Chapter 3

The thin sea of bodies parted to reveal the blond Horselord striding with haste toward their tiny encampment. Lothíriel stood beside her brother and Elladan, her view of Éomer partially obscured by Elrond, Elrohir and her father. The man was outfitted for the road, still clad in the burgundy armor, though a mantle of dark green sat about his shoulders, trimmed in gold and ending at his boots. His hair was dressed in the style she was accustomed to, a portion tied back and the rest loose at his neck. He looked both familiar and remarkably regal. Her kinsmen and the Elves canted their heads in greeting as the King halted, bowing himself.

"Hail, King of the Mark," Amrothos announced as he stepped forward, grasping Éomer's forearm. The blond nodded once, his gaze moving across the party. When their eyes met Lothíriel could not help but detect relief and… surprise?

"Not quite," Éomer corrected with a slight smile, his gaze on her before turning to the men. "I cannot claim that title until the business of mourning is complete. But Éomer will suffice, now and evermore between us. I thought you were delayed in joining our party. I was just informed you and Lady Lothíriel were among the host. Forgive my tardiness in greeting you."

"We cannot forgive that which does not require an apology," the woman put in as he looked at her. "It is good to see you again, my Lord."

"And you, my Lady. I am relieved to know you arrived safely. My sister will be pleased."

"We'd not miss this occasion," Amrothos put in. "It is not often the men of the Bay have cause to tour the land of the Horselords."

"That may prove a thing of the past, my son," Imrahil mused. "With peace upon our kingdoms I suspect our borders will be open as in the days of olde."

"It would be boon for Rohan to have friends in Gondor's fiefs, especially the coast," Éomer replied with a small smile as Amrothos nodded.

"Consider this an informal invitation to Dol Amroth," he announced. "Indeed, I extend it to all," he indicated to Elven lords, "that you might visit and take your leisure upon the beaches of Belfalas. With your leave, of course, Father."

"Why should you ask for Father's leave?" Lothíriel queried with a calculated glance at her brother. "You hardly take heed of it."

"True enough," Amrothos conceded with a raised hand and cant of his head. The Elven twins shared a smirk with the Prince's son before bowing and departing the group. Éomer lingered for another moment, though it was clear he was making rounds greeting the gentry and had to move to the next group. He met Lothíriel's gaze a final time before bowing and promising to rejoin them later. She felt a pang in her chest watching him depart, hoping it was not their last interaction before Edoras. When she turned back to their much-diminished group she found her father looking at her and Amrothos with a wistful visage.

"My children seem to govern themselves," Imrahil observed to Elrond who chuckled.

"Is that not the great joy and grief of parenting? That they should have the aptitude to make decisions without our guidance?"

"Aye," the Prince agreed quietly, his gaze settling on Lothíriel. "I confess it comes easier for me with my sons."

"Hmm," the Elven lord nodded understandingly, also looking at the woman, his expression kindly. She pressed her lips together and avoided their gaze, feeling abashed in their shared experience in fatherhood. "Daughters are another thing all together."

"I say, Lothíriel," Amrothos said a little too loudly, catching wind of his sister's discomfort. "Will you not join me in finding out steeds? It seems we're preparing to ride again."

"Yes," she agreed with an appreciative nod, taking her brother's arm. The pair bowed before their father and Elrond, who sent them off with smiles. As they departed the woman released a sigh.

"I'm sorry Father spoke thus in front of you," Amrothos murmured once they were out of earshot. The host was in movement, horses and wagons returning to the road as the camp was broken.

"It's alright," she answered with a shrug. "Father does not often opine on his role as a parent, and it seems if anyone might understand raising sons and a daughter it is Lord Elrond."

"All the same I think he forgot himself."

Lothíriel turned to look at her sibling, surprised by his quiet candor. Grey eyes usually filled with mirth were earnest as they looked at her, his expression unreadable. She frowned, not realizing he was so moved by their father's words.

"What is it?" she asked cautiously, brows drawn.

"Nothing, little swan. Just brotherly concern."

"For?"

