High summer flourished throughout the lands of Middle Earth, and the world was lush and green and plentiful, as though the very ground itself rejoiced with its habitants. In Rohan, Éomer King worked long and hard to rebuild his war-torn country. Scattered families found their way back to their homes, provision was made for those who had lost loved ones, and the Riders of Rohan exchanged spears for plowshares, hastily planting late crops. In those weeks the king began to fit himself to his new role, and found that with the support and love of his people, it was not as fearful a task as he'd thought it would be.
Meanwhile, there was much taking place in Minas Tirith to occupy Lothíriel's mind—enough to keep her from dwelling upon the decision that lay before her. Her father was optimistic about the peace King Elessar had made with the Haradrim. Though fledgling, Imrahil ultimately hoped it would lessen the threat of the Corsairs upon Dol Amroth, a plague they'd been dealing with for countless decades. He relayed all this to Lothíriel as the peace talks continued. Many years ago, when Imrahil had finally realized the genuine interest Lothíriel took in the affairs of the world, he'd nurtured it, taking her into his tutelage, negating the need for Lothíriel to hide in trees to learn of such things.
In the darkening years before the war, however, even these moments between father and daughter had become scarce. Concerns for his people had required the prince to devote increasing energy to affairs of state, and not all of Imrahil's advisors and under-lords had been as patient with the idea of a woman at their side, and she had still been very young. Lothíriel had mourned the increasing loss of her father's companionship. To have it now restored was her greatest joy.
On Midsummer, Lothíriel stood witness as Lord Aragorn wedded the Lady Arwen Undómiel of Rivendell. Lothíriel watched the new queen with reverence and awe, for she was high and fair, her natural grace and beauty made all the more enchanting by the obvious love and devotion she bore unto the king. Lothíriel tried not to be envious of their happiness. Certainly they had endured many years and countless uncertainties waiting to be together. Lothíriel would never have begrudged them that. But it was difficult.
Théodred was constantly in her thoughts. It had been three long years since they had parted ways, and she had longed for his presence every moment since that time. Despite the passage of time, she had not forgotten the sound of his voice nor the strength of his embrace. The distance between them when he died, in both miles and in time, had not changed these things, but they did make it harder for her to realize he was really gone. She half-expected him to come riding up to the city gates, as warm and boisterous as ever, kiss away her tears, and tell her it had all been a bad dream.
But he did not come. Instead, it was Éomer who returned, as promised, many weeks later, to bear away the body of Théoden King. The host at Minas Tirith had been anticipating this event, and so were prepared to journey to Rohan the very next morning. Amidst the hast and ceremony to ready Théoden's bier for travel, Lothíriel did not speak to Éomer beyond a superficial greeting. For this, she was relieved.
The next morning, Lothíriel rose early, and chose a somber and reserved riding habit of dark blue—a color among her people that signified respect for the dead. She only hoped it would not be too hot, and with that thought in mind, pinned her hair up neatly. When she was finally ready, she joined her father.
The first part of the journey was silent and solemn—a long, slow walk following the dead king's shrouded form through the winding streets of the White City. Then he was placed upon a special wain prepared for this purpose, and the great host mounted their horses, and the procession finally left the city gates and turned towards Rohan.
The day was very fine, though warm, as Lothíriel had suspected, and she was soon resolved to wear the blue habit for the first and last days of the journey only, as it would be a slow and lengthy one. To her delight, her cousin Faramir spent the first few hours in the company of Lothíriel and her father. Faramir had, if possible, been even more occupied than Imrahil in the preceding weeks, and she was happy for the opportunity to spend some time with him.
It wasn't until well past the midday meal that Éomer approached her father's party unexpectedly. He engaged her father and her cousin in earnest conversation for awhile, but Lothíriel found herself strangely reluctant to participate. She listened with polite interest for a long time, before eventually riding ahead a little, taking interest in some of the countryside around her.
Although she was aware when Éomer finally took his leave of her kinsmen, she did not anticipate his mount to then fall into step beside hers. She looked up, and he gave her a respectful nod of greeting. Then, unexpectedly, he nodded at her horse. "Here is a filly I haven't seen in many years," he said with a smile.
Despite her surprise at this abrupt and informal greeting, Lothíriel instantly returned the smile knowingly. "Yes, my Lord," she replied. "She has been more than usually good-spirited today. I think perhaps she knows she is going home."
"What did you decide to call her?" he asked curiously, reaching over to rub the mare's neck affectionately, whereupon she turned her head and nuzzled his hand with enthusiasm, causing him to chuckle.
"Tilion," Lothíriel replied.
Éomer looked over at her in surprise. "An interesting choice for a mare," he commented, giving the horse a final pat before resuming his hold on his own reins.
