Year 3014 of the Third Age
The sound of pounding hooves thundered along the shoreline, muffled in the sand, causing salt-spray to fly in the wake of two riders speeding along the coast. The smell of brine filled Lothíriel's nostrils, and she knew that when she got back home, she'd have a time of it getting the sand out of her hair.
Of course, if she wasn't riding behind Théodred's horse, this wouldn't have been a problem. He had the advantage of being familiar with his mount. Of course, he was a Rider of Rohan, which probably was advantage enough, but Lothíriel was not without her own strategy. She smiled as she spied the series of rock edifices ahead, scattered sporadically across the beach, some extending partially into the sea. Sure enough, when he spied them, Théodred's pulled his stallion back slightly, and Lothíriel's smile widened to one of triumph. Rather than slowing, she urged her own mount faster, looking back and laughing as she passed him.
Lothíriel knew every nook and turn of these and other rocks formations along the coastline below her father's city. She did not hesitate in using this knowledge to gain a considerable lead on her opponent. By the time he emerged on the other side, where another expanse of clear beach extended into the distance, she was already stopped and awaiting him.
"You see," she said breathlessly when he pulled up beside her, "there is no better place to race, I am certain." She reached out and patted her mare affectionately, which was one of the Rohan horses Théodred had brought for her father's perusal.
"You, my lady, have not seen as much of this world as I, so I might argue the point," he said, chuckling. He looked around at the setting with admiration. "It is very fine, though, I confess," he added, nodding enthusiastically. "Very fine." He twisted around and squinted back through the craggy rocks at the small cluster of distant figures methodically approaching. "Perhaps we should start back to your father so that he does not have to come so far to fetch us."
"Very well, my Lord," she said, turning the horse and assuming a much more leisurely pace than that they had just abandoned.
"I suspect you knew of your advantage in this contest before we began, did you not, Lothíriel?"
Lothíriel gave a satisfied smile and looked at him sidelong. "Perhaps," she confessed. She set her chin primly and smiled. "But it would not have made much of a difference, had I told you. You would still have had to exercise caution in your ignorance."
"Yes, but you chose the grounds," he pointed out.
Lothíriel gave a very innocent look. "It was no more than the stretch of beach that happened before us at the moment, my Lord," she replied.
"It was you who suggested racing."
She blushed a little. "I am discovered," she said, laughing.
"I must confess," he said, "I did not expect little Lothíriel to suggest so reckless a thing as a horserace."
"Belfarion says the sea air does strange things to a person," Lothíriel said simply, smiling knowingly. She gazed thoughtfully out at the blue and grey expanse of churning water to the south. "It is said by some that in our ancient history, the house of Dol Amroth was descended from the elves. My mother used to say the sea would turn me wild when I was little," she added with a laugh. "I used to spend hours out here playing."
"And what is the conclusion I am to draw from these varying observations, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth?" Théodred asked, musing.
"I am not certain," she confessed with lighthearted shrug. "Perhaps that we can all be a little bit reckless, given the right circumstances."
"Well, reckless or no, your are an accomplished rider, my Lady. You have a fine seat."
"Coming from a Prince of Rohan, I shall count that as high praise indeed," she grinned back.
The past few years had brought many changes to Lothíriel. Though traces of girlish gawkiness still lingered, at fifteen she was easily as lovely as her mother had been, and already Imrahil had received petitions for her hand. Lothíriel was relieved that he considered her much too young for marriage at this age. Though she had begun to realize that there were other interesting young men in the world besides her brothers, the thought of marriage was quite frightening.
When Théodred had his men had come for trade, he had behaved as friendly towards her as he ever had in their six-year acquaintance. What surprised Lothíriel was the unexpected change in her perception of him. She had certainly never stopped to realize how handsome he was, quite different from her own countrymen. Wilder, more rugged, strong and untamed.
Lothíriel blushed, partially ashamed of this train of thought. She was only fifteen years old. Théodred would no doubt consider her a child. He was so many years her senior that perhaps he always would, but she could not help but enjoy the way he spoke with her as equal, with respect and earnestness. True, he had always done so, even when she was small, but having spent more time with men outside her family sphere lately, Lothíriel had come to realize this was the exception rather than the rule.
"What tidings do you bring us from the world at large?" Lothíriel asked him now, curious.
