16th October 3015 T.A., Minas Tirith

"A letter for you, my lady."

Lothíriel's heart skipped a beat. Could it be—? Hastily she assured herself it could; the courier from Dol Amroth had arrived not two days ago, and Father would not have sent another so quickly. She picked up the parchment from the silver tray with trembling fingers, and the page bowed and left her alone in her solar.

An unfamiliar seal, a rearing horse set in green wax. An unfamiliar hand, bearing her name. She laughed aloud—the risk she had taken to write Éomer had paid off! He had responded!

She broke the seal at once, casting her eyes eagerly upon Éomer's words.

Princess Lothíriel,

Firstly, I will admit to being confounded upon the delivery of your letter. My éored happened to pass the messenger on the road; when he hailed me, I could not think who might be writing me from Gondor. You surprised me, but I am no less grateful. I am sure that you brought me laughter for the first time in several days, and my men have been looking at me as if I have lost my mind. If that is true, I shan't mind one bit—but should you write me again, I will seek privacy instead of reading at the communal fire in the evenings, which is unfortunately where I am forced to write at present.

Let me first answer your questions. Our journey lasted two weeks from the time we left Minas Tirith until our arrival in Aldburg. It is a fair road, mountainous but full of beauty. I confess I find the sight of my homeland as we cross the Mering Stream the best sight of all.

Your next question is, and I quote exactly, "What is your home like?" That is a very difficult question to answer, and I hope you know it! Or perhaps you asked, fully aware of its difficulty and only meaning to torment me. If so—very funny. Your similarities with my sister prevail. But I will answer as if you merely intended kind curiosity.

Aldburg is a fortress situated upon a hill. All the city is contained in its stone walls, and the seat of my ancestors lies in the center. I was born here, though after my parents died I lived in Edoras with my uncle for the remainder of my upbringing. When he named me Marshal and returned to me my lands, I wondered if I could be master of a place I had somewhat forgotten. But now I feel only gratitude, for Aldburg is the home of my heart. So, you ask, what is my home like? It is an ordinary house in an ordinary city, but it is the only place I can find true peace.

Your third question I find most difficult to answer. Did you ask to know of my daily life knowing how dull it is, or how little I wish to bother you with unhappy details? I prefer you to smile rather than frown, and although I will not have the pleasure of witnessing your reaction to this letter, I can hardly set out knowing I will cause you to frown.

The life of a Rider is a difficult one. While I do not deny the enjoyment of riding with Firefoot for long days at a time, the reason why we do so is bitter to the taste. The only respites from the dullness of endless patrols on an unforgiving landscape are a skirmish here, a clash there. Enemies close in around us, and it is our duty to keep them from entering our lands. It is not unlike how you described in your letter how your brothers patrol the seas on their ships—except, of course, that we ride instead of sail.

My true pleasure is seeing my cousin and my sister. Such visits are rare, as Théodred patrols a different part of Rohan and Éowyn cares for our uncle in Meduseld. But they bring me joy, and when I am in their company the days are less weary.

For your boldness in requesting that I tell you of my life, I now ask you the same. I wish to know of Dol Amroth. And what of your life in Minas Tirith while your home is unsafe?—how do you fill your days in 'exile,' as you so poignantly termed it? To avoid too much sadness in these letters between us, my final request is that you tell me a silly story, and I shall guess if it is about you or one of your brothers. Then if I meet them one day, we can already have a reason to laugh between us.

Until next time,

Éomer, Marshal of the Folde, etc.

Lothíriel was in raptures. Éomer's letter was everything she had wished for—jovial and kind and obliging and teasing. She could not have asked for better! Already her affection was inclined to this tall, bearded man from the north of whom she knew so little... There was no hesitation to sit at her writing desk and pen a response at once.

To Éomer, 'Mere' Marshal as you once said, with which descriptive I am in disagreement—

I am glad to hear of your safe arrival. There are rumors in Minas Tirith of bandits who roam along those roads; but then again, I must suppose that they dare not attack soldiers in numbers such as your men. I also thank you for your response; I declare myself satisfied! This day, at least, I am less lonely.

Dol Amroth is beautiful. I am sure that no city can rival it. I understand that Minas Tirith has a reputation for beauty, but those who say such things are usually biased. Minas Tirith is stinky and crowded, and fresh air is rare unless one leaves the city gates. Dol Amroth is often graced with breezes from the sea, especially in the palace high on the cliffs—it is harder to find fresher, sweeter-smelling air anywhere, I think. It keeps the city relatively clean, and as the weather is always mild, one may roam the streets quite comfortably during the entire course of the year. Because of this, the markets and trading are spectacular! At least, they were when I was younger—now the threat of corsairs and unrest have disrupted most sea-bound trading. Sometimes my brothers command ships which accompany merchant ships bearing goods, so as to deter pirates.

There is very little to describe of my life in Minas Tirith, and much you already know. My brothers have their duties at sea, and mine is to stay safe, tucked away inland away from the sea and my family. I sometimes wonder if this is because my father fears the city coming under siege and being overrun. If this does happen, all my family, as the prince's relations, will naturally be put to death, and I am the safeguard against the line of the princes being obliterated entirely. These are terrible considerations, and I feel the weight of them keenly! I try to trust in the strength of my city and in the Swan Knights. If they are defeated, it will be at great costs to our enemies.