"I was fifteen," Lothíriel offered with a shrug and a smile. "I declared she looked like the moon, and nothing anyone said could dissuade me."
"Then it is a fitting name. This lady was sired by Snowmane, my uncle's horse. In a way, I am sure our march means as much to her as it does to myself and my kin. I had wondered if you would bring her."
"I am surprised you would even remember her."
"Then that is the first thing you should know about the Rohirrim, my lady. The bloodlines of our horses are remembered as thoroughly as our own. Your Tilion was a favorite of my uncle in her younger years. I always believed he was saddened to see her depart. Perhaps had he known she would ultimately return to Rohan upon your marriage he would have been less so."
Lothíriel frowned. "You mean he did not know?" she asked, confused.
"Théodred told the king that he had given her as gift to your father's house, but he made no mention of you," Éomer explained. "Later, after your betrothal, he told no one of that, either, excepting myself and my sister."
"I wasn't aware," Lothíriel said, almost to herself. For some reason, this information unsettled her greatly.
Éomer observed her for a moment, and seemed to perceive her mood. "Do not think his concealment was borne from shame," he said reassuringly. "It was for your protection, and the king's as well. I know my uncle would have been proud to welcome you as a daughter." He paused, then added, "When he was in his own mind."
Understanding suddenly flooded upon her. "The king was very ill," she said, almost to herself, remembering again Théodred's growing worries for his father the last time they'd seen one another.
"Not ill," Éomer said, and she started at the sudden darkness in his voice. "Bewitched." He caught her gaze and she stared back, eyes wide with amazement. Éomer sighed. "It is a sad and dark tale," he said apologetically. "One I would rather relay to you upon some other occasion." He glanced ahead, to where the banner of Théoden could be seen fluttering lazily in the breeze at the head of the column. "For now, I should return to my éored. It was good to speak with you, my lady. I hope the journey will be comfortable for you."
Every day of the passage thereafter, Éomer took the time to spend at least a few minutes in Lothíriel's company. Although these conversations typically left her feeling awkward, she could not deny the wisdom of his efforts. The whole purpose of her coming, after all, had been to learn more of Rohan and its king. Éomer never addressed the proposal directly. Instead, he sometimes told her histories of Rohan's great kings, or taught her the names of things they passed in his native Rohirric. Occasionally, they spoke of Théodred. Lothíriel knew that to speak of him was prudent and probably useful, but these conversations she found the most uncomfortable of all.
When they finally passed the border into Rohan itself, Éomer began pointing out various landmarks and telling her of their importance. Lothíriel found the countryside fascinating. It was a wide, wild land of endless grass and wildflowers, hillocks, and occasional copses of trees nestled near lakes and streams. It was easy to see why the bond of horse and rider had grown so strong here. The plains and the free sky were naturally favorable to riding horseback. In Dol Amroth, the terrain was much rockier—craggy foothills extended right up to the shore in places, and horsemen very rarely found themselves venturing beyond the road.
The company passed through many dozens of villages along the way, where the people would greet them with warm welcome and awe, though more soberly than they might otherwise have done, as they all took time to pay their own respects to Théoden. Lothíriel perceived the devotion they also bestowed upon Éomer, and the easy, relaxed manner in which he interacted with them. She noticed more and more that the people had the look of those on the road to health after a great sickness. Weakened, but no longer frail, careworn but hopeful.
Dol Amroth had been in many ways quite sheltered during the war. It was not, Lothíriel surmised, that Sauron had overlooked them, but even dark lords had certain priorities, and a remote, coastal city so far out of reach was hardly a place to begin conquest. Rohan, on the other hand, had been pinschered between not one, but two evils, battered and plagued from without and within. The more Lothíriel pondered these things, the more she came to admire the strength of its people, who could emerge from such great darkness so steadfastly.
Finally, after seventeen days' time, the great procession came within sight of Edoras. Lothíriel looked upon it with great interest. She decided that the Golden Hall sat quite handsomely upon its hill, rugged and strong, so different from the gray towers and spires of her father's castle.
When they arrived, the company was greeted by a radiant and joyful Lady Éowyn. "Welcome to Edoras, my lords and ladies," she greeted, bowing her head respectfully. Lothíriel decided that Éowyn must have known well the number of guests she was to expect, for she did not seem surprised, although there was an element of amazement in her eyes nonetheless when they fell upon the lady Arwen, followed by Lords Elrond and Celeborn, and the tall and regal Lady Galadriel. Lothíriel could sympathize. Even after so many weeks spent in their company, she herself still felt hesitant among such as great as these.
