Gænwyn took to teaching me how to ride with the same bossy, formidable good humor with which she addressed every other task. She loaned me a large gelding called Wind Chaser. He was gentle, but three hands larger than any other horse I'd ever ridden: not a suitable mount for a lady by Gondorian standards. I quickly grew to love him though, despite the fact that his back was a precariously high perch and the first time I had swung onto it I had clutched his mane in terror. In sharp contrast to Gænwyn, Wind Chaser had almost limitless patience with my riding faults. He never threw me when I failed to keep my heels down. He never galloped when I accidentally kicked his flanks. And probably because I brought an apple, or brushed him for a little while when I first arrived, he always seemed happy to see me.

Riding was difficult. I had very little natural talent for it and none of the required muscles. I always came back in a foul temper, sore and in need of a bath. Still, Gænwyn rode every day in the morning with some ladies from the court and I took to joining them, though it gave me little pleasure. As the weakest rider in the group I was always tired and sore by the time the others were getting warmed up. I had to grit my teeth and force myself to go. I wasn't sure when or why it had become so important to me to learn to ride. And I couldn't remember ever before forcing myself to do something I didn't enjoy.

Perhaps I was simply struggling to fill my days. Without Amrothos or the court of Minas Tirith to keep me busy I had very little hobbies or responsibilities. When Erchirion was gone my duties as lady of the house were so light that they barely took up any time at all. So I spent many hours studying the book that Éomer had given me and practicing my Rohirric with Eadgyth and the other members of my staff. What Amrothos would have said if he could have seen me sitting on a low stool in the kitchen, asking the cook about her family and incessantly looking up words in the dictionary, I didn't care to know. I found Rohirric an easy language to learn. It was similar to Westron and I had always had a knack for languages. Reading took up a good deal of my day, as it always had, but I found that I enjoyed having a routine. Riding gave me a reason to get out bed, even if I did dread it.

Sometimes Éomer joined us on those morning rides and to my surprise he was more patient with me than the ladies of the court were. When I was tired he always offered to ride more slowly with me while the others went on ahead. I thought it was because, as someone who only occasionally joined us, he wasn't tired of my constant stopping, but Gænwyn had a different idea.

"You should marry a Rohirrim," she said one day as we brushed down our horses after a ride.

"Oh?" I asked, amused. "Why is that?"

"Different stock is good for foals," she said. "You are different from us so you'll bear a good strong son."

Since I had started learning Rohirric I had been surprised to find how eloquent and interesting Gænwyn could be in her own language. She had a sort of dark humor that was dry and witty without a hint of cruelness or bitterness in it. The dogged cheerfulness that I had dismissed as idiocy seemed, as I got to know her better, more like the bravest and stiffest defense she could offer against a morose nature that could kill her. Having for years chosen to deal with my own darker nature by raining terror and shame down on anyone who would let me, I had to admire that.

What had been less of a surprise was how much of her conversation had to do with horses.

I laughed. "Sure. That's logical. Why don't you start looking for a husband for me today, Gænwyn?"

"No need. You should marry Éomer King," she added.

My head jerked up like she'd hit me with a riding crop (which she had actually done one morning when I had forgotten to keep my heels down after being reminded five times in a row). "Why would you say that?" I demanded, a little more quickly than I had intended.

She grinned at that. "You're of the same station, both young and fit, it would be good politics. He likes pretty, intelligent women. Besides...you like him."

"What makes you think that?" I asked warily.

She shrugged. "You do not invite the company of others but you invite his."

"How do I?" I demanded, indignant.

She laughed at my expression of haughty anger and said something too quickly for me to understand. More slowly, she added, "It is not a bad thing to want something, Lothíriel. It's not even so bad to show it."

I turned back to brushing my horse. What an idiot Gænwyn can be, I thought. I might have been horrified, but I was sure that my behavior had shown no such 'wanting.' It might have occurred to me that perhaps Gænwyn had meant to tell me something about the way Éomer invited my company and not the other way round. But in the months that followed, though I thought periodically about that conversation it was almost exclusively when I was feeling particularly uncharitable towards Gænwyn or the Mark.

"As if I could ever live here permanently," I remember mumbling through gritted teeth on a particularly long morning ride.

After I had been practicing my riding for a few weeks I took it into my head that I would like to see the Stair of the Hold and the Púkel-men. I had never thought to pass so close to either and it seemed a shame to waste such an opportunity.

When I asked her Gænwyn was enthusiastic. "I should very much like to show you Underharrow in any case. We could stay the night at my house and then set out in the morning. The Stair is lovely at dawn and we can make it if we leave early."

It wasn't difficult to find an escort. Éomer was working hard to make the Dimholt a trade route between Gondor and Rohan and had established a permanent camp on the Firienfeld, where he and Théoden had camped before the start of their journey to the Pelennor Fields. The men who worked clearing out the path were forever receiving shipments of supplies to sustain them. We simply begged leave to travel with the next departing group, which was easily granted. Éomer even agreed to travel with us himself, as he journeyed there periodically to check on the progress of the work.