"Are you yet required to climb trees to learn these things?" he asked speculatively, laughing. "Or interrogate hapless visitors when you get them alone?"
She smiled. "Nay," she replied. "My father would acquaint me if I asked him, though I know it troubles him to do so."
"Because you are a daughter?" he asked.
She considered. "No," she concluded. "I believe it is more because I am so young. I believe he wishes he could protect me, but with my continued persuasion, that has begun to change."
"In Rohan we do not believe that ignorance necessarily equates protection," Théodred remarked. He sighed. "At least not in matters such as these." He paused and looked at her uncertainly. "You are sure your father would not be angry with me if I told you?"
Lothíriel eyed him and gave a small smile. "I confess, he might be a little displeased, but it would be with me, not with you." She set her jaw. "I have heard dark whispers, my Lord Prince. Believe me when I say that a danger named and defined can be no less frightening that vague rumors festering in and among gossip mongers."
Théodred peered at her for a long time, as if seeing her somehow differently. Then, slowly, he nodded. "I agree, my Lady." He was quiet another moment, then said, "I fear that the tidings now being spread among the people of Rohan and Gondor are unsettling and mysterious. There is new life and activity in the Black Land, greater than any time in the living memory of man. True, the Stewards have defended Gondor's borders for many centuries, but there must be some threat beyond our reckoning brewing there to account for such an increase of orcs and assaults upon the borders." He looked grave and troubled, and cast his gaze to the northeast. Unconsciously, Lothíriel's eyes followed. She was unsure what to say.
"Thank you for telling me," she said at last.
"I fear I did you no favor," he said regretfully.
"It is unsettling," she agreed. "But I feel better knowing how things stand."
By now they had finally reached a middle ground with the other riders approaching—Prince Imrahil, Elphir and Adlóriel, Amrothos, and a small pony bearing Lothíriel's young niece, Ildaien. "And how do the steeds of Rohan take to the shore?" Imrahil called with a smile when they were near enough.
"Very well, my Lord!" Théodred called back, dissipating the pensive mood that had settled around him and Lothíriel with his own engaging smile. "A fine terrain. Particularly to those who know it well," he added, looking at Lothíriel in mild reproof. She blushed, but a small smile escaped her lips.
"I am most eager to begin trade upon our return to the castle," Imrahil continued, pulling the horse he rode alongside Théodred's. "I should not be surprised if I can find the means to take them all off of your hands. We have great need of good breeding stock in our own cavalry, such as it is."
"I am sure that would please my father greatly, Lord Prince, but only if the price is right," Théodred said jovially, causing everyone to laugh. Then, looking thoughtful, he added, "But I should like to make a gift of this mare to Princess Lothíriel." He nodded at the fine white horse she rode. "In honor of many years of friendship. So fair a mount becomes the lady of the house."
Lothíriel stared at him, wide-eyed, then looked down amazedly at the horse she was riding. "My Lord, I don't know what to say," she stammered.
"An acceptance would do nicely."
To her horror, she blushed again, but managed to bow her head gracefully. "It is my honor, Lord Prince."
Lothíriel had not indulged in a barefoot walk on the beach for many years, but now she ambled lazily along the waterline, lost in thought. Occasionally, a hefty wave or two would strike with extra vehemence and splash her calves. The bottom of her skirts were soaked with sand and salt but she paid it no mind.
A year's time had done little to ease her longing for Théodred. She had come here today, to this spot where so long ago he had captured her fancy, to say goodbye to the sea and to try and say goodbye to him. She already knew the latter endeavor would be unsuccessful.
Tilion pawed playfully in the sand a few feet away, content to run and canter at her leisure. Sometimes the mare would venture to higher ground for what scant grazing was available down here, but more often than not she would run, returning occasionally to Lothíriel for a friendly nuzzle or a piece of sugar.
The sound of hoof beats from the other direction caused Lothíriel to turn, shielding her eyes from the afternoon sunshine. It was midsummer, and very warm. This had always been her favorite time of year, especially on the beach. The air was lazy and sleepy, making her feel relaxed and content. Most of the time. She would miss it here.
Once the rider was within earshot, Lothíriel called, "You shouldn't be out riding very much, and especially not this time of day," she continued scolding as the rider dismounted. Lothíriel reached up to help her down.
