Chapter 4
The Border of Rohan and Gondor
Autumn 3009
Éomer looked out over the plains of his forefathers the wind blowing his long hair out behind him. Firestorm moved restlessly, not liking the forced idleness. The young stallion showed great promise and had been born four years previously, bred from the same line as the horses Éomer's father had always favored. Hopefully Firefoot would serve the Mark for many years to come, as would his Rider.
In company with Marshal Elfhelm, Éomer waited for the Gondorians to arrive. He didn't know why they were passing through their lands but they had acquired permission from his uncle, Théoden King. Truly that was all Éomer needed to know. He trusted his uncle and his judgment. It had been his uncle who had adopted both he and his younger sister, Éowyn, eight years before they were orphaned.
As he heard the riders from Gondor approach, he turned and faced them. His eyes scanned the group of horsemen and found that among the brightly armored warriors were two who looked like they had never seen a battle before. One of the figures he could see was clearly a man, but the way he sat on his horse suggested that he mostly rode for pleasure rather than in pursuit of an enemy. The small figure beside him wore their cape with the hood over their face, hiding their identity from view. They came galloping towards them to stop short at the ford that was the border between their two countries. As they crossed the water, Marshal Elfhelm moved his mount closer. Éomer kept his eyes upon the hooded figure, who looked too small to be one of the men. When he saw the leather-clad legs and boots he assumed that it was a boy who was accompanying his master across Middle-Earth.
Both companies of horsemen drew their mounts across from each other. The man and the caped boy hung behind the company of what Éomer could only assume were guards. Elfhelm encouraged his mount to the front of the éored. The man behind his guards put a gentle hand on the caped boy and nodded towards the front of guards. After a few quick and quiet words together, they nodded again and walked their horses forward slowly. Éomer couldn't help but admire not only the boy's horse but also his riding ability. Moving forward, the guards maneuvered their mounts precisely until they stood like two straight columns. Two of the guards stepped out of their formation as soon as the caped boy passed them and followed closely behind.
"Good day, Riders of Rohan." The man spoke. He reached into his jacket and retrieved a letter that had Théoden King's seal. "We have permission to travel through your lands to the Gap of Rohan and beyond. I have been instructed by Lord Denethor that you will be escorting us to Edoras where we may thank King Théoden personally. Was he wrong?"
The way that he spoke made Éomer irritated, though he didn't know why. He had been polite and courteous. Did he feel looked down on? He shook his head for a moment to clear out the thoughts. Elfhelm gave him a strange look but, after taking the letter with his king's seal, spoke cautiously, " You are welcomed in Rohan. I am Marshal Elfhelm, at your service. Your lord was correct in his understanding that we are to be your escort, but first, as I have given you my name, you should return the courtesy and give me the names of you and your cape-clad friend."
The man smiled at Elfhelm before nodding, "I am Prince Erchirion of Dol Amroth and this is my sister, Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth." As soon as the second name was spoken, the boy, threw back his hood and looked directly at the group of horselords. Éomer felt his jaw drop when he saw the young boy had in fact been a young girl.
Lothíriel looked towards the group of horselords, trying her best to seem confident and calm. She knew that they were all surprised to see her. One of them in particular who looked to be Erchirion's age seemed particularly stunned. She wondered what he had thought about her before she had taken off the hood. Quietly she studied the faces of each man until settling back on the Marshal. She heard him speaking their native tongue for a moment before riding his mount across the distance towards Erchirion. He locked hands with Erchirion for a moment before simply expressing a more casual greeting. The rest of his group followed his lead and found their place among the rest of the guards who had been traveling with them. Only one other rider stayed next to the Marshal as they began their collective journey slowly towards the west and Edoras. It was the rider who had looked so stunned at her identity. As their horses walked in tandem, he tried to make polite conversation.
"Good day, Princess." He began. Lothíriel rather liked the sound of his voice. It was deep and had a strange raspy quality so unlike the smooth tones back in Gondor. He had long hair and dark blue eyes that in a different light might look black. She smiled at him for a moment before returning the gesture in kind.
"Good day, rider. I am Princess Lothíriel, though I believe you already know that from my brother." Her smile was welcoming to the man as he stared intensely at her face. "May I have your name?" she asked.
"I am called Éomer, son of Éomund and Théodwyn." He looked away from her face and studied the path ahead of them intensely. He smiled at a thought.
"What is it?" Lothíriel questioned, wanting to join in. She felt odd at her boldness. Normally she was shy around strangers, but something about Éomer made her feel safe, even when they stood in a land that could be attacked at any time by bandits, orcs or dunlendings.
He shook his head at her question for a moment before opening his mouth to answer her, "It's nothing important. If I may ask, why are you going to the elves?" He looked back at her face for a moment, his eyes scrutinizing her again. His gaze pierced her and she felt her cheeks heat. She looked down at her reins, studying them with the same intensity that he was studying her. She was about to answer when Erchirion, likely sensing how uncomfortable she was becoming, placed himself at Éomer's side.
"Marshal Elfhelm tells me that you are nephew to the King. What is Edoras like?" Erchirion's voice was informal, but Lothíriel knew her brother was working to gather the information on the cities of Rohan – from their architecture to the way they passed on knowledge. Lothíriel sat in silence as she listened to her brother quiz the rider. She looked back down at her hands and thought about what Éomer would say if she told him about her sight. She did not know how people viewed the gift of sight in Rohan. Would he think she was evil or simply be suspicious like the villagers back in Dol Amroth. Would he think to use her for his own purposes? Her mind went back to the man who had tried to abduct her. He had called her the Oracle. What did that mean? She shivered at the memory of being bound. She pulled her cloak tighter around her and saw out of the corner of her eye that Éomer was once again watching her.
