was still quite small for her age, including her hands, and the distance between the strings she was playing seemed to be getting wider and wider as the song progressed. Still, her father had instilled within her the importance of finishing what one started, and she was going to see this through, no matter how much he might wish her to make an exception in this case.
When she glanced out at her audience, she had to hold back a giggle. Théodred of Rohan was watching her with a highly amused expression. Lothíriel liked Prince Théodred very much, for he was kind to her, and jovial, and took time to listen to her stories. She knew that, as a mere child, the things she had to say weren't very important to grand men like Théodred, but at least he made her feel as though they were. Not like silly Amrothos, who now seemed to enjoy paying attention to any girl but his own sister!
Now Théodred's arms were crossed over his chest as he watched her, and his eyes were sparkling with silent laughter. He glanced in the direction of her father and raised his eyebrows, causing Lothíriel to flush with a mixture of increased amusement and embarrassment, but she set her chin proudly and her sights on finishing the song. Her voice was quite hoarse by the last verse, but she maintained her dignity, extricated herself from the stool of the harp, and curtseyed gracefully to the applauding crowd.
"Thank you, Lothíriel," said her father, standing up. His face was a mask that was only partially successful in hiding his mingled amusement and fatherly irritation. "We were all most grateful for the history lesson." There was a quiet round of chuckles and even Lothíriel's lips twitched a little.
"Certainly, my Lord," she said, curtseying again to him, and scampered down from the dais as the level of conversation began to pick up once more. She took her place discreetly at the end of the table, and immediately began rubbing her cramped fingers. Perhaps if she were very quiet, her father would become distracted and forget his intentions to send her away.
"So you are a songbird then, little Lothíriel?"
Lothíriel jumped slightly, and looked up to see Prince Théodred standing before her, his kind smile full of mirth. Her eyes widened. "Yes, my Lord," she said, nodding.
"The song was quite lovely. I doubt not even the elves have ever sung it with such… determination."
Lothíriel was puzzled. "The elves sing it differently than we do, my Lord," she said, her brow furrowing slightly.
He laughed. "I have brought you a gift," he said then.
Her eyes widened in delight. "A gift?" she repeated.
"Yes. I thought that since your brother would be receiving so many tomorrow, you might perhaps feel overlooked."
"What is it?" she asked eagerly.
With another chuckle, he pulled a bundle of clean white linen from behind his back and handed it to her. "I hope it is something that a lady would enjoy," he said apologetically. "I tried to ask my cousin for advice, but she is far more interested in swords and horses than in things pertaining to ladies."
"Why did you not ask your mother?" she asked, pausing in her examination of the package to peer at him quizzically.
He smiled sadly. "My mother is dead, lady."
"Oh." Mortified, Lothíriel felt her cheeks flush. "I am sorry. So is mine."
"Yes, I know," he said kindly, then nodded. "Go ahead. Open it."
Curiously, she unfolded the linen and found tucked within a smoothly polished comb and brush. "They are lovely," she said appreciatively, and they truly were. Although Lothíriel already had brushes and combs aplenty, something she did not, of course, blurt out to Prince Théodred, she couldn't help but admire the intricate carving on this particular set. "Thank you," she said with a smile. Then she added, as she folded them carefully within the linen once more, "I did not know you had a cousin."
"I have two cousins," he said.
"I have two cousins as well," Lothíriel said. "What are they like?"
"Who? My cousins or yours?"
Lothíriel giggled. "Yours."
"They are my very good friends," he said. "Éomer is the older. He will soon be twenty years of age, and he is very strong and serious. His sister Éowyn is about the age of your brother Amrothos, or near enough."
Lothíriel wrinkled her nose. "Then Amrothos would probably like her very much."
Théodred burst into jovial laughter. "Perhaps you are right. I am not certain."
"And she likes to fight with swords?" Lothíriel asked, remembering his previous words.
He nodded. "I taught her myself, much to my father's dismay at times, I fear."
At this point, Lothíriel's father had finally escaped his guests long enough to track her down. "Good evening, Lord Théodred," he said, nodding respectfully, then fixed an appraising glance on Lothíriel. "To bed, daughter," he said, his voice heavy with fond warning. "Now, please. It is a long day tomorrow, and you have not been feeling well."
Knowing when she had to admit defeat, Lothíriel gave a long, loud sigh and nodded forlornly. "Yes, father," she said, and rose to her feet. She embraced her father, and bowed respectfully to Théodred. "Good night, Lord Théodred."
"Goodnight, little songbird."
Lothíriel smiled and turned to head to her chambers. As she reached the door, she turned back one last time to see her father still talking to the Prince. Their faces were grave and she knew that she was no longer on their minds or in their conversation. They did not look back her way. All the same, she glanced down at the gift still clutched in her tired hand and was content.
"Éomer King, may I present my daughter Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth."
Awkward and nervous, Lothíriel sank slowly into a graceful and respectful curtsey, lowering her eyes and trying to gather her courage. She did not know why she should be apprehensive. From the time Théodred had first spoken of his cousin, he'd never had anything but honor, praise, and love to heap upon him. Now all those words—all those memories—were running through her mind as fast as lightning. In some ways, she felt she should know this young man already, yet all she could see as she rose once more was the face of a stranger.
He took two steps forward, then returned her bow slowly. "It is my honor, lady."
"As it is mine, Lord Éomer," she said softly.
"If you will excuse me," said Imrahil, pulling his arm away from Lothíriel's, "I have business with the king."
