AN: Yay for lovely reviewers that make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside! This time I have to thank Saren-Dipety (loved the little touch you threw in at the end there, I see you noticed my fondness for other languages, hehe!), LalaithElerrina (who really has some lovely stories, may I recommend you have a look-see), Cherrie ("MORE, HE WANTS MORE?!") and cCeret (Buenas noches de Inglaterra - apologies if that is wrong, I haven't studied Spanish in a while...). Anyways on with the story!
DISCLAIMER: To own or not to own that is the question... unfortunately in my case, when it comes to this story, it would be the latter.
The next few days saw Lothíriel get to know the Shieldmaiden of Rohan far better. She had been shocked to hear of her great courage in the Battle of Pelennor Fields, how she slew the Witch-King of Angmar, and she was unsurprised to hear that the healers still wanted the Lady to rest.
Éowyn, of course, was having none of it. Ever since becoming friends with Lothíriel she had managed to avoid the unwanted attention from overly vigilant healers and wardens. Lothíriel however did not encroach too much on her new friend's time as she had observed Faramir's behaviour around Éowyn, and she knew that there was something between the pair that was more than mere companionship.
When she was not with Éowyn, Lothíriel spent time in the great library of Minas Tirith, reading up on the language of Rohan, as she wished to be able to converse with her friend in her native tongue. As a child Lothíriel had had many tutors teaching her all manner of important arts that she would need as a princess; her harp playing was second to none in Dol Amroth, which was renowned for its harpists, and she spoke Sindarin fluently. She had a theoretical grounding in the basics of the Rohan language; she knew what certain names meant; yet she had never been able to put her skills into practice.
Lothíriel did not have much spare time though, as it became increasingly clear that her father intended to pay her much more attention in the days leading up to the coronation.
"Lothíriel, come hither my daughter, let me take a look at you." He said on the second day after her arrival. "Yes, I believe the time is right… Let me speak plainly with you my child; in a few days hence all the lords of Gondor will be returning to Minas Tirith for the King's coronation. I wish for you to be presented before the court and I wish for you to make the best impression possible. To this end I have employed a great many seamstresses to make you new dresses, as I know many of your finer ones could not be brought with you on your journey."
Imrahil paused expectantly, so quickly Lothíriel answered, "Thank you father, that is most generous of you… But may I enquire as to why you believe it is important that I make such a good impression?"
"Come now daughter, we both know this will be the greatest opportunity for many a year for you to meet eligible suitors. You could not possibly hope to remain unmarried for the rest of your life?"
"No father, I just… I hoped for more time."
With that the prince's eyes softened, and he took his daughter's hand, "So did I, dear heart, but I cannot pretend that a strong match would not be welcomed. The war has taken its toll on our fair city; we need, now more than ever, a guarantee of support. Something that only a marriage between great families can provide. Will you do your duty Lothíriel?"
"Of course father, when the time comes I will play my part." Lothíriel replied, bending her head respectfully.
After that she was subjected to endless fittings, as there was little time left before the coronation. On one occasion she was joined by Éowyn and she was able to practice her newly learnt phrases from Rohan's language. Éowyn applauded her enthusiastically and helped correct her accent.
The morning of the 1st of May arrived with much hustle and bustle everywhere in the city. In the household of Prince Imrahil the men were able to lounge around in the receiving rooms, but behind the scenes the women were hurriedly trying to make last minute preparations.
In her rooms Lothíriel had several servants attending to her, though she missed the presence of her ladies maid Elmavi, who had stayed behind in Dol Amroth. These girls, who were mainly from Minas Tirith, hurried around her, fitting her into her new dress, braiding her hair, applying light make-up to highlight her pale features and applying rose blossom scent just below her jaw line. Once they had finished, Lothíriel was finally able to look at herself in the long mirror.
She was momentarily stunned; the transformation from a regular beauty to an ethereal goddess was almost shocking to behold. Yet that was how she appeared. Quickly Lothíriel thanked her helpers warmly, before she turned back to study her appearance.