"Nonsense," Falmaien said brightly, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "I'm not made of spun sugar, after all, and the little one has hardly become a burden just yet."
Lothíriel eyed her sister's softly swelling belly with longing. "I wish I could be here for the child's birth," she said sadly.
Falmaien took her horse's reins in her right hand, and Lothíriel's arm in her left. Slowly, the two women began walking back towards the castle. "That would be lovely," she agreed, "but you know as well as I that by the time he is born it will be much to close to winter to begin a journey. I am certain we will relay news of the birth as speedily as we can to Rohan, if the snows are not too plentiful."
Lothíriel did not voice her private fear, that something might go wrong and she would not be here for her beloved sister. Her fear was unfounded, though. Falmaien came from a family of strong women, who had very little history of trouble. Still, Rohan was so very far away.
"I came to find out what it is that has captivated you out here all afternoon," Falmaien said. "I believe Prince Imrahil is concerned."
Lothíriel was long in replying, trying to put into words the conflicting feelings that were racing around inside her. She did not bother trying to deny anything was wrong, for both of her sisters knew her moods very well. "I am a little bit sad and frightened, I suppose," Lothíriel confessed. The wedding entourage was expected from Rohan tomorrow, perhaps the day after. Her year was up. Now it was time to move to a different chapter of her life.
"Not frightened of Lord Éomer, I trust?" Falmaien said, looking at her in concern.
Lothíriel shook her head. "Nay, Éomer is a good man. He will be a good husband."
"And a good father, I believe," Falmaien added.
Lothíriel did not reply. Her heart was troubled. It was not that she did not wish for children – quite the opposite, in fact, but the closer the wedding came the more she became uncomfortable with the thought of how children must come to be. "I do not love him, Falmaien," she whispered. The thought of bedding with a man she did not love made her feel… unclean, somehow. "I know he is aware of this, and I know I agreed to this marriage on completely honest grounds, but I feel like I have woven us both into a trap, somehow. I thought maybe with a year apart I could learn to forget Théodred, but I'm afraid I still love him deeply. How is that fair to the man I am going to marry?"
"Can you not change your mind?"
Lothíriel sighed. "I have considered it. I do not think Lord Éomer would hold me to my word in this case, but it would not be honorable. Besides," she added, "I am only wasting away here. Adlóriel is already taking over my role in the household in anticipation of my departure, and it suits her so well I do not wish to disrupt things. Anyway, there are aspects I am looking forward to."
"Such as?"
"Making myself useful to Éomer's people. Learning about them. It has been so long since father and I were in Rohan that sometimes I have to stop and remind myself how much I enjoyed it in light of all these uncertainties." She offered a weak smile.
Falmaien took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "I wish I could accompany you for the wedding," she said. Due to Falmaien's condition, she and Erchirion were the only members of the family who would not be joining them on the long trek back to Lothíriel's new home. "That is another reason I wanted to chase you down here, delicate condition or no." She laughed. "Soon your king will come to fetch you, and I shall not have a moment alone with you ever again. Everyone else will have weeks on the journey, but I will not."
Lothíriel paused in her steps and turned to give her sister a full and tight embrace. "I will miss you deeply," she said, squeezing her eyes tightly shut.
Their moment of comfort and solace was interrupted by sudden, loud, and enthusiastic barking. Falmaien pulled away and looked around. "I wondered when that creature was going to turn up," she said, laughing.
Lothíriel smiled. "I was wondering where she'd gotten to," she said, then called loudly, "Froilas!"
At the sound of her name, the lean brown hound that had been barking at something indiscernible in the sand turned her head and began scampering eagerly towards the two women, her long ears flopping comically with each stride. She did not stop barking, and when she reached them, Lothíriel had to position herself in front of Falmaien to keep the dog from jumping all over the other woman in her haste. "Down," Lothíriel commanded, pointing sternly at the ground. She had to repeat the command twice before the dog obeyed. All the while, Falmaien laughed heartily.
"I do hope that not all the hounds of Edoras are as this one, Lothíriel," she finally said. "Or you will never get a moment's peace."
Lothíriel crouched down and began scratching around Froilas's head and ears, smiling. "She will no doubt be an outcast among her brothers and sisters," she agreed. "She has not learned to do anything useful since the day she was born."
