A/N: Salutations! Behold - a new story reimagining a meeting between Éomer and Lothíriel, this one deviating significantly from my other story, "Heartlines".
All "movie" canon characters share the likeness from the films (ex: Éomer, Faramir, etc).
Lothíriel - Kate McGrath
Imrahil - Jeremy Irons
Erchirion - Harry Llyod
Amrothos - Ben Barnes
I hope you enjoy! I would love and appreciate a review, if you are so inclined!
Chapter 1
"The city has been emptied, my Lord," the young Gondorian soldier spoke with an anxious timbre as he walked a respectful few steps behind the Prince of Dol Amroth. Directly following the Prince, nearly in step with the lad, were his two sons, their stature and presence a near mirror of their father.
"Where then is Lord Denethor?" The Prince inquired, rounding on the soldier with a concerned visage. "I had hoped to greet him here."
"I… I do not know, my Lord," the young man answered meekly, with a glance at the shadow cast down from the Citadel high above them. "He has not been seen of late."
Imrahil gave a sound of consternation, a frown set on his fair features as he followed the soldier's glance upward. The Citadel rose up from their vantage to block their view, the mountain beyond claiming the rest of the western sky. Removing his gloves, the Prince of Dol Amroth returned his gaze to the men processing from the entrance at the Great Gate, their numbers fanning out along the Othram as men and beast filed in and greeted their countrymen.
"Perhaps our cousin Faramir will meet us and give direction," the younger son mused, scanning the Gondorian men for a familiar face.
"Or the wizard, newly arrived this morning," the soldier put in with a lengthy pause to gauge the reaction of the Prince, whose brows rose and bade him continue.
"Wizard?"
"Aye. Mithrandir and his small companion arrived in the early hours," he answered with more confidence, leading them toward the gate of the next level. "He has given command in the like of our Lord Steward."
Following the soldier the Prince of Dol Amroth and his sons were accompanied by their retinue's high-ranking officials and heralds as the remainder of the host awaited instruction.
The young Gondorian led them through the city, commenting here and there on the state of the inhabitants and the direction of their leader. The Prince and his sons said little, nodding and putting the lad at ease as they went but finding little to remark on. Their group of twenty-some ascended the levels of Minas Tirith until at last they reached the upper most level, the White Tower of Ecthelion rising proudly against the mountainside and casting a lengthy shadow across the courtyard. They were brought to the wide protected vestibule, beyond which the feast hall lay, seemingly empty.
"This already feels foreboding," the younger son remarked to his kin after the soldier departed, grey eyes scanning the marble hallway for signs of life. The Tower guards were stationed in their illustrious kits, but none paid mind to the company, their faces set in grim determination.
"We come to face evil, brother," Erchirion replied darkly, with a glance in the direction of Mordor. "You're not likely to feel much joy here."
"No," Amrothos agreed. "But why would our uncle not receive us at the gate?"
"Your uncle is devoted to his grief of late," came a gravely commanding voice from the interior of the feast hall. "Hail, Prince Imrahil. Your presence is most welcome, I assure you."
The tall elderly man joined them with a bow, his staff clicking on the marble as he set it down. Imrahil bowed, followed in suit by his sons as the wizard surveyed their small group.
"Mithrandir, your coming is a blessing to us," the Prince noted with a smile, which was received warmly. "We bring seven hundred Swan Knights to aid Minas Tirith and picked up a contingency of men from the southern lords. Lords Hirluin and Forlong will join within the hour I suspect."
"A mighty defense," the wizard agreed with a curt nod. "The citizens have been remitted west for protection, so the city is prepared for this great host. Lodging and stabling of the horses will be processed in short order."
"Thank you," the Prince replied, turning as Gandalf welcomed him further into the citadel. "I should like to hear more on the troubles befallen my sister's husband and see my nephew."
"Father?" a female voice called from the back of the retinue as the Prince and wizard turned, the latter's eyebrows raised in surprise. The women and children had been evacuated within an hour of his coming that morning – had one lingered in the city? No, this was no lady of Minas Tirith.
Like her kinsfolk, the woman who emerged from the parting of soldiers was tall, fair skinned and dark haired, her grey eyes so alike to the Prince's it was no query that she was his daughter. A respectful bow was given the Gandalf as well as her father before she drew up straight. She was dressed for travel, a simple spun gown bore mud and dust from the road and her hair was braided in a coronet about her head, unkempt from riding.
"Ah, forgive me, Mithrandir. My daughter, Lothíriel."
"A lady come to fight?" the Istari murmured with the hint of a grin. The young woman responded with a small smile.
"Not I, my Lord. I have come to assist the Healers."
"Lothíriel has made her life's work in healing," her brother explained with a frown. "Though her presence here is some fine work."
"Nonetheless," the Princess cut him off with barely a glance. "I should only need direction to the House of Healing and I shall install myself there. I need not take more of your time."