It was slow going from Edoras to Underharrow. I could tell moving at the pace of the wagons grated on Éomer's nerves but there was no question of letting the heir-less king ride out into the wilderness on his own. After riding in an éored for years and enjoying the complete freedom of a man with enough power but not too much responsibility, Éomer had never fully adjusted to the chains that bound him to his crown. Gænwyn and I, however, thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

As we rode Gænwyn recited some very beautiful Rohirric poetry that I ruined by breaking in every fourth line to have Éomer translate one word or another for me. In turn I told her roughly translated versions of Gondorian fables (the Emperor and the Parrot, the Pirate and Five Maidens, the Horse and the Hare and so on), which she ruined by disagreeing with, and endlessly debating, some of the more fantastic aspects of many of them ('where would a hare get a hat anyway?' she had wanted to know). But since we'd filled our wine skins with quite a good vintage we were both too cheerful to annoy each other.

We arrived in good time at Underharrow and had a good dinner of rabbit and fish and blackberry cordial. It was nothing grand, but at least it was a change from the eternal venison we had been eating in Edoras. And the company was quite good. Éomer and some of the men had gone for a quick ride before dinner, scrambling along a twisting little path up the side of the mountain that backed Underharrow, one I would have feared to tread on foot, much less on horseback. The exercise, or perhaps the danger, seemed to have done him some good for he was a much more talkative companion at dinner. He was so charming and solicitous to Gænwyn that she finally laughed and called him something that I didn't understand that made both of them roar with laughter, and Éomer blush very slightly.

The next morning Éomer and I woke early and, taking two guards with us, rode out before dawn to see the Stair at sunrise. Gænwyn stayed behind in Underharrow to fulfill some of her duties, having already seen the Stair perhaps a hundred times. We took our breakfast with us and arrived before the camp had woken fully. We sat on a flat rock that jutted out over the valley below and ate nut-scones (still slightly warm as they had been baked that morning) as the sun rose pink and magnificent. Never having feared heights, I sat with my legs dangling over the side with free strands from my braid whipping around my face. It was cold and the wind was quite strong but I took off my cloak, wanting to feel the wind fully. Éomer sat next to me with the handkerchief of scones between us. We were silent at first, awed by the beauty of the valley before us or perhaps just sleepy from the early start. There was no sound except the wind gusting across the rock. The silence was like a spell and we spoke only in hushed tones, for fear of breaking it.

"I had no idea Rohan would be this beautiful," I whispered to Éomer.

His answering smile was more radiant than the sunrise.

Gradually though, as the misty night burned off, the camp began to wake and the birds started singing, so we became more animated too. Éomer went to greet the master of the camp and the works while I played at throwing dirt clods off the cliff and the guards watched our horses.

After a while he came back and told me that I could have a tour of the camp before I returned to Underharrow. I was mighty curious about the excavation of the Dimholt. I'd read several accounts of its construction and descriptions of it before the dead had claimed it as their own. I wanted to know what it had become. Even more interesting than that turned out to be Éomer's vision for what it would be. With the Oath of Eorl renewed both Gondor and Rohan were eager to recommence serious trade. Opening the Dimholt would allow luxury goods (spices, sugar, lace, silk, coffee, dried fish and pearls) to pass into Rohan more easily along with the plainer staples of Gondorian trade. It would also allow the Rohirrim to sell their own goods in Gondorian markets. I had noticed that wool for example was much cheaper in Rohan than in Gondor (the mountainous, colder climate had bred a variety of sheep that were much more generous with their wool than their southern cousins). Éomer informed me that by next winter he hoped to be able to trade some of the heartier grains that were unknown in the southern climates as well as animal furs which were more easily obtained and of higher quality in the Mark.

To this end the main path, through which King Elessar had ridden on his way to the battle of the Pelennor, was being restored and even widened in some places. King Elessar had sent some Gondorian architects and stone-smiths to help with the project and I questioned them almost endlessly about their work. They were craftsmen and therefore somewhat below my station but I was ecstatic to see them and surprised myself (and them) with how familiar I was. It was good not to have the only speck of black hair in a straw sea for a change and it was wonderful to hear Westron spoken in what I considered the correct accent again. But even more than that I was strangely proud of them. I was glad that my country was helping in the project and not just leaving Rohan to shoulder the burden themselves.

I passed the morning so happily occupied that I was surprised when the men at work stopped for the afternoon meal. I hadn't noticed how high the sun had risen. Éomer and I took our meal of rough, dark bread with a slice of hard cheese and nigh unchewable dried meat out to the same rock where we had taken our breakfast. "I apologize for the food. If I expected you to stay for a meal I would have brought something more suitable from Underharrow," Éomer said as he watched me try, unsuccessfully, to masticate a piece of meat into submission.

I swallowed the piece with an audible gulp. "Am I keeping you from your work?" I asked, suddenly worried. "I didn't mean to cause a problem... it's all so interesting that I'm afraid I lost track of time."

"There is nothing pressing for me to do and I am very happy to show you as much of the Dimholt as you would like to see. I only wish the meal was fit for a princess and not this poor stuff."

I laughed. "And yet you eat it without complaint, Éomer King. Surely if a king can eat it, a princess will manage somehow."

