A/N: This is my first Lord of the Rings fanfiction, I hope that I showed the canonical characters in a way that is true to the way that Tolkien created them. If you have any feedback or encouragement, please say as much in the review. If you spot anywhere where the canonical characters are not true to their characterization, please tell me, as well as if you have any tips.

Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable materials. I do not gain money from this story.

There is an innocence in admiration; it is found in those to whom it has never yet occurred that they, too, might be admired some day. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

The application and acceptance process is vigorous, but one should not be unduly surprised at this, seeing as the stable is owned by the sister of a king and the steward of the land. When I first found out that Lady Éowyn was going to open a stable in our own land of Gondor, I was ecstatic. Her horsemanship was to be far beyond the horse-master of my home area and certainly much more impressive than my skills.

I waited until I believed the stables were running, as I did not wish to impede on anyone's progress. Then I penned a letter in my neatest writing, taking great care not to smear the ink, folded it, and I rode to the entrance of the Steward's estate. I had dressed in my best clothes, and I braided my hair more tightly and neatly than usual. I had polished my boots and took extra care with Gramwig's grooming. It would hardly be fitting to ride up for a stable job on a dirty horse. I cleaned his tack before I left as well. I hadn't used a saddle in a while, as I was trying to learn to simply ride bareback, but I wasn't confident enough to ride up to such a rider as the White Lady bareback quite yet.

As I came closer a guard stopped me.

"Are you a messenger?" he asked, stone faced, though his eyes showed he was quite doubtful of such an office being given to me.

"No, sir, I wish to deliver a message to Lady Éowyn concerning her stables," I replied.

The guard stared me down. His brown eyes boring into my green ones.

Gramwig sneezed beneath me, and finally the guard called a boy around my age to him. "Please escort this young woman to the Captain, and have a groom take her horse."

I considered for a moment whether or not to deny having my horse separated from me, but I decided against saying anything to possibly get on the wrong side of anyone. I dismounted my gelding and walked alongside him to the stables, where a man, a few years my senior, took my horse.

I lingered for a moment as I watched the stable hand lead Gramwig into the stables. I watched my heavy set horse yank down nibbling some grass before the stable hand clicked his tongue and patted Gramwig's rump.

My escort cleared his throat and I followed him to a rather tall man standing rather menacingly. The man reminded me slightly of a guard dog, aloof, wary, and not strongly disinclined to attack if I moved the wrong way.

"Are you armed?" he asked gruffly.

Now, in this case, were this any other time, I would say 'yes, I have both of my arms attached to me, thank you very much,' but this wasn't the time. So I opted for the less bantering: "Yes, sir."

"May you please set your weapons on the ground?" The tone was of a command.

I slowly pulled out my hunting knife and the bent piece of metal which was my hoof pick and set them gently on the ground.

"Why are you here?"

"I wished to come under the supervision of Lady Éowyn for her horse stable. I have written a letter for the lady and would be honored if she would read it."

After scrutinizing my face (the White company seemed to be fond of the activity), he narrowed his eyes and turned to my escort. "Go fetch Lady Éowyn, if she wishes to come, so that she may inspect this young woman."

The boy nodded and trotted off into the house. I stood rather awkwardly in front of the guard, careful not to touch my letter with my slick palms. I considered asking if I might have my knife and hoof pick back, but I didn't have the courage.

The White Lady came out upon the stair and the sun caught her beautiful, long, blonde hair. It was reminiscent of the flaxen mane of a hair after a good grooming. Her pale gray eyes sparkled and I couldn't help but stand in awe. This was the White Lady. The woman who killed the Ringwraith. This was Éowyn Wraithbain.

I curtseyed low until the Lady said "rise," and I did as she said slowly out of respect.

Just by standing there, I could feel the force of her personality. She possessed pride without arrogance and fierceness without anger.

"What is your name?" she asked me.

"Lavanberia, milady."

"I am told you came upon a horse, show him to me." Lady Éowyn bent and we traded my letter for my pick and my knife, both of which I stowed away.

The Lady led me to the stables where a stable boy greeted the lady with a bow. The lady nodded at him, bid him to rise, gave the letter to him, telling him to bring it to the house, then led me down the hall of stalls. There were blacks and bays, chestnuts and palominos. Then a dapple gray with a name plate showing the name 'Windfola,' at which I gasped.

The lady smiled beside me and asked me, with a pleased but still regal air, "You know of my horse?"

"Yes, milady. He is a gorgeous horse indeed." I wished to ask the age, and if Windfola was to be bred, but I kept myself from speaking. I watched as Windfola nickered at his lady and nuzzled her bosom. The Lady smiled and stroked the horse's face lovingly. Oh, how I wished to pet the legendary horse, but I assumed the Lady would not be pleased with an impoverished subject touching such a fine mount.

Lady Éowyn seemed to remember my presence, and we continued to a stall with no name plate.