"Ah, well yes," Gandalf answered with a lingering gaze at the woman. "A guard will bring you hence. The lady Ioreth will be glad of your presence I suspect."
"I can take her, if it pleases my Lords and Lady," a voice called from behind the wizard. All attention turned to a small fellow clad in the regalia of the Citadel Guard. He bore the countenance of a man, though his stature was that of a child. He bowed before the lords and Princess, his tawny hair catching the light.
"Peregrin Took," Gandalf announced, by way of introduction, "of the Shire. And newly decorated Guard of the Citadel - of only an hour. Yes. Escort the Lady to the Houses of Healing and acquaint her with the Warden."
Accepting his charge with a dutiful nod and extending of his hand toward the exit, the Hobbit smiled at Lothíriel, who returned it before addressing her father.
"Pass my regards to cousin Faramir, for I suspect I'll not see him for a time."
"I will, Daughter. Go then. One of us will pay you a visit before nightfall to see you are well settled ere we ride out to battle."
With a nod the Princess departed, following the Hobbit from the Citadel to the sixth level and the House of Healing. Gandalf allowed them time to distance from the group, leading the men of Dol Amroth into Merethrond.
"It is not often a Prince of the realm permits his daughter to join a war," the wizard observed as they walked. Imrahil smiled as his younger son snorted quietly behind them.
"No. But one so stubborn and adamant in her commission is hardly dissuaded."
"She would likely take the dress of a man and come regardless," Erichirion remarked, evoking a thoughtful "hmm" from Gandalf.
"As it stands, another healer in the city would scarcely be turned away," Gandalf remarked as they came to a standstill in the empty hall. "Now then. We have much to discuss, Prince Imrahil, on the topic of Denethor. Your arrival brings sound council as we prepare for an assault from the enemy. The city's steward is ill prepared, I fear, for what is to come."
TTTT
"A Hobbit," the Princess repeated as they descended the stairs beyond the tunnel built into the hillside. "I confess I have not met a Hobbit before."
"And I have not yet met a Princess of Dol Amroth," Pippin replied as they walked, their footsteps echoing in the tunnel. In his short tenure as Guard of the Citadel he had learned the layout of the city, though this was his first order that relied on said studying. But the House of Healing encompassed most of the sixth level of the Minas Tirith and he was hoping the Lady did not ask him for specific detail once they arrived. "But they are bound to say neither a Princess nor a Hobbit have a place in war."
"They may well be correct," Lothíriel murmured as the tunnel gave way to a wider corridor, marble pillars flanking them as light filtered through the arched eastern windows. "What brings you to war, Master Took?"
"Pippin, if you please," he interjected with a grin up at her. "And… well. It's a storied tale. But I am here as much for my friends who are scattered about, though we started this journey together. And, I suppose, my own foolishness."
"Foolishness concealing courage, I wonder." Pippin looked at her for a moment, curiosity getting the better of him as they rounded a corner.
"Do the Princesses of Dol Amroth join their menfolk on the battlefield or traditionally tend the wounded?"
"No," she laughed quietly, grey eyes shining with mirth. They walked past hedges marking the outline of the gardens, famed and beautiful in their artistry. The Healing House arose before them, an archway designating the entrance. "My skill with a blade would serve no one, myself least. I accompanied my kin despite their entreaties to remain at home. Though home is hardly safe now either." She paused to make way for a lad carrying towels and linens, though Pippin could not tell if she hesitated to consider her statement before continuing.
"But men are risking their lives to combat the darkness moving across the land. What little I might do to repair bodies and stave off death feels paltry to the sacrifices made on a field of battle. Perhaps, like you, I am here by way of my own foolishness. But I may be of service if the Warden will have me."
"I'll have you if your hands may be put to work and you have a strong stomach, my Lady," the Warden himself intoned as they arrived. He was standing in the courtyard, beyond which the House of Healing proper stood, a buzz of quiet activity from young men and boys. He was older than Pippin expected, though he stood erect with a sharp, appraising gaze, surveying the woman and Hobbit.
"I possess both," Lothíriel answered with a cant of her head. He stared at her for a moment, his quill poised above the parchment as he gauged her.
"I can hardly turn you away now," he grumbled after what felt like several minutes of silence. "Not at this hour, at least. I am Derufin, Warden of the Houses of Healing. You will attend the Lady Ioreth in a bay just there," he indicated with his quill, "and she will see you are dressed and ready to receive patients."
"Thank you," the Princess replied as the Warden turned from the pair. Facing Pippin the woman bent forward to place a hand on his shoulder. "I take my leave then. I do not know what is to come. But I hope you will find me should you have need. We oddities must stick together."
"Yes, my Lady," he replied with a Tookish smile, bowing his head as her hand fell from his shoulder. "Should we survive this, I shall look for you and pray find you well."
With a smile and an encouraging wink, the Princess departed in the direction Derufin signaled, leaving the Hobbit to return to his post with the burrowing fear in his heart that he might lose yet another friend in this war.