He chuckled too. "Only a northern king remember. And before I came into that title I was only a humble rider."

By the small twist at the corner of his mouth, I could tell he was making fun of me. As I very well knew, before he had been king, Éomer had been the Third Marshal and Lord of Aldburg. Perhaps he had endured hardship, but he'd been anything but a common rider. Harra wouldn't have made the distinction though. To her he would still likely fall into the category of common. And perhaps even half a year ago the same could have been said of me.

I blushed but turned my head away from him so he wouldn't see. I tore off another piece of bread but didn't put it into my mouth, still not quite meeting his eyes but grinning. "I doubt very much that you were ever humble, my lord."

He roared with laughter at that. "True enough. But I did eat what my men ate when I was a rider and I hope never to become so pompous that I am above bread and cheese."

I grinned openly. In my world the nobles of the court aspired not only to be pompous, but to be more pompous than anyone else. As far as I knew what it meant to be noble was have to nice things like fancy clothes, exotic food, expensive furniture and lots of servants—and never to eat a plain meal. But what I had said about him never having been humble was true. Had Éomer been born the eighth son of a peasant farmer in the savage southlands, I felt sure he would still have been one of the proudest men I had never met. And suddenly I found myself unexpectedly jealous of him, wishing my own distinction didn't have so much to do with the quality of cloth I could buy.

"Still," he continued, "it's no food fit for guests."

I shrugged. "I once dined with a Haradrim Prince and was made to eat boiled snake. I assure you a little dried meat would have been a welcome second course."

He winced. "That sounds...exotic."

"It wasn't as bad as I would have expected, the glaze it was served in was quite well spiced, but I couldn't forget what it was no matter how hard I tried."

"You should have slipped it under the table to one of the dogs. Though I suppose you are too gently reared for that."

"In theory I am, though I am not at all above it in practice. If I ever served someone something they didn't wish to eat I would hate to think that they felt compelled to eat it anyway. Any generous host would feel the same and a host who wishes to make their guests uncomfortable deserves the insult. However the Haradrim hate dogs and there were none in his house."

"How unfortunate," he said with a barely concealed smile. "Be assured in this case however I will turn a blind eye to any of your meal that goes over the edge of the rock."

"Don't be ridiculous. I imagine meat is rather rare at the top of the stair. I am sure any of the camp dogs would be happy to have such a prize."

"How thoughtful of you."

I stayed most of the afternoon as well, saddling my horse only when Éomer insisted that I wouldn't make it back to Underharrow before dark if I didn't depart. "I am sure your brother would be scandalized enough that I let you eat dried meat and bread for lunch and then made you scramble around in the Dimholt all day. Letting you sleep the night in a camp of men unchaperoned is out of the question."

I had almost forgotten that Éomer knew the customs of Gondor and thus that I was breaking them. In Gondor it would indeed have been scandalous for me to leave before dawn with only three men to ride with me. The Rohirrim maidens however were less restricted. Amrothos had once remarked that this was probably because they were freer with their virtue. But if I had two daughters, one free and one virtuous, it wouldn't be the saintly one who I was always watching. I couldn't help but wonder if it was really the ladies of Gondor who were more generous with their favors.

Still, I was a Gondorian maiden. When Gænwyn had announced she would be staying the day at Underharrow I had almost insisted that she come. Only the amount of effort I knew it would take to explain to her why exactly I was making such a big deal out of something she considered frivolous deterred me. Besides, I trusted Éomer and who would tell my brother, my father, or Lady Harra what I had done anyway?

I swung onto my horse and had just reached out my hand for Éomer to kiss when there was an unexpected shout from the mouth of the tunnel – like the mountain itself was shouting in a man's voice – and a figure came bursting forth. He was covered in a light white dust and he looked scared. He was shouting in Rohirric too quickly for me to understand. I am ashamed to say that my first thought was that the dead had returned. I clenched my knees in a way that might have caused a more temperamental horse to rear, but Wind Chaser only took three small steps to the side.

Éomer was one of the first to reach the man's side, clutching his upper arm to keep him upright. He listened for a few moments and then returned to me. The two guards, apparently having overheard the conversation I hadn't understood, slid off their horses to let two riders up. Éomer came to me though. "What is it?" I asked.

"Cave-in in a side tunnel. Someone is trapped under the rubble," he said. "We are taking the horses in to get to him quickly." I nodded and began to slide down off Wind Chaser but he stayed me with a hand on my wrist. "You were in Minas Tirith during Pelennor. Did you work in the Houses of Healing?"

My brow wrinkled. "Yes but..."

"You are coming with us then. We could use a healer."
"I'm not..."

"If you worked in the Houses during the battles you have more experience than anyone here."

I opened my mouth to protest. I was a lady of the court, the Princess of Dol Amroth. He couldn't order me around like a wench in a tavern. But he took me by the waist and lifted me out of the saddle and settled me just behind it, where children and the infirm rode, before swinging himself up.

I flushed with anger. "My lord I am truly not qualified to act as healer. I must insist that I remain here," I began, going to no pains to hide my indignation or my true reason for resisting.

"You'll do fine." His voice let me know that short of sliding off the horse and bodily refusing to be moved into the caves, there was little I could do to get out of this.

