Chapter 2

The funeral procession of King Théoden was the grandest Lothíriel had ever witnessed, the line of guests stretching across the long road. King Elessar and his new Queen, Mithrandir, Faramir, her father, gentry of Gondor, and the Hobbits were joined by the Elves of both Rivendell and Lothlorien, their attendants, minstrels and wains of food, tents and other accoutrements of the nobility, along with a small host of Rohirrim serving the King of Rohan.

She learned the morning of their departure that servants and tradesmen had been sent ahead several days to construct camps along the way to ease the journey. The threat of enemies, though considerably decreased, was not entirely gone and as such knights and soldiers also joined. Evandor, her countryman and her brother's close friend, was in attendance, having joined the siblings on their wild dash from Dol Amroth. He rode ahead of her, Amrothos beside him as they traded jokes and commentary, their slow party moving along the Great West Road.

Amrothos and Lothíriel were some distance from the front of the procession, those positions filled by the Kings Éomer and Aragorn, Queen Arwen, her elven kin, Faramir and Imrahil. Behind them rode the Hobbits and Mithrandir, the Dwarf, Gimli and Fellowship member, Legolas of Mirkwood. Only then did the children of the Prince find themselves in line but neither was put out. Conversation was easy and enjoyable. Lothíriel was delighted to reunite with her companion from the ride to Cormallen, Gaelen. The older man had been moved up in rank and served Faramir directly, which allowed him a place at the relative front of the march.

Although she'd not had an opportunity to speak to him Lothíriel caught glimpses of Rohan's king as the group assembled and ambled their way from Minas Tirith. As much as she wished to announce her presence, she could only keep a respectable distance and hope to converse with him when they rested or settled camp. But that did not stop her heart from thudding a bit louder when she saw his blonde hair or the tossing of Firefoot's head so far ahead of her. She could not deny the disappointment in her expectation that he would find her before the party set out, as he had the penchant to do.

"Is this your first visit to Rohan, my Lady?" Grey eyes shifted from the riders ahead to Gaelen beside her.

"Yes," she replied with a nod. "Travel was much restricted in my youth. I think, of all of us, only my eldest brother made it so far. Have you been?"

"Only to the borders on the east bank of the Mering Stream. And that was many years ago. But my father had cause to attend the court of Théoden's sire and spoke highly of both the country and her people."

"I have heard wonderous tales. And I am keen to see the horses of Rohan in all their splendor."

"Aye. This old girl is of their stock," Gaelen gave his mare a pat. "No finer horse have I owned. Perhaps you and your Lord father will have opportunity to bring some home with you."

"Should the King be so generous," Lothíriel answered with instantaneous glance ahead, though Amrothos and Evandor rode too closely for her to get a look beyond. "But I'll be content to rejoin with Elfhelm when we arrive."

"As will I. A good man, him."

"Do you know how long King Elessar plans to stay in Rohan?"

"I do not, my Lady. Prince Faramir will certainly attend the funeral and coronation to follow."

"Oh!" Lothíriel brows rose as she paused in thought, the bay mount beneath her swishing her black tail. "I'd thought the King had been crowned upon his arrival home."

"Nay. As I understand he's waiting for the burial of his uncle. And, if I guess correctly, the presence of our King. That they might renew the Oath of Cirion once both wear their crowns."

"A coronation isn't the only grand announcement," Amrothos spoke over his shoulder, his palomino gelding held back. Unsurprised by her brother's eavesdropping the woman maneuvered her horse so he could join the pair. "Our fair cousin will be rejoined with his beloved and, should my sources be correct, a betrothal may await us."

"What sources?" his sister queried with mock suspicion.

"I could not say," Amrothos answered with a grin and shrug. "Suffice to say it would not shock me if we see a funeral, coronation and a betrothal."

"A triple threat," came Evandor from ahead.

"Perhaps a double betrothal," Gaelen mused. The siblings looked at him expectantly, to which he followed up hastily: "Rohan will have its King. Certainly, a queen will need to follow."

"Éomer barely has a moment to brush his hair, much less search for a bride."

"Perhaps not, Lord Amrothos. I confess, I do not know the inner deliberations of the Rohirric court."

"Nor I," her brother conceded. "We may all of us be surprised."

The men continued chatting, the topic shifting to feasts and expectation of activities both on the road and upon arrival at Edoras. Lothíriel smiled and nodded but her mind was elsewhere. She ought to be brimming with joy at the thought of Faramir and Éowyn announcing a betrothal, but it felt distant from her at the thought of Éomer seeking a bride. In the months she'd been away from Minas Tirith she oft thought of the handful of interactions she'd shared with the Horselord, her heart and cheeks warming at the memories.

But now she questioned them. Could she have been foolish enough to impose a deeper meaning? Did she even recall them accurately? Of course Éomer would need a wife – a Queen to solidify his kingship and provide him with an heir. Lothíriel frowned at the consideration that she'd been a naïve fool during their time together, resenting how, even now, her heart leapt at the thought of the man.

