The city smelled of horse, there was no denying it. Éomer King had no small company with him upon returning to Minas Tirith, bringing an Eored of his finest riders and steeds. The King and his closest men were housed in the city, and their horses moved into the King's stable. The rest were paddocked on the fields, where their great tents were raised for the few days they would spend there before the funeral escort to Rohan set out. In the evenings, after all the stalls were cleaned, Daeril oversaw the unpleasant task of the manure removal. The old farmer Égon would come with a wagon pulled by a large draft horse named Parsley, a kind and unflappable fellow, and Daeril and the stable boys would load the days manure from the pile in the back courtyard into the wagon. The manure was then used for the crops outside of the city, a cycle that kept the stables clean and the vegetables growing.

Sometimes, Égon would be accompanied by his granddaughter, who was very sociable and intelligent for a nine year old. This night, the girl carried a large stick across her lap, and when she came in sight of them she shouted in excitement.

"Lady Daeril!" She held the stick aloft. "I have a sword! Just like you!"

Daeril approached the wagon as it stopped, inspecting the piece of wood that was brandished before her.

"This is a good sword, Corwen. Have you been practicing with it?"

"Yes! I am very good now."

"She has been chasing the poor chickens all afternoon," Égon secured the reins, going to Parsley's head to give him a scratch.

"I saw the horse warriors, Daeril!"

"Did you? Tell me all about them!"

The little girl prattled on about seeing the Rohirrim riding through the city as Daeril and the boys worked. When the last of the manure was loaded in the wagon, Daeril had been brought up to speed of the goings on in the city by her young and exuberant friend. Égon readied Parsley to move out with the load, while Corwen stood on the seat as though she were a commander making a speech before an army.

"Lady Daeril, I must go now," She announced, a serious look on her young face. "Ma says if I finish my chores I can see the Horse lords riding in the morning."

"You had best get to it then!" Daeril said with a chuckle. "Farewell, my friend."

The boys were laughing when they pulled away, hauling the cart out into the street.

"Is that what you were like as a child, Daeril?" Handir asked.

"Possibly. However, I was not quite as diplomatic."

It pained Daeril to see one so young made fatherless by the war, and she remembered she had been little younger than Corwen when her own father had been killed. She could only hope that the girl would not see another battle come upon this city in her lifetime.

At daybreak the funeral escort of Theoden King set out through the city, a great host of Rohirrim, Knights of Gondor, Swan Knights of Dol Amroth, elves of Lothlorien and Imladris, the rangers of the north and south, and the two kings and captains and princes. Daeril rode with the Dol Amroth party, back behind the Riders of Rohan and the Kings, but ahead of her kinsman who rode with the Ithilien rangers and Gondor's knights. Princess Lothiriel rode beside her, dressed for traveling yet looking regal and beautiful on her grey palfrey mare. Daeril had done her best to polish up her armor and tame Rocky's mane, but still could not blend in with the company she rode in.

The first night was spent just past the Druadan Forest, where Aragorn had announced the lands to be given to the free folk who dwelt there. They did not see them, but could hear drums in the distance. They had journeyed for the whole day, and had covered quite a distance, but still would not reach Edoras for over a fortnight. Tents were hastily erected, though many of the party chose to sleep under the stars, namely the elves, if they slept at all. It did not at all surprise Daeril that the princess had a rather large tent set up, complete with a feather bed and sleeping furs. A bed was offered to her as well, but she declined, instead crawling into her usual bedroll and quickly drifting off to sleep.

Daeril rose before dawn, feeling not so well rested but unable to sleep any longer. Silently she gathered her belongings and exited the tent, hoping not to awaken Lothíriel just yet. She had Rocky tacked and ready to set out by the time the rest of the Dol Amroth coterie was up and moving. The prince Elphir's stallion stood alone, far from the other horses and tied to his own tree. She moved closer as she examined him, admiring his dappled grey coat and the thick black mane and tail. He was tall and well muscled, yet long and lean with a high crested neck.

"That's Rivornor," came a low feminine voice next to her. Lothíriel had somehow come up without the ranger even hearing her.

"He's beautiful."

"That he is," Lothíriel said. "but he cannot be trusted. Come, we must eat something before we set out."

They rode on through the lands of Anorien, stopping infrequently and crossing into the rolling plains of Rohan. Daeril had not been able to appreciate the beauty of these lands the last time they had ridden through, as that had been a mission of haste. The white mountains and green fields were a sight to behold, and there were leagues upon leagues of open land that begged to be galloped through. Rocky was chomping at the bit, wanting to move faster than the quick trot they rode at, and Daeril constantly had to hold him back. Lothíriel noticed her struggling, and smirked knowingly. She reined her own horse in, pulling out of the formation, bidding Daeril to follow. Before the Prince or anyone could protest, the princess broke her mare into a rolling canter. Daeril let Rocky catch up, and soon Lothíriel moved into a gallop.

