Days were quickly filled for a king. Éomer scheduled as many meeting into the next morning as he could. Though he would not admit it, he was avoiding Lothíriel. Eventually he was called to the great hall. There was little hope that the high lady would not encounter him at some point. He had yet to decide if he was avoiding for her sake or for his own.
Her brothers and cousin were sitting at one of the freshly cleaned tables, each with mug in his hand. Amrothos looked up and saw the king first. He smiled and hit his cousin. "Your bother-in-law is coming." The Dol Amroth prince whispered to the Captain of Gondor.
Faramir sent a warning to his cousin before rising to greet Éomer. "King Éomer," Faramir held out his hand to Rohan's king. Éomer gripped the appendage and glanced about the room.
"What is the occasion for a drinking party in the afternoon, Captain Faramir?" His sharp gaze noted that there were no women around.
"My cousin, the lady Lothíriel, has asked us to taste the food for tomorrow's ceremony." Faramir waved a hand to the men already seated. "Come, have a drink. I wish to discuss something with you."
The Marshall was about to join them, when Lothíriel appeared. She was dressed in a sapphire dress and carried two blades. Amrothos stood, holding up his hands in surrender. "It was my fault. I suggested we drink the ale."
Glancing among the men Lothíriel sighed. "And you all believed him. I said try the food, not drink yourselves into a stupor." Taking the mug from Faramir's place, Lothíriel took a drink. None of the Gondorians seemed surprised. "It is not as good as I would've liked, but there is nothing that can be done." She sighed and set down the mug. "Have any of you drunkards seen Lady Arwen?"
Amrothos finished off his drink. "Why do you need to see our glorious queen?"
His sister thrust one of the blades under her brother's chin. "I'd forgotten to tell her about the release in swordplay."
"Lady Arwen already knows her way around a blade." Aragorn appeared in the hall with Legolas, Gimli and Lord Elrond.
The men stood and Lothíriel bowed her head. "I am well aware, but this is not true sword fighting. It is ceremonial."
"There is a difference," Gimli asked truly confused.
"Lady Arwen must defeat her opponent, but she cannot draw blood," Lothíriel explained.
Elrond's brow creased. "Why not, Princess Lothíriel?"
"Because I will give no one a reason to object to your daughter." Lothíriel turned to see her father approaching with Lady Arwen and Lady Éowyn. "There has been grumbling amongst the people of a foreign queen."
Prince Imrahil nodded sadly. "The previous reign in Gondor was one of prejudice and fear. Not all of Gondor is welcoming to what they do not understand."
"Do you approve of me as queen?" Arwen asked the princess of men.
"My opinion is but one of many." Lothíriel smiled at the elf. "But I could not conceive of a better queen. Now, come and we shall fight to prove it." The elf understood her humor; the men smiled confused.
"I thought you were just practicing?" Amrothos asked. Glancing at Arwen both ladies laughed. The clear sound resounded through the hall.
Éowyn glanced at the laughing women. Faramir saw her look and suggested. "We should all go. Let's see how our skills match against each other."
"That is an admirable suggestion, Faramir. For our king will have to win his fight as well, but the king must draw blood." Lothíriel turned her sword and handed it to her brother before heading out the door.
Every body in the hall followed the prince and princess of Dol Amroth out to the practice fields. There was no separation between nobles and soldiers in the practice fields. For the riders part they were surprised by the princess caring a sword onto the field. But the men of Gondor simply took up a shout challenging both the siblings to fight their best. Several made bets on who would best the other.
Amrothos walked into the field and turned on his heel to force an aggressive attack on his sister, who easily evaded his attack. He put more energy into coming at her than she did pushing his sword to the side and stepping away. "What? Are you choosing defense today, dear sister?"
"Well, you seem a mite aggressive, so I thought I'd let you take the initiative. But if you have a problem with that?" Lothíriel thrust a quick attack at her brother's shoulder. Reflexes saved him from an easy defeat at the hands of his sister. The fight continued in the same vein. Clearly both siblings were not holding back. However, Lothíriel was at a disadvantage in her skirts. And the sparing ended when Amrothos's strike came too close to Lothíriel's head.