Gramwig was sleeping, his hind hoof cocked, but I believe he smelled me, for he blinked and whickered, pricking his ears forward, eagerly walking to the door of the stall. He huffed into my nose, as is the greeting of horses, and I huffed back. I scratched his cheek and Gramwig sighed in contentment and lipped my hair and then I suddenly remembered Lady Éowyn.

"My apologies, milady. Lady Éowyn, this is Gramwig, by Sigrhild out of Aldwyn. Gramwig, this is the White Lady Éowyn, Wraithbane, princess of Rohan."

My sweet steed seemed to care nothing of titles for he simply huffed and nuzzled the Lady's hand for food. A smile appeared on the Lady's face at my horse's less than chivalrous behavior, but her eyes seemed to scrutinize every inch of my beloved horse's body. I have never claimed to have a horse fit for a king, or a steward, and certainly not for a lady of Rohan, who likely possesses intimate knowledge of the Meathras. In my steed's defense, he had some Rohirric blood in him, not Meathras, but Rohirric nonetheless. Granted, such blood was diluted with a few generations of draft horses. Not that I minded in the slightest. My wonderful Gramwig was one of a kind, a paint horse. He was heavily built and tall, 15.2 hands at the withers. He was black and white, mostly black with white legs, a splotch of white near his withers and a stripe from halfway down his face to his velvety nose. He wasn't regal and refined like some of the horses of the Haradrim are (their horses glisten like the sun and are finely sculpted beauties), no, he was more bulky like his dam.

The Lady opened up the stall door and beckoned me to come in as well. She ran her hands over every inch of my horse's neck, body, and legs, just as I do often to check for any bites or injuries. She checked his hooves and inspected his mane and tail, which I had braided for the occasion. She inspected my horse's head, opened his mouth, and scratched his ears.

My only guess of her purpose was to see if I took proper care of my own horse, which I likely would have done were I in her boots.

After a bit, which, I am sure, to my ever hungry steed seemed like much too long away from hay, the Lady turned to me and led me out of the stall. Lady Éowyn and I walked out of the stables and down to some pastures with a couple of older horses grazing the green grass.

"I assume you wish to be hired as a stable hand at my barn," the Lady finally spoke after long moments of silence.

"Yes, milady."

"Any reason why?"

I sighed thoughtfully. "I truly enjoy the presence of animals, and I wished to expand my knowledge and experience of and with horses. I reasoned that a lady of the land of the horse-lords would be the best mentor under which I could learn. I know a substantial amount of horsemanship and I wish to add to my skills."

Lady Éowyn seemed to mull this over as she nodded her head slowly before inviting me to walk along with her down a path towards a garden.

We passed through many subjects of small talk before the White Lady asked, "How is it that you come by blonde hair and green eyes, yet live in Gondor? Go on, I do not bite."

"My grandmother, my father's mother, was from Rohan. She- her name is Aldgith- fell in love with my grandfather, Arradon. Eventually, it came to be that they wed, and my grandmother moved to Gondor. I have her eyes, though none of my brothers do."

"You have brothers?"

"Yes, milady, three… or, I did have three, I have two now."

"I am sorry."

"No, I am sorry, milady, there is nothing to apologize for." I cleared my throat. "Magulnast was my eldest brother, he fell during the War of the Ring. He was twenty five winters. He wanted to go fight, he wished to die in honor if he died, and he did. He died. He is in the Halls of Mandos now, with my dear mother and many of our kin. I can imagine him telling and listening to war stories with other warriors, any one who will listen."

"What are your other brothers like?"

I grinned. "I don't love either of my older brothers more, but I like one of them better than the other."

Lady Éowyn threw back her head and laughed. It was a light laugh, one that I imagine my mother might have had. "Oh?" She asked with an eyebrow raised.

"Aye, milady. Maengraw runs a silversmith, he's twenty two winters now, he is rather gruff and aloof and quiet, like a good guard dog, but not much fun for a human if you ask me, not one for jokes or silliness, only seriousness."

Lady Éowyn smiled, "And who is your favorite brother, tell me about him."

I grinned as I thought about Idhangoll. "His name is Idhangoll, he is 16 winters. He has the neatest penmanship I have ever seen, I believe he would make a fine scribe. He is meticulous and thorough and can never have enough information. He also has a gift for languages, he is fluent in Rohirric, according to my grandmother who came from Rohan. He also knows Sindarin and is dabbling in the language of the Ancient Númenor. Have I told you all my brothers have black hair, as black as any Gondorian? And that they all have gray eyes? I am somewhat of an oddity. My father says it's a good thing we aren't nobles, otherwise someone might doubt my legitimacy!" I stopped once I realized what I said and looked at the Lady timidly. "I am sorry, milady, I forgot my place and my company."

"You are forgiven, young one," Éowyn replied, seeming to stifle giggles.

We walked a few moments more in silence before the lady broke it. "Tell me of Gramwig."

"I am delighted to, my lady…"

I was requested by the lady to bring myself to the barn again the next day.