Rocky was bred for running, and he did not disappoint. Daeril stood in her stirrups, bent low over his neck as he stretched into a full gallop, quickly surpassing the grey mare. Daeril could hear Lothíriel laughing slightly behind her, and she joined in. They let themselves get up as far as the back of the Eored, and then doubled back, slowing down to a canter and letting the horses calm themselves before rejoining the company. Rocky seemed much happier as he got back into a trot, having expended his pent up energy.

"I did not expect so much speed from that horse," Someone spoke from her left .

Daeril turned to the rider.

"Prince Erchirion," She greeted with a bow of her head.

"Lady Daeril," He returned the greeting. "Perhaps when we get to Edoras you can try my brother's horse. He may respond better to you than to him."

He indicated Prince Elphir with his head, and Daeril looked over to the other prince, whose stallion was constantly tossing his head.

"He doesn't seem too difficult," She said.

"He's thrown everyone that has ever ridden him off. Very unpredictable."

"Ah, yes. I very much look forward to being thrown off of him as well."

"That's the spirit!" He grinned.

In fifteen days time, as expected, the funeral procession came to the Golden Hall of Edoras. There they rested, and the funeral for Theoden was prepared. On the third day after arrival, the King was laid to rest at last. They placed his body in a mausoleum of stone, and buried it under a mound of grass and Symblmynë, just as all the other kings of old were in rows beside him. Around the mounds rode the knights of the King's house, all on white horses, singing a song in their tongue. Many present did not know the language of the Rohirrim, or very little, but it stirred the hearts of all that heard it nonetheless. In the mountains sounded the horn of Helm Hammerhand, low and forlorn.

Then began a great feast, and all the city gathered in the Golden Hall, celebrating the long life that their king had lived, and a death in the glory of battle. There was laughter and music, and all rejoiced in honor of their fallen king and the new one they had in Éomer. Then came the time when all the former kings were honored with a cup of wine held by Eomer, each name read aloud while he took a drink to each one. When Théoden's name was called, he finished the cup. The servers filled everyone's cups in the hall, and all stood to toast the new king.

"Hail, Eomer, King of the Mark!" Rose the cry, and all drank to him.

The remaining Dunedain gathered to their own king, who had summoned them away from the festivities to speak. Of the Grey Company, only eight had ridden to Rohan. That very evening King Elessar would ride out with the hobbits and the elves, returning them to their path home, and he offered the rangers either accompany him or stay in Edoras until his return. The men chose to go, and were dismissed to begin readying the horses for the journey. Aragorn kept Daeril behind.

"Daeril, you are pledged to the service of Prince Imrahil until we return to Minas Tirith. The Prince will remain here for the time being."

"Very well, my King."

"Do not sound so disappointed," He laughed. "As a member of my household, you will represent Gondor in my absence. Queen Arwen will handle the diplomacy, you focus on staying out of trouble."

"Aye, I will."

"Go now, enjoy the feast."

Daeril returned to Princess Lothíriel, and together they made their rounds speaking to elves and men alike. Ever the princess kept turning her attention towards the young king of the Mark, blushing and turning away when he would glance in their direction. Daeril laughed when she caught on.

"Do you wish to speak to the King, Princess?"

"No! I mean... yes, but no."

"We're here for at least another week or two, I'm sure it is unavoidable. I assure you he is pleasant to talk to."

"Have you spoken to him, then?"

"Yes. You have nothing to fear."

At long last, King Eomer stood before all gathered, and announced:

"Now this is the funeral feast of Théoden the King; but I will speak ere we go of tidings of joy, for he would not grudge that I should do so, since he was ever a father of Éowyn my sister. Hear then all my guests, fair folk of many realms, such as have never before been gathered in this hall! Faramir, Steward of Gondor, and Prince of Ithilien, asks that Éowyn Lady of Rohan should be his wife, and she grants it full willing. Therefore they shall be trothplighted before you all."

Eowyn and Faramir stood in front of all, hand in hand, and all raised a glass and drank in their honor. It had been known for some time that they were together, but until now their betrothal had not been announced. Daeril had never seen a more happy couple, save for Aragorn and Arwen.

"Thus," Éomer said, "is the friendship of the Mark and of Gondor bound with a new bond, and the more do I rejoice."