The princess's hair fell over her shoulders but she only smiled. "You two are constantly begging for trouble," Imrahil spoke to his children as he entered the training area. "And you both know better. Amrothos, you should not take your sister at a disadvantage in the hopes of besting her for once. On the other hand, Lothíriel, you should have known your brother would take advantage of the situation."
Lothíriel smiled at her father before turning to Arwen. "Lady Arwen, the ceremonial fight has two options: archery or swordplay. The sword is more difficult but it is what I would suggest. For ceremonial the fight is less jabs and thrusts but more fluid. Éowyn, if you wouldn't mind?" The white lady stepped forward and claimed Amrothos's sword. She faced off against Lothíriel. "It's less of a fight and more of a dance." Lothíriel turned carefully with her sword giving Eowyn plenty of time to react. The white lady met the attack and showed that she was capable by speeding up the tempo.
The two women battled with their swords as their hair and skirts swung around them in a shower of color and texture. There was no winner or loser as both stepped away. "Easy enough."
"Looks interesting, Princess Lothíriel." Arwen smiled, "But I do have a question. Why was this tradition begun?"
"It was to protect heirs and daughters of men from being forced into arranged marriages. Either can intentionally lose their battle and be freed from obligation." Lothíriel explained the tradition with the ease of someone who'd recited the words many times before.
Amrothos smiled. "Seems like a waste of a wedding then."
"Doesn't have to be." Lothíriel looked around and realized she'd need an example to explain the tradition thoroughly. Eyeing Éowyn and her cousin, Lothíriel grinned mysteriously. "Let's say that my father and the last king of Rohan decided to form an alliance by marrying Amrothos to Éowyn."
"Not likely," Amrothos scoffed at the idea. Even Aragorn joined in the chorus of voices calling Amrothos. He didn't seem to particularly care.
Ignoring her brother, Lothíriel continued, "But Éowyn didn't want to marry Amrothos, because she had a lover." She pretended to look around. "In Faramir. Now she could lose her fight but then there still was no guarantee her uncle wouldn't marry her off to another. Instead Faramir could challenge Amrothos and win, which is why both must be challenged by another. If no one challenges then they may choose for themselves."
"So why not archery?" Éowyn asked glancing at the practicing archers.
Lothíriel smiled softly, "Unless you are a great showman it is difficult to make an archery match exciting."
"Why?" Legolas asked glancing at his bow.
"Because if two opponents are unevenly matched, it will be obvious who will win." Lothíriel swept out her arm. "And this has become entertainment."
"I see." Legolas secretly disagreed, but he was a good enough archer that he could keep his count close enough to his opponent until the end.
"Well now that that's done, I suggest a little sparring." Elphir rubbed his hands together. "Shall we see who is best?"
Aragorn nodded with a grin. "I suggest we see if you are better than a king."
"My king, I think we all know that you could best me."
"I was not speaking of myself. How about it, Éomer?" Aragorn smiled over at his friend. "What do you think of a battle between a prince and a king?"
"I could use the exercise." For the first time someone called Éomer king and he didn't pull away from the sentiment. Perhaps it was the prospect of the fight or maybe it was the way Lothíriel had looked at him the previous night. He glanced over at her.
Looking over at her brother and his opponent, Éomer, Lothíriel smiled. Her brother would be a great leader in Gondor, because he understood the politics of their world, but from what she's heard, Éomer was a far better fighter.
Yet she'd never seen him fight and she was excited at the prospect. Tirama, her brother's wife, glanced at Lothíriel. "I think I will wish my husband luck." She walked over to Elphir and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips.
"Who's going to wish Éomer luck?" Amrothos asked, half-kidding.
Imrahil shook his head. "Éomer doesn't need it."
"And yet it is only fair. Lothíriel, you are the authority on traditions, can a sister bestow luck on her brother?"
"Yes," Lothíriel nodded. "I'd suggest a kiss on the cheek instead though." Éomer caught her eye judging her words. She half-smiled and he realized this was what her suggestion was going to be.
Éomer stayed his sister. "There is no need. I believe I still have some luck left." He nodded at the youngest Prince of Dol Amroth, who handed his father his sword.