The horse hesitated too when we reached the mouth of the tunnel but Éomer overrode him with even less effort than he'd used on me. We rode in silence at a brisk walk. The torches the riders held cast only a dim red glow ahead of us and anything faster would have been dangerous. Éomer had told me that there were deep caverns and cliffs whose bottoms had never been plumbed in the deeper parts of the Dimholt.

After about twenty minutes of riding we turned off the main path down into a dank little crevice of a path that sloped downward so steeply that I had to put a hand on Éomer's back to steady myself, which had the odd effect of making my heart beat a little higher in my chest. From fear, I told myself firmly, not from the smell of him or how broad his back is or how I can feel it rise and fall as he breathes.

We found the cave-in at the bottom of the scramble down the embankment. They had been trying to open the mouth of a little underground stream a little wider (perhaps so that horses could be watered on the journey through). There was a small dark pool of water that fed through and then disappeared into another chasm in the rocks on the other side of the small cavern. Beside it there was the slide of rock that had trapped one of the workers beneath it.

A stone the size of a large chest lay directly on his left leg.

When he saw the lights of our torches he struggled to sit up. Éomer let the reins go and was at the man's side almost instantly. "Éomer King..." the man breathed.

"Save your strength."

The other two men joined him and they began to talk about the situation. I hung back by the horses, not wanting to get too close. The smell of blood filled my nostrils and there was a strange, weird buzz like the hum of a cloud of locusts in my ears. I had forgotten how little I liked tending to the wounded.

I wasn't following all the Rohirric but from the gestures I could tell they were deciding how to move the rock off the man's leg. They reached some sort of decision fairly quickly and one of the men went to unsaddle his horse.

Éomer came to talk to me. "When we lift the stone the pressure will come off the wound and he will start bleeding again..."

"I know."

He continued as if I hadn't interrupted. "We don't have any bandages so we are going to use a saddle blanket. I want you to press the cloth down on the wound and keep it there firmly to staunch the flow."

"The saddle blanket is filthy. He'll catch a fever," I said contrarily.

"What do you suggest then?" Now there was a touch of irritation in his voice but he kept it well restrained.

I bit my lip. I knew exactly where the most abundant source of clean linen was: in my ridiculous Gondorian riding skirt (complete with leggings and fully three generous layers to give it some fullness when I walked and to make sure it spread prettily when I rode sidesaddle). I temporized for only a second. "Give me your knife," I finally snapped, my panic spilling naturally over into anger.

"My knife?" His brows drew together.

"Valar! It's my skirt, Éomer!" I nearly shouted. "Now if you don't mind picking up the pace!"

"Your skirt?"

"And you are usually so articulate. Yes, my skirt. Now give me your knife and turn around! And tell your men to turn around too."

In the weird orange glow I hiked up my skirts and cut the middle one out. It was sure to be the cleanest and besides without it the outfit was still completely modest (if perhaps a little less stylish). It was not at all modest of course to be cutting up my garments in the hearing and knowledge (if not the sight) of the King of Rohan and his riders. How did you come to this, Lothíriel? I asked myself as I began cutting it into strips. Even my internal voice seemed to quaver slightly, I noticed with disgust.

I laid the cloth out over a stone and went to the stream to wash the dirt out of my hands. When I was sure they were free of any dust that could get into the wound I said, "Lift the stone."

The second the stone came off I knew the man's leg was broken. There was a weird lump like a backwards knee in the middle of his shin that was visible even through the mass of blood and flesh. Fresh blood spurted forth and I hurried to press the cloth down onto it. "Hold him down!" Éomer commanded as the man screamed and tried to struggle away from the pressure I was putting on his wound.

After a few nauseating minutes the blood came only sluggishly. I sat back on my heels. "There."

I was glad indeed to be able to turn my eyes away from the pulpy mess of a wound that had once been a leg. I had just decided not to look at it again and turned my head away, only to find Éomer crouched beside me. He pulled me to my feet and back towards the horses. Though the light was dim I could see his mouth had thinned to a hard line.

"The broken leg needs to be set here," Éomer said quietly. "Before we move him, or it will make it worse. One piece of the bone has slipped past the other. I can pull the leg to set it right but it's better if there is someone to guide the two pieces together. Can you do that?"

I shook my head. "No. I only worked at the Houses for a few days and all I did was simple bandages and help carry the wounded in. I've only ever seen it done perhaps twice. He needs a real healer."

"It will be hours before we can get a healer to the camp and that's more than long enough for a wound like this to turn. I've seen it happen."

I brushed hair out of my face with the back of my hands. My palms and fingers were covered with blood. The low buzz filling my ears had grown irritatingly loud. I brushed my hair back again a little more forcefully.

I couldn't meet his eyes. To admit that I was paralyzed with fear to a man who had survived the three major battles of the Ring War, whose sister had fought the Witch King and who was fighting every day to put his broken country back together, was an intolerable humiliation. To admit that I was unwilling or incapable of helping his countryman, after all he had done to protect his people and mine, made me sick with self-hatred.

But anger has always been an easier emotion than shame to express.