Despite herself, Lothíriel couldn't help but smile within. Business with the king, indeed! Part of her desperately wished her father would not leave her, but she knew that ultimately this meeting would be easier without him. She watched him turn and head back indoors, where the assembled host was gathered for another evening of food and song, leaving daughter and king alone beneath clear stars and a bright moon.
Éomer offered his own arm and she took it, wordlessly. He began to lead her slowly along the balcony, and she gazed dispassionately at the city dropping out below them, not yet comfortable enough to look at him. They walked in silence for a long time, until the sounds of the banquet hall had completely faded behind them. At last, Éomer cleared his throat uncomfortably, and she realized with abrupt surprise that he was as nervous as she. "Your father told you of my offer?" he asked.
Lothíriel nodded wordlessly. Now she understood why his eyes had searched her out after the coronation.
"Please understand," he continued, "the choice is yours completely. I know that—" he paused, and his voice was pained. "I know that Théodred would have wished you to be happy. This is all I have to offer you."
She gave him a faint and sad smile. "Some would say a throne is no small amends," she said.
"Yet to be queen was not the reward you sought," he said. It was not a question.
She shook her head slowly. "No."
He offered no further comment, but released her arm and stood at the railing, gazing past the city to the black mountain wall beyond, his eyes lost in thought and memory. Lothíriel considered him, and felt for the first time the connection of loss which they shared. She sighed heavily, letting the cool night air sooth away some of her agitated nerves.
"My father speaks very highly of you," she said at last. She did not look at him, but turned followed his gaze to the horizon, though she did not really see it. "I've rarely seen him form so swift a friendship," she added.
"The battlefield is more honest a test of a man's true character than any other I've seen," he replied. "It would teach us all what we are capable of, the best and the worst." He paused. "I would likewise name your father as one of the best men I have ever known."
"He wishes me to accept your proposal."
Éomer turned to look at her in surprise. "Did he say as much to you?"
She shook her head and gave a small smile. "Not in so many words. But I know him well."
"And what are your feelings, lady?"
"I do not know," she said softly. She sighed and looked at him squarely. "The alliance would benefit both our peoples. I cannot pretend I do not know this. As a queen, I know I would serve you well, my Lord, if that is what you seek. But as a wife…" she paused, her brow furrowed. "My Lord, I do not know if my heart will ever love again. I would know what you expect, for I would not see another bound to a life without love."
He gazed at her with admiration and nodded. "For a king, matters of love are not always simple," he said. "I believe you understand this. I would offer you my friendship and respect, and hold you to no other expectation. I believe I would be content, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth."
She looked at him sidelong. "You would also desire heirs," she pointed out, a little uncomfortably. A slight flush touched her cheeks and she lowered her eyes.
His surprise was unmistakable, but he recovered swiftly and cleared his throat again. "Of course," he said, then added awkwardly, "With time."
Lothíriel pressed her lips together, and her mood fell back to one of pensiveness. He offered her his arm once more and together they headed slowly back to the group, each full of heavy, considering thoughts. Lothíriel was beginning to feel panicked, for she still had no answer for him, and she feared he might expect one immediately.
To her surprise, Éomer had a solution already on hand. "You needn't make a decision now," he said, when they arrived back at last. He straightened formally to his full height. "Tomorrow I leave with my sister for my homeland. There is much that needs attending to. In a few weeks' time, I will return to bear my uncle's body home to rest with his fathers. Prince Imrahil has kindly agreed to accompany me back for his burial. It would do me great honor if you would come, as well, Lady Lothíriel. Come and see Edoras, meet my people, become acquainted with our ways. Then you might better know whether or not you would find happiness in Rohan."
Relief spread through Lothíriel like a cool wave. "That is a wise suggestion, my Lord, I thank you. I will attend you at Edoras, and likewise pay my respects to King Théoden."
"Then I will take my leave," he said, and took her hand, placing a soft kiss upon it. Then he bowed respectfully. "It was a pleasure to meet you." He turned and disappeared into the dusky night, leaving Lothíriel alone with her racing thoughts.
Replies:
giovanna-scribe- I'm glad the portrayal of Éomer was to your satisfaction. His thoughts as expressed to Imrahil were one of the initial concepts I had for this story.
Eokat- Her reaction is rather impassive, I think. What do you think of it now you see it?
smor- Always an honor to be the ol' study break. LOL And of course it's sweet of him. ;-)
Katya- I also hate to see Imrahil portrayed like that. It's interesting how people interpret the match between E-L. Was it love or politics? I've always sort of thought it was a little bit of both.
Spacepirate- (hands handkerchief) Hey now, don't cry before there is need! Don't worry. My record of finishing stories is very good. Thank you for all your lovely comments.
lsoa- I was rather fond of that line myself. These LotR men are so poetic. I want one!!! (calms down) Anyway, you're perfectly welcome for the info.
fsb567- Welcome and thank you. Glad to know you're enjoying. :-)
Shallindra- A question I have asked myself many times, my friend, although I consider those things only bonuses to the nobility, bravery, and eloquence. His voice is really cool, too. LOL
Caz-Baz- No, there certainly isn't much to be done about the ages. Tolkien just knew everything about his people. :-P
Tracey- Never fear, you shall have details bit by bit with time. What fun would it be if I divulged everything at once, eh? ;-) Thank you for the very nice review.
As always, feedback makes me smile quite broadly!
Saché