When the feast ended, those who would ride out and part ways to their homes went to ready their horses, and many goodbyes were made. Daeril bid farewell to those she knew from the household of Elrond, promising to come back and visit, knowing full well she may never see some of them again should they chose to sail across the sea. She lingered with Elladan for a moment longer, thanking him for saving her life, for had he not found her on the battlefield, she surely would have perished.

"Lady Daeril," The hobbit, Pippin, approached her, leading his pony. "If ever you return to your home, I bid you remember that you are always welcome in our lands. Please do not keep hidden in the woods, you may come for any meal, any time."

"I thank you, Master Took. And I hope you return to Gondor, sir Knight."

The hobbit grabbed her hand, kissing it, before mounting his pony.

"I will see you again some day, my lady."

When Pippin had ridden off, Thannor let the laughter he had been holding out, nearly in tears.

"What is so funny?"

"Nothing," He put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in. "I thought he was going to ask your hand in marriage for a moment there."

Thannor checked his girth, before swinging into the saddle.

"My lady," He placed his hand over his heart, still laughing.

"Ride safe, Thannor."

Thus the heroes of the shire and the elves and Aragorn and his knights rode away into the mountains to a very fond farewell.

The accommodations in the Golden Hall were nicer than Daeril had expected, and she was getting used to the idea of being a member of Aragorn's house as well as esteemed guardian and companion of the Princess of Dol Amroth. At night she slept in a feather bed, meals were eaten in the Golden Hall, and during the day she had free rein to explore the city with Princess Lothíriel. Lothíriel wanted to spend a lot of time riding, and Daeril couldn't complain. The stables were immaculate, the horses fit and groomed to perfection, and Rocky was the happiest he had been since Rivendell. Lothíriel seemed to be very good at being in the same place as King Éomer at most opportunities, especially when out riding. It didn't take Daeril long to realize that she was trying to show off, whether it be on her horse or wearing pretty dresses in the hall. On the fifth day since Aragorn's party set out, Lothíriel and Daeril found themselves in the stables once more, but Lothíriel was up to something new.

"May I ride Rocky today?" She asked.

"I supposed that's alright. Just be wary of him, he spooks at the most foolish things."

"Nothing I can't handle." Lothíriel smiled. "You could ride Rivornor!"

"Is that wise? I do not wish to ride your brother's horse without permission."

"He offered," She said. "He needs the work."

They saddled the horses with no problems, and walked them out to the training grounds to mount. Some men were sparring in the far end away from them, but they would not get in the way of their match. Daeril went slow with Rivornor, sizing him up, getting him used to her presence. He stood quietly, and was a perfect gentleman. She mounted, and he seemed happy to have a rider on his back, so they stepped out at a walk. Lothíriel got on Rocky, who was calm and responsive to his new rider.

They rode around the arena, the horses moving beautifully, stepping up to a trot, and then a nice slow canter. Daeril let ambition take over, testing out the skills this trained warhorse had. She laid one leg against his side, holding his head in place with the reins, and he began trotting at a half pass. She switched legs, going the opposite direction. Back on the rail, she collected him into a marching trot, barely moving forward, and then breaking into a charging canter.

"I don't see any problems with him," She said, bringing him to a walk. "He is extraordinary!"

"He must like you," Lothíriel laughed. "He hates Elphir."

Daeril knew she had become overconfident and spoken too soon when the horse suddenly spun, charging in the other direction at a full gallop. She held on until he began to buck, sending her over his side. She clung onto the reins, fruitlessly trying to will herself to stay on, but it was too late. She lay prone for a moment, gasping for breath, before getting to her feet.

"Are you hurt?" Lothiriel halted Rocky beside her. Daeril waved her off, marching off after the loose stallion.

Her ribs she could tell were going to be bruised, if her inability to draw a deep breath was any indicator, and the arm she had stupidly put out to stop her fall was aching terribly. Rivornor was already eating grass, oblivious to the fact he had thrown his rider, or at least not caring. She snatched his reins, and mounted with slight difficulty. Back in the saddle, she made him walk back where he had previously spooked. When he tried to drop out from under her, shying sideways, she held on tighter with her legs and dug in with her heels. She did not let him stop cantering until they had gone around in circles, and he was growing tired. She was beginning to regret having gotten back on as she walked him out, clutching her ribs. Lothíriel had dismounted already, and stood watching as she let Rocky graze. The men at the far end sparring had stopped, and were walking towards them. As they grew closer, Daeril realized that one of the men was Mablung, the Ithilien ranger. The other men were members of the King's Eored.