"I said I can't!" I finally snapped. "Are you listening to me or not?" I couldn't meet his eyes.

To my surprise he didn't snap back. He cupped my chin with one hand and raised my face up to his. He considered me for a long moment. Finally he said almost tenderly, "If you refuse I can do it myself but it will raise his chances of getting an infection or it healing badly. I ask you to consider doing this."

I looked at the man lying ashen on the floor and the two Rohirrim who stood over him, watching Éomer and I argue. I looked down at my skirt, deflated and pitiful, and the blood on my hands. Lothi you silly little girl you are only going to make a mess of things, the little Amrothos-like voice in my head chided. And then I finally looked up into those unexpectedly kind, warm blue eyes. I let out a noise that was the midpoint between a scream of frustration and a groan. "I said I didn't want to come into this dank, musty cave in the first place!"

Knowing me as he did, he seemed only to hear my consent.

Once the leg was set in the proper position it needed to be splinted between two stiff boards or any chance movement could re-break it. Two of the rough wooden planks they had intended to shore up the widened channel for the water once it was opened, worked perfectly. While Éomer explained what we were going to do in Rohirric, I found some twine in my saddlebags and tried to prepare myself mentally. Come on, I reminded myself firmly, it's not like you haven't hurt anyone before. I am sure some of the ladies of court would have been delighted to suffer a little broken leg over what you did to them.

But the taboo against hurting another human being physically is much more deeply rooted than the one against hurting them emotionally. The suspense was torturous as Éomer placed the man's leg between the two boards and passed the twine around it. I seemed to take hours to set up. But finally Éomer nodded to the other two men and to me.

They took a firm grip on the man's shoulders and I came to kneel near the break I had finished and washed my mouth out with a little water, Éomer came over and squatted next.

"Don't hesitate," Éomer said to me. "It will go bad if you don't go quickly."

"I know," I ground out, but the anger in my voice was thin and quavering. "Just do it now."

He nodded and with a sickening noise pulled the man's leg with a single firm movement. The man's body jerked stiff as a board and his mouth opened in a silent scream of pain. But I didn't hesitate. I reached one hand under his calf, found the edge of the bones and guided them together with my hand. Then I quickly pulled the boards flat and bound them up.

When I was finished I stumbled to the stream and wretched into it. The stale bread and cheese came up with difficulty but eventually I emptied my stomach completely. Minutes later Éomer came over to where I had slumped to my knees on the cold stone. "I am riding out to get a stretcher. You should come. Your work here is done."

I nodded mutely.

The afternoon sunlight appeared strange somehow when we came out after what had seemed like hours in the dark. I slid down and let Éomer do all of the talking. I leaned up against Wind Chaser and breathed his comforting horse smell. I don't remember hearing any of the conversation – the noise of the world faint and distant.

At some point Éomer rode back into the tunnel with some more men and a stretcher. But one of the Gondorian architects came over and showed me into a tent. Though it was only mid-afternoon I went right to the cot and when I woke up night had passed and it was late morning. So much for the impropriety of staying in the camp unchaperoned!

But I felt infinitely better after so much sleep. The broken leg and the weird dark of the Paths of the Dead felt like a dream. I stretched in the cot and then got up. As I put them back on I didn't bother wondering who had taken off my shoes the night before and found me a blanket. In the whole country of Rohan there were three people I felt would have the audacity to take off my shoes while I slept. One of them was on a rangeing near Helm's Deep and the other was at Underharrow, which only left the one in the camp.

I slipped out of the tent and walked towards the main fire pit. It was strange but I could pick him out of a sea of blond hair now, even with his back turned. As I approached he turned and the smile he gave me made my heart beat uncomfortably fast. "Good morning," he said, kissing my fingers. "I trust you slept well." Under his gaze I felt suddenly self-conscious. I must have looked an absolute mess. My dress had been cut to bits, I hadn't bathed in a day and my braid had been slept in. He surely saw something of my thoughts because he added, "You look radiant this morning, Princess."

That he had seen my doubt raised my ire. "You look like you slept outside," I said icily.

He smiled. "I did. There was a very proper young lady sleeping in my tent and I didn't want to cause a scandal for her."

I knew better than to let him make me feel guilty. Or at least better than to let it show. "How thoughtful," I said dismissively. "Is there anything for breakfast?"

To my fury he saw straight through the show I was putting on and smiled indulgently. "I am sure something can be found for the hero of the camp."

I sniffed derisively. "You are their King. Surely you don't have to pull men out of the rubble of a cave-in to earn your breakfast."

He chuckled. "I was talking about you. You're quite the talk of the camp this morning. They say you have the gift of Elven healing."

I thought about the sickening crunch the bone had made when it met itself and how I had nearly fainted. Somehow I didn't think so. "Let them think what they wish as long as I get something decent for breakfast."

I had assumed Éomer had been joking about me being a camp hero but breakfast was much better than I had expected: fresh baked bread with even a little pat of butter and soft cheese with piping hot tea. And the rider who brought it to me smiled quite broadly at me. "Welcome to your breakfast, lady," he said in heavily accent Westron.

"Thank you," I replied.