The dog had been given to Lothíriel just before her departure from Rohan, as a betrothal gift from Éomer. "A traditional gift is a horse," he'd confessed, "but as you already possess a fine mare in your Tilion, I thought this might serve just as well." Apparently, Éowyn had told her brother how much Lothíriel had cooed and exclaimed over the freshly-weaned litter in her tour of the Golden Hall's barns and stables, and had thought the gift of a pup was one that Lothíriel might be receptive to.
Éowyn's instinct had been sound. When Lothíriel had accepted the creature—at the time deceptively subdued in sweet sleep—she had smiled at her future husband with a smile that, for the first time, was not steeped in polite formality. Lothíriel was grateful for her gangly, playful little friend, for Froilas reminded her that perhaps it wouldn't be difficult to be friends with the King of Rohan, in time. It was another means by which she boosted herself on days like today when doubt and sorrow were stronger than she could bear alone.
Froilas was panting satisfactorily as Lothíriel resumed a standing position. Then she whistled loudly between her thumb and forefinger—a trick Amrothos had taught her when she was seven—and a moment later Tilion came trotting lightly in their direction. "Well," she said staunchly to Falmaien after she helped the other woman carefully back onto her own horse, "It is time for courage, I suppose. Tomorrow Éomer will come for the trothplighting, and a week later I shall take my Rohan horse and my Rohan dog and accompany him home."
That evening, they had a quiet, merry banquet, with just the members of the family, which was just as Lothíriel would have chosen it. It was a memory she would treasure fondly in the future, whatever it might hold for good or ill.
Replies:
Katya- Your question about Lothíriel's knowledge regarding Rohirrim marriage traditions was a valid one, and I had have to confess you made me have to stop and think about it. I guess I'll just have to say that since she and Théodred never got far as making concrete wedding plans, Lothíriel never really thought to ask. Yes, it's a flimsy excuse, but the best I can do. LOL Thanks for your critique!
lsoa- I hope you enjoyed this flashback, and there will be more, though I still kind of have to plan out the details of them. As for the trothplighting vs. wedding thing… I thank you for your concern, but I must respectfully disagree. Tolkien quite clearly places the year of their wedding as 3020. I believe it is either in one of the War of the Ring books or in his letters. I obtained the information from
Kyae- It is a very beautiful song, and very optimistic. I highly recommend hearing it sometime if you can. A clip of it may be heard at Loreena McKennit's website, also the official website for Quinlan Roads studio.
Spacepirate- Ugh. I've been the worm-infested route myself. Not fun. I have to confess that I was pretty excited myself when Éowyn came up with that particular bit of dialogue. I'm glad you brought it up. It's one of my favorites, too.
smor- You should like that particular reaction of Éomer's, as it was a subtle tip-o-the-hat to your story. I thought your idea a good one, and I borrowed the theme a little, but not to such a strong degree, as my Éomer is not quite the same. Er…. Thanks, btw. (cough) :-D
Lomentari- Thank you! We all strive for originality. :-)
Frigg- Whoops. Yes, thank you for pointing that out. (watches all credibility as a detail-oriented author go tumbling down the drain). You're quite right. As you'll note if you look at the chapter now, I have corrected the mistake. Also, thank you for your compliments.
Tracey- Hmmn… maybe there was a plague of some kind in Rohan? Other than something so obvious and catastrophic, I guess maybe it's just because without modern medical conveniences, a lot of people die young in these kinds of settings? LOL- it's funny you should mention your relief at Lothíriel's acceptance. I had so many ideas for material in this particular stretch of story that I could have possibly stretched it over three chapters instead of two. The reason that I forced myself to keep it moving, though, is because the story is not about Lothíriel agreeing to marry him, really. It's about the growth she goes through afterward. Hence, the chapter ending to your satisfaction.
Eokat- Well, if I had big long Middle-Earth sleeves such as Arwen's or Éowyn's, maybe quite a bit, eh? All shall unfold in time, I assure you.
A/N: Although I plan to continue writing, I must warn you that updates will be a little less frequent in the upcoming couple of months, due to the holiday season. I'm also helping out with a new play at my local theater, and for anyone who's ever done theater, you'll know it's a LOT of work and hours. But very, very fun. I highly recommend getting involved in your own local group somehow, if you can.
Until next time!
Saché