"You handled that well," Mablung called.

"Could have gone better," Daeril replied, swinging herself down from the saddle, landing on her feet with a sharp inhale as she jostled her ribs.

Mablung dismissed the other men, and accompanied Daeril and Lothíriel to the stable, taking Rocky from Lothiriel. The princess gave Daeril a glance as she walked next to her, grinning mischievously. Daeril brought Rivornor to his stall, taking his bridle off. She undid the girth, and went to lift the saddle from his back before yelping in pain.

"Let me do it," Mablung came over, and Daeril graciously stepped out of the stall to catch her breath. Mablung came back out with the saddle, setting it on a rail. "You need to see a healer."

"No, I'll be fine."

"Draw your sword." He said, leaning against Rivornor's stall smugly.

"What?"

"Your sword. Draw it."

She reached for her hilt, realizing the hand she would pull it out with was not usable in its current state, and sighed.

"Princess Lothiriel, I suggest we return to the Hall as your guard is unable to do her duty."

"Aye, Lord Mablung, I believe you are right." The princess laughed.

Daeril had never wanted to throw two people in horse dung more in her life.

Sleeping was difficult, and after failing to find a comfortable position, Daeril finally gave up and went for a stroll through Meduseld. One of the healer women had examined her ribs, deeming them badly bruised but not likely to hinder her save in taking deep breaths or moving much. Her wrist, however, was swollen to double it's size and wrapped tightly in bandages to immobilize it. She could not fight or ride, and felt essentially useless in her current position. She wandered into the main hall, finding the Ithilien Ranger sitting alone.

"Shouldn't you be resting?"

Daeril sat across from Mablung at the long table.

"Shouldn't you?" She responded. He smiled.

"Couldn't sleep. How do you feel?"

"Sore. In need of a drink."

Mablung passed the cup he had in front of him to her. She took it, graciously, and took a swig. It took everything in her not to cough as it hit her throat, burning all the way down into her belly. She could feel tears forming at the corners of her eyes. Mablung laughed.

"I should have warned you," He took the cup back. "It's aged mead. Very strong."

"Indeed."

They sat in companionable silence for a bit, Mablung pouring another cup of Mead for Daeril. It was quiet in the hall considering the late hour, and most of the sconces had burnt out, leaving the most light coming from the main hearth. Two large hounds lay by the fire, snoring, but there was not much more noise beyond that.

"Will you be joining us in Ithilien after the return journey?" Mablung finally asked.

"I do not know," Daeril mused. "I missed my chance to ride back North. My options now are Minas Tirith or Ithilien."

"You said you did not like Minas Tirith."

"Aye, I supposed that is true," She hesitated. "I told you that?"

"Nay, Thannor told me. He wants me to convince you to join us."

"Of course he did," She scoffed. "Perhaps I wish to retire and become a noble woman in Minas Tirith. Fancy gowns and all."

"Somehow I cannot see you as such," Mablung said. "Not that you would not pull off the look, but I have seen you ride and fight."

Daeril sipped her mead.

"And? Do I fight like a woman?"

"You fight like a ranger. Man, woman- it matters not."

Daeril felt her heart aflutter at his words. Not everyone valued her for who she was, if she had been anyone other than a kinswoman of King Elessar she would not be treated so cordially.

"If only everyone thought as you do, Lord Mablung. Thank you." She finished her drink, this time without coughing. "I did not plan on becoming injured so soon, I do not know when I may take up my sword or bow again."

"Try not to get bucked off a horse anytime soon and I will have you in fighting shape in no time, my lady."

"I will do my best," She stood slowly, wincing. "Goodnight, Mablung. Thank you for the mead."

"It was my pleasure, Daeril. Goodnight."

Character Guide

Daeril, Daughter of Rýndir. Dúnedan. Age 28.

Daenir, Son of Rýndir. Daeril's older brother. Dúnedan. Age 50.

Thannor. Dúnedan, Age 55. Former Captain of Sarn Ford detachment. Cousin to Daeril and Daenir.

Rocky, 15.3hh bay gelding. Breeland bred. Age 5.

Rivornor, 17.3hh dapple grey stallion. Dol Amroth bred. Age 6.

Arraben, 16.2hh grey draft cross type mare. Dúnadan stock. Age 29.

A/N: So, so sorry I haven't updated. My summer was spent running a herd of 10 horses and dealing with crazy kids! I am finally back at work at my normal job and getting back into writing. Thank you for sticking with me to those who have, and welcome new readers! Please review, I love hearing from you all! I hope the character guide helps, if you have any questions let me know!