For a moment Éomer watched me eat without comment. Finally he said quietly, "I am sorry, my lady. It would not have been my first choice to force you to experience that. If it hadn't been a matter of life or death I never would have insisted. I apologize profoundly for any... inconvenience."

I glared at him. I had been enjoying my petulance and it was largely predicated on feeling put upon and unappreciated. Having him apologize ruined that. I sighed and pushed some hair out of my face. "Anyone with half a sense of honor would have volunteered," I said quietly with a little more self-deprecation than I had intended. "I was the only person available with any experience."

I looked away, embarrassed by my own sincerity.

"I won't forget what you did for one of my men."

We were quiet through breakfast after that. Finally a man approached and conversed with Éomer for a few minutes. When he left, Éomer turned to me and explained, "Wind Chaser is being saddled. You ride out in a few minutes with my apologies for detaining you so long. I am sure the guards will explain to Lady Gænwyn that it was an emergency."

I frowned. "I want to see the rider first."

He didn't need to ask what rider I meant. "That can be arranged. I imagine he will want to thank you."

"I had rather thought to apologize to him. I did cause him quite a bit of pain yesterday."

When I was shown into the tent where the rider was, I was pleased to see that his face held quite a bit of color. He had been given some milk of the poppy for the pain and his face was quite different than I remembered: no longer a mask of pain in the flickering orange light. "Hail," I said.

"Hail, lady," he said, making a short, half-bow from the bed. "Well met indeed."

I bit my lip. It had somehow seemed important to see him but now that I was actually in front of him, I found myself unexpectedly shy. I felt foolish for having insisted on coming.

"Lady Lothíriel wished to come to see how you were progressing, Hereward," Éomer said in very slow Rohirric to be sure I followed it. "She was concerned that she hurt you yesterday." I had meant that as sarcasm and he well knew it, but I let it stand.

"You do me great honor, lady," Hereward said. "But I assure you I am most grateful for your assistance."

I curtseyed. "I am pleased that you are glad."

I left quickly after that, feeling uncomfortable with the unfamiliar look of gratitude the man was giving me. We walked back to where Wind Chaser was waiting for me. I swung into the saddle but Éomer staid me from leaving by taking my reins in his hand. "If left untreated a bad break like that would have meant he would never ride again. And a man who cannot ride in the Mark is no man at all."

"I am glad," I said stiffly.

"You helped save his livelihood. Maybe his life."

"I only did what you told me to do," I snapped, feeling cornered and irritated.

He laughed. "I am not sure how, but you manage to be so very pretty when you try to pick a fight, Princess." I opened my mouth to snap back with the viscous retort that he merited but he slapped Wind Chaser lightly on the flank and the horse began to move forward. "Tell Gænwyn the truth or I will!" he called after me.

"You look like you've been in a fight!" Gænwyn exclaimed when I arrived at Underharrow.

I tossed my hair defiantly as I slid down. "Not yet," I said in my most devil-may-care voice, "but the day is still young." She laughed so long and hard at that I scowled.

But she took my arm affectionately when she was finally able to manage words unbroken with peals of laughter. "Yes, yes, come in and get cleaned up my little brawler before the servants start to wonder what sort of friends I am making in the big city."

One morning, some few weeks after the day in the Paths of the Dead, Gænwyn and I were coming home from our morning ride when she put a strange new thought into my head. After we had put up our horses we usually parted ways, but that day, perhaps because we hadn't fought once on the ride or perhaps because I was simply feeling particularly lonely, I invited Gænwyn to come back to take tea with me. The night before I had been up late working on copying a map of Rohan and it was still spread over the dining table as we passed it to go into the solar. Gænwyn, ever one to poke her nose where it absolutely wasn't welcome, darted over and started looking at the parchments.

"What are these?"

I shrugged and tried to take them back, suddenly ashamed of them for no particular reason. "Nothing," I answered in the same language. "Just something I copied out of a book. It's not very good."

"Why not?"

I shrugged. "I'm not sure. No one has ever bothered to make a better one."

She put the map back on the table. "You should make a better one."

Once when I was a girl I got a splinter in my foot. I don't even remember where I got it, as I was so small. But after a week or two I had a fever and angry purple tongues of poisonous blood licked up my legs and it had taken weeks to recover. That was how the idea of the map was. We had gone to tea without either of us saying anything about it. But the next day when I picked up the maps I found that there was a little pulsing thought in the back of my head. I should make a better one. And a few weeks later it had grown into an impossible-to-ignore infection that consumed my mind, barely letting me think of anything else. I should make a better one.

Almost another month passed before Erchirion next returned to Edoras and it flew by before I even noticed it. I had riding lessons every morning and then the afternoons I spent working on my Rohirric or copying maps from Éomer's library. I found that I had a renewed interest in my riding and it improved much more quickly now that I had a goal in mind.

He arrived back in an afternoon of sweltering heat. Gænwyn had told me that the last days of summer in the Mark were always the hottest and soon it would begin to become cool. In anticipation I had hung up all my winter dresses and cloaks in my closet. One of Erchirion's outriders had informed me that he would be returning so I had taken extra care with the midday meal and delayed it for him.