I did not begin this letter intended to come to such a gloomy point, and I apologize. You were quite right to insist upon a silly story! Here it is, to end on a happier regard:

When one of my brothers or I (remember, you must guess the culprit!), was quite young, we set out exploring my father's flagship while it was in harbor and he was in the palace for various meetings. I am afraid that upon such invasions from princes and/or a princess, common sailors can do very little against such impertinence. There was a matter of a childish wager against who might climb the rigging the fastest. Of course we have much experience around ships anyway, and so this was certainly no new thing—until one of us became tangled in the ropes. This unfortunate person was caught by the ankle, and was forced to dangle head-down for several minutes until a rescue could be made, and naturally lost consciousness. Father was suitably annoyed by this, but as there was no real harm done (apart from some embarrassment), the punishment was mild. In fact, I think now he would laugh at it, as I certainly would.

Now, here are the things I wish for you to tell me in your next missive. Firstly, of your cousin and uncle. Secondly, of your favorite places in Rohan. Thirdly, your favorite Rohirric holiday—we know little of your customs in Gondor, and I am curious. And lastly, I want the entire letter to be written in rhymes.

Yours most sincerely,

Lothíriel of Dol Amroth (even if she has not set foot in her home for nine months, and anticipates her exile lasting many more)

And she sent it with hope in her breast and a spring in her step.

Month after month this correspondence continued—much varied in topic, but always similar in lightness. Every four weeks, the messenger from Rohan brought a thick packet to Lothíriel and she smiled to herself for many days afterwards, hearing Éomer's voice echoing in her mind and imagining just how he would deliver his quips were he there with her. Though her days were slow and dull, when the next letter arrived she felt that the weeks disappear in a moment.

Éomer, for his part, was growing more enchanted by his Gondorian correspondent. As interesting and companionable as she had been upon their first meeting, she only grew in his mind with her quality, her skill in writing, and when their conversations turned solemn—her insight. He could hardly believe she was so young, for when he had been her age, he had been a tempestuous youth, little interested in anything besides horses and swords. He appreciated her interest in Rohan, and nearly a year and a half after they had met in Minas Tirith, he included a charcoal drawing which Éowyn had done of Edoras, hoping that it would please Lothíriel, which he was pleased to know that she did.

I thank you most for the illustration you included! she wrote. Did you draw it? I can hardly believe if you did! I think Edoras looks a charming place, and should I ever be free of my exile, I would immediately set out to discover the world which I am missing. I would visit all of Rohan, for I become all the more interested by your wonderful descriptions.

It was also well-timed in its delivery; your most recent letter arrived on my birthday! I am sure you did not intend it as I did not tell you the day. But now I am eighteen years of age. I feel no different. My yearnings and my heart are the same as ever.

My brothers were kind enough to send gifts for my birthday as well; I shall bore you with the details. Elphir and his new wife sent several yards of fine Dol Amrothian silk—very lovely with silver embroidered doves upon pale blue. Erchirion sent a knife, which a most unsettling message about the dangers of Minas Tirith (I discarded the note—it was dreary and contained no new information, anyway). Amrothos's gift was unexpected: he somehow procured a pattern puzzle made from birch bark, cut into pieces to assemble into a replica of my favorite of my father's ships, Pearl of the Sea! (Ship names are always a bit silly, perhaps later I will tell you more). I have been busy following the instructions, and though I lack eternal patience that would make me a truly skilled maker, it fills many hours of my days.

Now I come to the most important tidings. You will rejoice with me to hear that our friend, the gate-warden Baldir, has been freed of his father. The man fell from a rooftop several days back while drunken with wine, and he died soon after. Baldir and his sisters, waiting for their father to return, came to me when he did not. I was more than happy (though a whit wary), to host them, but it satisfied me to feed them and give them proper clothing. When the magistrates came to give the news of his death, the children all cried from relief—I confess I wept, too.

But a more difficult duty came to me next, for it was my responsibility to find them another home. They have no other relations in the city, and know of no others in Gondor. I wished, with all my heart, to keep the children with me—but I am not yet of age, unwed, and alone. I knew I could not. I finally decided to take them to a lady of Linhir, also dwelling in Minas Tirith for safety. Her only son was killed three months ago fighting corsairs, and her grief is immense. I thought that fostering children might draw her from her unhappiness—as soon as I introduced them to her, I knew I was correct. She smiled for the first time in many days, and the children already love her. I can visit them whenever I like, and so it is well settled all around!

Do feel free to compliment me on my wisdom. I think I did rather well.

If you would be so kind to tell me of your birthday, I can see about sending a rendition of Dol Amroth.

Yours as Always,

Lothíriel of No-where

P.S. Those ships—I nearly forgot! Here are some names: Sentinel of Destiny, Maw of the Deep, Ulmo's Wrath, Pride of the Valar (though of course there is no proof of that); Horizon's Call, The Lady Nimloth, Sail to the Stars, Umbar's Bane, Amroth's Revenge, Uinen's Bosom (I never quite understood that one, as I would think her bosom would be the sea itself, and not a ship), and last and certainly most concise—Death.

That letter affected Éomer differently than her earlier correspondences; it was several days before he understood why. Why he could not stop thinking of this princess, or why his heart always seemed to beat faster when he remembered her face. Why his admiration of gentle compassion was growing, and why somehow this woman had become his standard for nobility and character. Why he squinted at the twilight on clear nights, trying to see if he could see the shade of her eyes somewhere in the sky—

Well. He supposed he liked her. More than usual. And he wondered at it.