They rode on for a few more hours changing every hour from cantering to walking to cantering again. When they made camp, Marshal Elfhelm told them that they would arrive in Edoras in just over a week. The sky above them was darkening quickly as tents were efficiently set up. The rate at which the Rohirrim were able to set up camp and take care of their horses spoke more about how much experience they had than any book could. Lothíriel spied her brother watching from the entrance of his tent.
She would have gone over to him, but she still held Hazelfal's reins and he needed to be looked after before she joined her brother for supper. Leading the horse away from the tents but still within the light of the fires, she began to remove her beautiful horse's saddle and blanket. Taking some carrot slices out of her smallest saddlebag she held them up for Hazelfal. After eating them quickly he nuzzled her hand gently, searching for more. She let go of his reins and asked him quietly in Sindarin to stay where he was so she could watch over him. The only response she had was that he dipped his head and began to eat the grass near him. Taking out the brush she started to stroke the horse's coat slowly and sing a lullaby to it softly to it.
I see the moon, the moon sees me
shining through the leaves of the old oak tree
Oh, let the light that shines on me
shine on the one I love.
Over the mountain, over the sea,
back where my heart is longing to be
Oh, let the light that shines on me
shine on the one I love.
I hear the lark, the lark hears me
singing from the leaves of the old oak tree
Oh, let the lark that sings to me
sing to the one I love,
Over the mountains, over the sea
back where my heart is longing to be
Oh, let the lark that sings to me
sing to the one I love.
Éomer was drawn to the singing of the little princess and came to the edge of camp and carefully watched her. Her voice was haunting, like someone calling back from the grave. When she finished her song, she continued the rhythm by gently humming the same tune. Éomer approved of what she was doing, she was making sure that her horse knew where she was so to avoid spooking it, while calming it with her soothing song. He had to smile at the careful way she stroked him with the little brush, clearly made for tiny, delicate hands. Her long hair was braided down her back, a very practical hairstyle for a young woman who has riding a long way. His sister had always rejected such notions as pinned hair, perhaps when she saw a girl on more equal footing conducting the practice, she would consider it every once in a while. He truly pitied his sister's maid whenever Éowyn went on her rides through the countryside surrounding Edoras.
He was quickly pulled from his musings when he heard a sharp cry coming from the Princess. He looked at her and found she had collapsed beside her horse, the brush still in her hand. Quickly calling for aid from his comrades, he rushed to her, carefully moving her away from her horse whose ears laid back flat upon his head. Speaking soothing words of Rohirric to the animal he turned his attention to the young girl in his arms. He saw no wounds on her that could account for her collapse, though he couldn't be entirely sure as he cursed himself for not paying attention. Around him riders from his éored as well as those who accompanied the royals of Dol Amroth were looking at the princess, waiting for her to wake. Éomer was glad one of the riders had the sense to lead the horse over to the others so as to keep him from bolting.
"Lothíriel!" Her brother hastened to the girl's side and dropped on his knees beside Éomer. "Oh, not again.," he murmured quietly. Placing his hands on her forehead he nodded slightly before standing. "Please, take her to my tent. She will need food when she," he paused for only a moment, "wakes." One of the two guards that had been watching Lothíriel throughout the day came forward to pick her up, but before he could, Éomer stood with her in his arms, nodding politely at the man. He felt stunned at the protectiveness he felt towards the young princess.
As he walked past the men that had circled around them he made note of the darker looks coming from those who were from Dol Amroth. Why did they seem so downcast? Was their princess of failing health? He shook his head. She would not be traveling if she were ill, would she? He kept trying to think of reasons why she would collapse like that. Looking over her he saw there was nothing until he looked at the side of her face. It was difficult to make out in the darker light, but as he got closer to a fire, he noticed a small line on her temple. He would not have noticed it if he had not been holding her so close. He wondered darkly how she had received such a mark.
Arriving at the tent, he bent his head under the flap that had been tied to the top of the tent and gently placed Lothíriel onto a cot that had been set up earlier. He heard the prince behind him thank him as he passed the young rider, pulling up a stool beside the cot. Prince Erchirion sat and no longer paid any heed to Éomer. After a few moments, Lothíriel's eyes opened and she smiled weakly at her brother and grasped his arm tightly. Seeing the closeness of the siblings, he began to miss his own sister. He loved being a rider, protecting his homeland from the King's enemies, but he did regret that his duty to his King and country took him away from his sister so often.
He exited the tent and began walking towards one of the fires slowly. He reassured the other riders he passed that the princess had woken up and seemed well enough. The information quickly passed throughout the groups and by the time he found a seat before one of the smaller fires, the camp had cheered up considerably. The Gondorians and Rohirrim warriors got along fairly well as they discussed fighting and riding techniques. The noise of conversation buzzed around him as he began on his supper of travel bread and dried meat. As the night progressed, most of the men who were still awake began to make their way to their tents. Four men, two Rohirrim and two Gondorians, stood awake for the first night-guard shift. Seeing that all was quiet, Éomer walked over to his own tent and laid down to sleep, unaware of the threat that was stealthily making its way through the plains towards them.