"Your brother will be very proud of you, my lady when he sees how busy you have been here." She'd said the night before. "Your Rohirric is getting better and you are trying so very hard to learn to ride."

Would he be proud? I wondered. Or would he think I was being silly? I hadn't told anyone that I wanted to map the grain distribution in Rohan. It was such a ridiculous thing to even think: the Princess of Dol Amrothos riding out for days at time to do the job some craftsman or merchant should be doing. What Lady Harra or Amrothos would say if they knew about it I didn't dare think. But we weren't in Minas Tirith anymore. If the Eorlingas let their women slay Witch Kings of Angmar surely they couldn't protest at me riding around and drawing some maps.

But it wasn't my usual habit to raise expectations for myself. The way I saw it, there were thousands of reasons to want to be underestimated and none to want to be overestimated. People who asked to be trusted, to help, were people I usually tried to drive away from myself or destroy before they could full set up their trap. If I had been Erchirion I would have laughed at my suggestion at the best and been suspicious of my motives at the worst.

The morning of his return I had Eadgyth draw a bath early and then brush my hair until it absolutely shone, before twisting it up into an elegant and simple bun. Then I donned one of my favorite dresses—a light orange silk, cut simply—and waited impatiently for him. When I heard him come in I went to stand behind his chair.

"Lothíriel?" he called as the door swung shut behind him.

"In here, Erchirion," I called back.

He grinned slightly at the overwrought drama of the tableau I made with all the best silver laid out on the table. "Oh, hello!" he said.

He was dusty from the road and un-shaven. He looked lean and hungry and happy but very confused as to why I was greeting him so formally. "Welcome back to your home, my lord."

He looked at the food and my dress and rubbed his stubble. "Oh, I'm not in any state to dine with you dressed like this. Let me wash and change first. And get rid of this beard."

"The beard suits you. And you must be hungry. Come, sit. The lady of the house commands you."

He came to pull out my chair and we both settled down. "This looks lovely."

It was the very best I could come up with. There was a cold soup dish, some very well cooked venison and bread, as well as some of our best wine and for desert there would be lemon cakes. The lemon cakes had taken several days of me going to the kitchen with Gænwyn, my book of Rohirric words and a lot of inventive hand gestures to get right. By the time the cook had learned how to cook them properly, the lemons I had brought with me from the south were gone.

"How was your ranging?" I asked, drinking my soup in my most lady-like fashion.

He sighed. "It was...informative."

"Oh?"

He nodded. "It's just...well I don't think I realized how badly Rohan suffered during the war. Éomer is very proud and it is difficult for him to ask for help, even when he really needs it. Most of the fields I saw were completely raised and the scorched earth will need to be tilled well before it can be planted. That will be a lot of work and there aren't that many strong backs available. In some of the villages we rode through there were very few men who weren't above sixty or below sixteen."

"Well then I guess it's a good thing that you're here."

He nodded. "We'll figure something out. I'm sure Éomer understands better than anyone how bad it is out there, even if he can't bring to say that to King Elessar. I just need to have a frank discussion with him. He has to see that he needs to request more grain and other food from Gondor, and maybe even some men to distribute it. He has agreed to spare some of his riders to help me take the grain out but he needs the riders he has left to protect the West Fold. The wild men suffered also in the war and they've been raiding settlements there."

I nodded. If anyone can handle a frank discussion it's Éomer, I thought. But all I said was, "I'm sorry to hear that you are disheartened."

Again he seemed a little surprised by my formality. One eyebrow twitched slightly and he smiled a little nervously. "Yes..." he said slowly. "Tell me, Lothíriel, what have you been up to here during my absence?"

I smiled. "Almost nothing of interest. When you invited me to manage your household I had expected that there would be some sort of work to do. But I find that you could have done very well without me. Eadgyth takes care of almost everything for me, given that she speaks Rohirric and I do not."

"I see," he said, looking troubled.

I hadn't meant to come to my point so soon but I wasn't about to let an opportunity like this slide by.

"Given that, I have a request to make."

He sighed. "Of course, Lothíriel."

I bit my lip and took a deep breath. There were going to be several steps to this. "Something I have been doing with my time is taking riding lessons."

"Have you?" He sounded surprised now.

"Yes...and not sidesaddle," I said, watching for his reaction. "Are you very angry with me? I mean I know it isn't quite proper but we're so far from Gondor and it isn't frowned upon here. I really haven't been making a spectacle of myself, I swear."

The first day I had donned the riding skirt and mounted astride I had been stared at quite a bit. But when I had complained to Gænwyn that she had lied to me when she'd said it was seemly for a woman to walk around in what were essentially trousers, she had laughed. "They aren't staring at you because of the pants, my lady. They are staring at you because they've never seen a Gondorian Lady ride astride."

I had glowed with a strange and unexpected pride, feeling very brave and daring. But she had quickly spoiled it by adding, "Also because you ride so poorly. They've never seen someone your age who cannot sit a horse."

"Well I didn't expect the Rohirrim to teach you to ride sidesaddle," he said with a laugh. "Éomer tells me that they think of it as one of the stranger Gondorian affectations, even more so than the women refusing to wear their hair loose."