"Father, don't harm him. He's the king of the Horselords. Aunt Lothíriel says they deserve respect as our allies."
"We are just sparring son."
The boy left his father and came to Éomer. "King of the Mark, please do not harm my father."
Éomer nodded. "This is just a friendly match amongst friends. No harm will come to either of us."
"But you're huge and all the stories say you're great warrior. One said you killed a man with your bare hands." The boy was still in awe of his savior.
Éomer pondered for a moment. "I have never killed a man barehanded. I suppose I could though under the right circumstances." He smiled down at the boy, whose jaw dropped.
As Elphir and Éomer began their fight, Alphros came to sit next to Lothíriel. "Aunt Lothie, when will the horse king return to Rohan?"
"After King Aragorn's wedding, I suppose." Lothíriel watched her brother fail to defeat Éomer.
Alphros looked sad. "I'll miss him. I think."
"Perhaps you can visit Rohan when you are older." Lothíriel answered her nephew in a way she hoped was comforting. The child's face broke out into a grin.
He took off from his aunt and ran to his defeated though pleased father. "I didn't expect to last so long against you, Éomer King."
"Perhaps it was your luck." Éomer bowed to Elphir's wife, so she'd know the jesting was a compliment.
She smiled pleased to be shown such respect from a king. "Mother," Alphros called out, "Aunt Lothíriel said I could visit Rohan when I was older."
"And where does she get this authority?" Éomer asked of Lothíriel.
She did not back down. Meeting his gaze, she answered, "You soundly beat the father; the least you could do is grant the son this one request."
Éomer nodded down to the boy. "If your parents agree, I would be honored to have you visit Edoras."
"Edoras." The word was spoken slowly, carefully.
"It's the capital of Rohan," Éowyn explained.
Alphros returned to his aunt. "Did you hear the king said I could visit his home?"
"I heard what he said," Lothíriel answered, "but you need to read a little less into everything you hear." Ignoring his aunt's advice, the boy continued to tell every other member of his family the good news. "Thank you," Lothíriel said to Éomer as he evaluated his weapon before returning it to its home at his hip.
"I did not invite you to Edoras." His smile was mirrored by one of hers.
She glanced over at her nephew. "He has been taught manners. Probably just forgot them in the excitement."
"Boys tend to do that, even men sometimes as well," Éomer said in the closest he came to an apology.
Faramir and Erchirion fought next. "Lothíriel, what's the tradition say about marrying a foreign woman?" Her brother inquired of her.
"Generally, the loss would be absorbed by another," Lothíriel answered.
Imrahil added, "For example, my wife was of Lórien. When I took her as my bride her parents were left without a daughter, her siblings without a sister, there was a piece missing that she filled. So in return a woman from Dol Amroth was offered."
"Doesn't that conflict with the earlier explained betrothed tradition?" Éowyn glanced at Lothíriel in confusion.
"No, the woman offered to another country would be given the betrothal right. If she did not wish to go she would not be forced though generally the woman would be a volunteer unless there was an emissary sent to choose and the woman would have the ceremonial fighting to make her opinion known." She explained the traditions as best she could to Éowyn.
The other woman clearly understood as she smiled. "It's like they planned for everything."
"Tradition develops over time," Arwen nodded agreeing with the sentiment that the traditions planned for every scenario.
The matches continued and spread to the rangers and riders. The whole of the training area filled with the fighters trying to prove their country the better. Looking out over the men, Lothíriel tried to see how the Rohirrim were called barbarians. Their armor and weapons were no less elegant that those of the rangers just modified to be of greater effect on horseback. Their hair and their clothing were not more disheveled than their Gondorian counterparts.
"What are you thinking of, dear cousin?" Faramir asked of her.
She narrowed her eyes in thought. "Just wondering how the stories paint us."
"Well, I always make sure that mine tell the truth. I need everyone to know how quiet you are and dainty. You'd faint at the sight of blood." Faramir continued to tease her until she slapped him in the shoulder.
"You, my cousin, are a brave man." She added, "Clearly, not very bright though. One should not mock when they are on uncertain ground." She glanced meaningfully at Éowyn. "You should speak with her brother."