Her father had asked that her dress be white, to showcase her virtue and her luscious dark hair. Also it made her look incredibly regal, like the swan of her people, with a long flowing train and patterns of silver thread running throughout. Her hair was down, but braided towards the top, with pearls beaded in a design. Truly the look was flawless, Lothíriel had never before felt so beautiful. It made her sad that her mother would not be able to witness her transformation from a girl into a woman.
At that moment Imrahil walked in to fetch her for the coronation, he had been about to speak when suddenly he faltered and stood stock still, "Why… Lothíriel, you are the very vision of your mother, she would have been so proud of you."
Lothíriel could feel the emotion in her father's voice and she immediately moved to embrace him, "Thank you father, for such a beautiful dress, and for everything… You have been the best parent any girl could hope for."
"Now we must be off, it would not do to be late!" Imrahil said rather gruffly, though Lothíriel could still see the moisture of unshed tears in his eyes.
There was a great crowd milling around the streets, but the heralds of Dol Amroth were quickly able to clear a path for the royal guests. Lothíriel's father had insisted that she ride in a palanquin, so for now she could hardly see the people through the veiled curtains. She did not mind too much though and she used the time to imagine what the new king would look like and to remember some of the Rohirric phrases that she had practised with Éowyn, for today she would meet many more of the riders of Rohan.
Éomer rode through the streets with a procession of his men. Their armour had all been newly polished, and the horses groomed until they almost shone, so he was unsurprised to hear the gasps of wonder from the people of Minas Tirith, many of whom had not been around at the time of the Battle of Pelennor fields and had now returned as refugees and to witness the coronation of their king.
The new king of Rohan was pleased to be back in the city of Minas Tirith; he had not had much time to explore when he had last been here, and he feared he would not have much time again on this occasion. There were many things that urgently had to be put in order back in Rohan, so he was due to return to Edoras with his sister only a week hence.
For now though, as the riders came to the stables on the sixth level, he was able to soak up the atmosphere of a city finally free from the oppression of dark forces. He could sense hope in the air, and as he climbed up to the seventh level, where the coronation was to be held, he could not help but be caught up in the mood.
People were already in their places, and Éomer took his position to the left and slightly to the front of the platform on which Gandalf the wizard stood ready to receive his friend.
It was then that he saw her.
Standing on the other side, and slightly further away from the platform, a dark haired girl whose beauty surpassed any mortal girl that he had laid eyes on in his life. A beauty so rare indeed, he believed that she belonged better in one of the great ballads of old, rather than mere meters from himself. Suddenly she looked up and caught his eye. Immediately he felt something shift in his very core as he gazed into those piercing grey eyes. But the glimpse was all too fleeting, as she gasped and turned away.
"She's very beautiful is she not?" Éomer turned towards the voice of his sister Éowyn, who also was looking particularly fair on this occasion.
"Sister!" he cried. "Oh how it gladdens my heart to see you well again!"
"Thank you brother, you have the good healers of Minas Tirith, and my lord Faramir, to thank for that." She replied, gesturing to the captain of Gondor that stood just behind her.
"Then my lord I am in your debt," he responded inclining his head to the other man. "But pray, sister, do tell me who that girl is."
Faramir responded first, "She is my cousin, the princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth."
"The daughter of Prince Imrahil?" Éomer questioned.
"The same. She is but nineteen years of age, but some say she bears the wisdom of one of the Sindar, indeed she has many attributes of one of that race."
It was at this point that Éowyn spoke, "She has been a good friend to me these last few days, I should very much like if she could return with us to Edoras."
Faramir frowned, "I'm not sure her father would approve, he is very protective of his daughter, and I know he is set on her finding a suitor here in Gondor very soon."
Éomer paused to mull over this information, "Perhaps I will speak to the lady, I would very much like to meet any friend of yours dear sister."
It was at that point that horns announced the arrival of Aragorn, soon to be King Elessar of Gondor. Everyone ceased their conversations and turned to watch as the first signs of Gondor returning to its former glory unveiled themselves.
AN: I hope you are enjoying this as much as I am, sorry that it is taking so long for Éomer and Lothíriel to get together, but I'm trying to make it as realistic (oh how I wish a story about Middle Earth could actually be realistic) as possible. Please let me know what you think!
