Lothíriel awoke the next morning shortly before dawn. Around her, various rohirrim filtered in through the door, each going to a stall and preparing their horses for the day. The horses like Lothíriel who did not have a rohir was greeted and tended by the same stablehand from the day before. As the oats in her bin were filled, she thought briefly of turning her nose up at it, but after a few minutes, hunger and logic won over. Whil she ate, she watched as riders and horses interacted with each other, there was a strange feeling of loneliness as she stood by herself, waiting for her turn with the stable hand. By the time he did, most of the stalls had been emptied of their residents and the sun had already begun it's decent into a clear, blue sky. She stared longingly at it, feeling tired and alone. But there was one thing in particular that made everything worse.
Waiting as a horse was unbearable. She had always prided herself as a patient woman. During the war, she had been made to wait at home, waiting for her father and brothers to return from the field of battle, alive or dead. Even after the war, there had been times when she had been meant to wait for something. But she had always been able to have companionship in those times, whether they were with her family or simply a maid or two. Now, she had no one to talk to. No one to consol her in her new fate. Feeling anxious, she began to pace – as well as one could – in her stall.
'What are you doing?' She suddenly stopped her movement. 'You are a princess of Dol Amroth, no matter the form,' she snorted to herself, 'now behave like one. Stop feeling sorry for yourself!' She turned and ate a few more bites of the oats, washing them down with the lukewarm water beside it. 'You have food, a roof over your head and someone tending to you regularly.' She chuckled inwardly, 'Now that I think on it, being a horse is not so different to being a noble.' Outwardly, her laughter came out as a nicker.
The stablehand must have heard her because he came and checked on her for a moment before going back to his tasks. 'I wonder what his name is." she stuck her head out of the stall. She felt a bit ashamed that he had taken care of her twice in as many days and she didn't know it. 'Well it's not as if I have the voice to ask for an introduction,' she scoffed to herself. Thinking back to how she would have behaved as a princess, she doubted she ever would have spoken to the boy even with her voice intact. Erchirion had always said that her lack of inclination to know all who would serve her by name was a flaw. Perhaps that would be something worth changing about herself – if she ever was a princess again.
She thought back to her family. Her father had always been rather stoic, especially after her mother had passed away. She knew that he still loved her, but sometimes she would see his expression turn sad as he saw something that reminded him of his departed wife. Elphir filled been the doting eldest brother, nearly never home in Dol Amroth, but instead traveling from Minas Tirith to some battle with her late cousin, Boromir. Whenever he did return home, he would bring gifts from the places he had traveled, bringing with him the world she could not travel to see herself. Erchirion had always been her greatest critic. Instructing her on each and every one of her "flaws" in hopes that she would be a perfect princess. Something Gondor could truly be proud of. Amrothos was her playmate, friend and confidant. Although the had a large gap in the ages, he had always been willing to join her in any sort of mischief to be had, from pouring sawdust into the the cook's soup to running away for a day in the forest.
As she was still reminiscing of happier days, someone new entered the stable. It was odd how, without her seeing anything, she could simply sense a new presence. Peeking out of the stall she saw that it was Éomer. 'Is it afternoon already?' She glanced at the sky through the window, though it was hard to tell anything from that narrow passage.
"My King," the stablehand halted his work and bowed respectfully.
Éomer smiled. "Good day, Fréawine, has Firefoot been tended to already?" Lothíriel felt a little disappointed that he hadn't asked about her welfare first.
"Yes he has," Fréawine – she made sure to make a mental note of the name – answered, "as has Flower Dancer."
"Very good." He nodded as he stroked Firefoot's forehead. 'Nearly the same way he had touched me last night!' The disappointment was added to her already blooming discontent. "Take Firefoot into the corral," Éomer instructed, "I'll see to Flower Dancer myself." He turned away from Fréawine and pulled a lead from a hook in the wall. As he entered the stall backed away from him a little.
"Have I done something to displease you, Flower Dancer?" A half smile pulled at his mouth. "Come her and we will have a bit of exercise, hmm?" He held out the lead and Lothíriel pondered what would be worse, giving in or remaining in this prison cell. After a few minutes of deliberating, she stepped forward, allowing herself to be leashed with the rope. She followed Éomer out, though, due to her stubborness, she walked haltingly, causing Éomer to stop every few steps to coax her to move again. Eventually they reached the entrance of stables and Lothíriel stepped out into the sunlight. The feeling of all the empty space around her distracted her enough that she was easily led into the corral where Firefoot stood proudly, his dapple-gray coat shimmering in the light.
"Now," Éomer's voice called her to the present. "Lets see what you can do."
A/N: So I thought I would just go straight to the corral instead of drawing out the morning routine for many of the rohirrim within Edoras. I also wanted a chance to reflect on the different aspects of Lothíriel's family as well as her own stubborness when her pride has been wounded.
Hope you enjoy this one! I look forward to hearing from you!