I touched my own bun. Eadgyth had suggested that I wear it loose more than once. "It is so lovely, my lady," she'd said. "It is such a shame that I'm the only one who gets to see it down." But I had flatly refused. There were some things I could comprise—wearing riding skirts, sitting astride a horse, talking with my servants like equals—but the taboo against letting my hair down still burned deeply. With my hair down I felt naked, vulnerable.

"You won't tell...father?" I asked, though it was Amrothos I was worried about and we both knew it.

He shrugged. "Not if you don't want me to. But I don't think it's anything you should be really ashamed of. Things are changing, even in Gondor. I would bet your daughters ride astride like the Rohirrim. It's a much more comfortable way."
For some reason when he said it I had a perfect image of helping a blond little girl onto her first pony and sliding one of her round chubby legs over to the other side. I felt a strange pang of longing –bittersweet like nostalgia but for something that hadn't happened yet – in my stomach. Blond? Where had that come from? I shook my head to clear the image. "Well anyway, I think I could sit a horse for several days now. Not perhaps well but well enough that I wouldn't slow up a group of better riders and well I was wondering if...if perhaps...if maybe..."

But I trailed off because Erchirion had such a strange look on his face. It wasn't forbidding or angry so much as it was just bone-weary and disappointed. I folded my hands in my lap delicately and looked at them hard, saying nothing.

Erchirion sighed. "I think I know what you're going to ask."

My head shot up. "You do?" How could he? I hadn't even told Gænwyn what I wanted to ask him. Had Éomer guessed? I had been going to Meduseld every day to look at his maps and books.

"Of course I can't really say no if it's really what you want," he said. "But will you please give it another month? I mean I know it's lonely here and I'm sure you miss Minas Tirith and Amrothos and all your friends. But can't you see what good it's doing you? I mean..."

"You think I want to go back to Minas Tirith?" I interrupted.

"Yes...that is what you're asking for, isn't it?"

I hadn't thought about returning to Minas Tirith for months. I opened my mouth to explain why I didn't want to go back and found I couldn't.

"I've been looking for months in Éomer's library and there are absolutely no good maps of the Mark," I tried to explain. "The few that do exist don't agree and they only cover less than a quarter of the lands. Besides they are all the parts closest to Gondor. There isn't a single detailed map of the area where you're riding and I was thinking that...I was thinking that maybe it would be helpful for you to have a good map of the area you covered."

"That's certainly true," he said slowly. "But I fail to see how..."

"I mean if you knew where everything was going that would probably make it easier to make sure that everyone got just enough and not more than they needed right? And besides I bet you are writing down all sorts of interesting notes about the population and conditions you're riding through. If you could compile that in some way it would be an invaluable tool for making decisions, wouldn't it?"

"Yes... but I still don't..."

I had delayed long enough, I told myself but for some reason the words stuck in my mouth. I was almost never at a loss for words but I couldn't quite figure how to phrase what I had to say next. "I happen to have some experience making maps," I said. "Just as a hobby, but it would be better than nothing. But if I could come with you on the rangings maybe I could do something. The maps of Rohan that exist..."

"You want to ride out with us ranging?" he asked, incredulously.

I shrugged awkwardly. "Only if you agreed of course…I mean it was just a thought. I suppose if you wanted you could ask for someone from Gondor to come up but that would take a while and it's not like I have an overwhelming amount of things to do here."

I managed to keep my voice casual but I had to shove my hands under the table so he wouldn't see that they were shaking. I wasn't used to asking for things I wasn't sure I could get. I wasn't used to asking for things like this either. I felt vulnerable for the first time in almost longer than I could remember.

"You understand that on the ranging the conditions would be even rougher than they were on the caravan that brought you here. There would be no great tents or cots. We would be sleeping under tarps on bedrolls and hunting for all our food between villages. There could also be some danger from the wild men," he said slowly.

This was the heart of the matter really. My idea was a good one and it made sense that I had suggested it. But it made no sense that I had volunteered to do the work myself, even really to me. Of course I knew everything that Erchirion had said was true and he hadn't even touched on what I thought was going to bother me most: days between baths, no one to do my hair and wearing the same dirty clothes over and over. But I also knew somehow that this was something that I had to do. If I could do this and without complaining I would know that I really had changed. I wasn't sure that I was ready for this test but the opportunity might not come again. For the first time I wanted to test my mettle, to see if I really was made of lace and perfume like everyone thought, or if something a little sterner lurked beneath. Even I wasn't sure that there was. I would have put the odds as equal with a coin toss, but since coming to Rohan it somehow felt even more important to find out for sure.

But I had known all that for days although I hadn't been sure that the conversation would eventually reach this point. Even so, I had my answer ready. I laughed and said as casually as I could, "Well then, you aren't allowed to tell anyone I know that I did it without complaining."

He considered me for a long moment. Then he said, "I'll ask King Éomer."

TBC

AN: My wonderful beta Lady Bluejay did an awful lot of really exceptional work on this chapter (as is her habit) and made it a much better chapter two weeks before Christmas! What a champion. Thanks to everyone who reviewed as well! I hope you enjoy the update and let me know what you think of it.