Less reserved was Éowyn's greeting for her brother, and also for the small perian called Merry. Before the ladies were escorted away, Lothíriel also noted with astonishment that Éowyn bestowed upon Faramir a look that could hardly be mistaken for anything but adoration. Just as Éowyn turned to usher them through a far doorway, Lothíriel glanced back at her cousin, and fixed him with an amazed and questioning expression. His only return was a satisfied and triumphant smile. But Lothíriel was denied the satisfaction of interrogating him on the matter, being obligated to continue following Éowyn.
"I apologize, Your Majesty, my lady, for the closeness of the accommodations," Éowyn said nervously to Galadriel and Arwen as they crossed a short hallway. She opened the doorway at the far end and held out a hand, inviting them within. "But I fear the guests are many and Edoras is not so grand as other places." Although she said the words politely, Lothíriel noticed that there was a spark of defensive pride in Éowyn's eyes and in the set of her jaw as she spoke these words, and she glanced at the elven ladies sidelong as they surveyed the room. It was of a reasonable size, but seemed smaller due to the six or seven beds and cots that were arrayed about it. "The ladies must all room together," Éowyn said, continuing in her explanation.
The Lady Galadriel turned from her study of the chamber to gaze upon Éowyn with kind eyes. Then, to Lothíriel's astonishment, she gave a small bow of respect and homage. "It is indeed our honor, Lady Éowyn, to be made so welcome in your house. To one so valiant and strong we are forever grateful. Nai tiruvantel ar varyuvantel i Valar tielyanna nu vilya. May the Valar bless you on your path under the sky."
For many long moments, the White Lady's expression at these words was one of wonder. But then she set herself proudly and smiled, and it became one of peace. Thus Lothíriel arrived in Edoras.
Replies:
giovanna-scribe- For some reason, Lothíriel and Imrahil are turning out to have a much, much closer relationship than even I'd envisioned as I write this story. I hope the further exposition upon it in this chapter was to your satisfaction.
smor- Hon, the man shouts poetry in the middle of a battle. Of course he's eloquent. ;-) And yes, you're perfectly welcome to question Lothíriel's sanity at any point during this story… mostly. LOL
Black Sheep Alone- My greatest concern as a writer is believable characters, so your compliment is much appreciated. Thank you.
Rachel A. Prongs- Thanks. I'm rather fond of him myself. :-D
Mystikal- In deciding whether or not to marry Éomer, Lothíriel is taking into consideration what would be expected of her as a queen, something she didn't bother to worry about with Théodred, which is an interesting contrast I'm wondering how much will be explored. Thanks for the review.
Katya- I'm hoping Éomer's hot-bloodedness, as you say, will come out at some point, as well, but for now he is just being very, very careful and considerate towards Lothíriel, so I guess we might not see it until later. As for Théodred memories—I think you'll be at least satisfied by the volume. :-D
SpacePirate- " It all happened "off screen"--a good thing as we already know what Eomer has offered and we don't need to hear it again. Haha. Amen. You didn't want to read it again, and I really didn't want to write it again. I'm also pleased to hear your approval of the transitions between flashbacks and 'realtime.' I'm trying to make them relevant to what is happening in the narrative. In this case, the connection her father draws between Théodred and Éomer, makes Lothíriel think of the first time she ever heard of Éomer, which was, of course, from Théodred himself. But I'm just going to shut up about my authorial quirks now, since I'm probably boring your socks off… LOL.
Elegant Couture- Thanks! I'm rather fond of the flashbacks myself.
Lady Anck-su-naumun- It's always great for meanderings to bear fruit, isn't it? Thank you for your kind words, and I hope you stick aroud!
Eokat- Well, you've got Lothíriel pegged just about right, at least for the moment, I think. Gracias.
caz-baz I really enjoyed and appreciated your feedback. As to length, I can't honestly say. My stories usually all seem to end up more or less similar in length, so my rough guess would be twenty to twenty-five of the chapters as I'm writing them currently.
Lirima Tindomiel- You know, I knew they'd made a movie of the book, but I've never seen it. I presume so. It's a nice story. And thanks for the compliment about language. I've been rereading a lot of the ending of RotK lately, trying to get a feel for it, but even Tolkien's a bit too high and flowery for me to imitate without feeling silly. So I'm doing my best to find a happy medium. I do agree about trying not to insert 21st century 'isms', though.
A/N:- First of all, thanks to my friend Miana for helping me dig up some elvish for Galadriel. I really don't know diddly about elvish, so we cheated and snitched a line of Elrond's from some obscure… something. LOL Doubtless one of you, my lovely readers, knows where it's found.
Middle-Earth factoid of the day: Tilion is the Maia spirit who guides the moon. The reason Éomer was surprised that Lothíriel named her horse that is because Tilion is male and her horse is female. Silly Lothíriel. LOL
Until next time!
Saché