"My Lady?" grey eyes found Evandor beside her, her brother and Gaelen now behind her. She'd moved her horse up unintentionally, so lost in her thoughts. She met his kind but concerned visage with a small smile.

"I bore easily of Amrothos," she answered with a return smile. Evandor chuckled and nodded with a glance behind him.

"Aye, that's understandable."

They rode together in comfortable silence, the Princess turning most of her energy to avoiding thoughts of Éomer. Gaelen's suggestion had brought a host of emotions to her, not least worry and embarrassment. Thankfully Evandor was a pleasant and steady companion, his occasional comments directed to the pair behind them and engaging her here and there.

The hours passed smoothly, the host moving through the Rammas Echor at its northern gate at a slow but efficient pace. The plumes of dry earth spiraled lazily from the hooves and wheels creating a hazy atmosphere about the party. It would not be long before her dark hair, braided and pinned into a coronet, appeared tawny and her traveling clothes carried a layer of dust.

An hour outside the gate the company halted, signaling the first break of the day. The land was still flat, fields of grasses unmolested by war stretched out on either side of them, the mountains silent sentinels at their backs. Servants and stable boys jumped from the wagons and began the process of watering the horses from a small stream winding its way down from the White Mountains. So great was the host that flags were set up to indicate who ought go where – the pennant of Dol Amroth erected some distance from the two kings', the Elven host and Faramir's new Ithilien flag. Removing her riding gloves, Lothíriel followed Amrothos and Evandor to greet their father, who she'd only met with briefly before the ride began.

"Hail, Daughter," Imrahil welcomed her with a smile as she canted her head respectfully. Although their staff was comprised of folk of Minas Tirith the Prince kept a small guard of Swan Knights in their retinue, their blue kits a darker hue than soldiers of the White City. While this was not a camp chairs and tables were set up for the gentry to take ease while their animals were tended to and the sound of a gittern and flute lilted upon the breeze. The retinue was in constant movement while she was encouraged to rest, moving bodies creating pathways between the noble houses.

After brushing dust from the brown split skirt the woman accepted a water skin from her brother and took a drink. Turning east she watched the banners of the Lady of the Golden Wood and Imladris undulate in the summer breeze, wondering if she would have the opportunity to interact with the Elven host.

Returning the skin to Amrothos her question was answered as her father stood from his chair, the unlit pipe he'd been holding tucked into his pocket as he bowed low. The siblings turned to behold the Elven twins, Elladan and Elrohir, approaching with their attendants in tow. Lothíriel had only seen them in the attire of war; now they wore pale grey tunics with thin circlets of silver vines on their foreheads and deerskin boots upon their silent feet. Dropping into a curtsey the woman then rose with a smile, which was shared.

"Greetings, Lord Amrothos and Lady Lothíriel," Elladan said as he stopped before them, the twins bowing.

"Well met," Amrothos replied in Sindarin. "We are glad to see you again."

"We were not sure you would arrive in time," Elrohir commented, looking to Lothíriel who shook her head.

"Neither were we," she answered. "I doubt our horses have ever been run so hard."

"We are grateful their speed bore you safely," came a voice behind the twins. They parted to reveal another Elf, clearly their elder.

"Lord Amrothos and Lady of Dol Amroth; our father, Elrond Peredhel, Lord of Rivendell."

The Prince's daughter dropped into a low curtsey as the twin's father stood before them, raising as he smiled at them. He greeted Imrahil first before looking to the siblings. Of all the Elves it was he Lothíriel was most eager to meet, his healing abilities renowned across the lands of Men. To be in his presence was, she was sure, not unlike meeting a hero from the storybooks.

"I have heard much about you," the Lord of Rivendell said, looking first to her brother then her.

"We are honored," she replied.

"I suspect we'll have much to converse upon, as I've heard you are a talented healer."

"I owe my skill to the fine teachers in Dol Amroth and the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith."

"All the same, Lothíriel has made a name for herself," Imrahil put in, switching back to Sindarin, with a warm smile to his daughter, her cheeks reddening as she nodded appreciatively.

"Thank you, Father."

"Be not discomfited by the Prince's acclaim," the Elven lord commented mildly. "We are commanders and warriors second, proud fathers first."

"I await your praise, Father," Amrothos remarked with raised brows, a grin barely contained as he gave a look of mock expectation.

"You, the slayer of a hill-troll on the field of the Morannon, need no familial accolades," Elladan quipped as Amrothos nodded his head with dramatic slowness. "Speaking of the demise of that troll, how fares your brother?"

"Healing well," Imrahil answered with a look to Lothíriel. "He is adjusting to the loss of an eye and already prowling the decks of our ships. Though I suspect he –"

"My Lord," came the interrupting announcement of a Swan Knight, causing the group to turn. "The King of Rohan approaches!"