"Cousins!" the pair started, turning to the road as Faramir's chestnut approached them, rider hailing them with a hand. Lothíriel resigned to tucking the conversation away for later, perturbed by her brother's odd response and acknowledged concern. She smiled as their cousin approached, followed by their horses trailing behind a stable boy.

"Come to visit the peasants, good Prince?" Amrothos remarked, his tone cheerful once more as he received his courser's reins.

"Peasants? Nay! Are you not my chamber pot lad?! and so far from my side. I shouldn't have to come searching for you when my pot is full!"

The men laughed as the siblings mounted, settling on their steeds as Faramir moved to their side. He had a peace to him that was both delightful and foreign to her, his smile easy and grey eyes alight. It warmed her to see him so at ease, even with the grief he undoubtedly carried.

"Will you not join me at the front?"

"We did not think it appropriate to ride so close to the Elven host or the Kings," Lothíriel explained, matching the man's pace as Evandor and Gaelen fell in silently behind the trio. Faramir gave her a puzzled look and shook his head.

"You are the Prince's children. At the very least you must ride in his party. The Swan Knights should not come before you two."

"Loth and I figured it would be best not to ruffle feathers. Besides, we've been having a lovely time with the riffraff," he gestured to Evandor. "No polite discourse or adherence to courtly manners. And Lothíriel needn't censure her foul tongue back here."

"If that be your worry you ought hear the language on the Hobbits and Gimli. No need to stand on propriety with them around. Come on," Faramir exited the line, beckoning with his head that they follow as he began trotting along the edge of the road. Amrothos and Lothíriel locked eyes and her brother shrugged.

"We've been summoned. Off we go," he urged his horse into a fast trot, also breaking the line to follow their cousin.

"We'll see you soon, I'm sure," she announced to Gaelen and Evandor apologetically. Evandor grinned and nodded.

"Enjoy the fresh air at the front, my Lady."

The Princess moved her bay mare out of the line to follow her cousin and brother, both several paces ahead. The line was long, punctuated by wagons and open carts carrying necessities. Flag bearers dotted the queue, spaced between the processional to avoid spooking the horses with the pennants. Occasionally the trio had to ride into the margins of the field to avoid the wains and not disturb the party. It was reminiscent of her youth; horses galloping across the beach or through the meadows, her ever seeking to catch up to the boys. But now they were more restrained, the horses' gaits maintaining a respectful trot, occasionally breaking into a canter but quickly and efficiently settled.

As they neared the front Faramir and Amrothos slowed their mounts, but Lothíriel was far enough back that she let the bay canter through the grasses, her stride even and strong. Pulling her back to a slow trot Lothíriel's smile faded as she met the stares of the riders in line, Elves and Men alike. She was suddenly reminded ladies of the Gondorian court do not fly through the fields, even if the men do. She sat the mare's slow trot, nodding respectfully to those she passed.

Her brother and cousin had inserted themselves much further up, seemingly with Elrond's sons but there wasn't enough room on the road for her to walk abreast with them. Instead, she was happy to spot four ponies, the distinctive mop of curls identifying her friends. As she approached them, she realized she'd recognized a face in the line. Slowing the horse to a swift walk to meet up with the Hobbits, Lothíriel turned in the saddle and found the familiar face now some riders back: Éomer.

He was still staring at her, his expression dazed as though he'd woken from a dream. When their eyes met he smiled at her, and she returned it, twisting in the saddle for a moment before sitting forward and approaching the ponies. She hadn't expected him to be so far from the front – had she been paying more attention she might've been able to ride beside him.

"Greetings," she called out, a smile on her lips as the Shirefolk turned.

"Lady Lothíriel!" Pippin cried, pulling his pony to a halt as she maneuvered next to him. "You are here! I told you, didn't I, Sam."

"You did," the blond Hobbit replied placidly with a nod, looking to her with smile. "Good morrow, Lady."

"Hello. Forgive me for riding up upon you like a bandit."

"A most lovely bandit," Merry replied with a tip of his head. Furthest from her, Frodo met her with a small smile, tipping forward in his saddle to see her.

"Would you mind if I joined you?"

"Of course not!" Pippin tugged firmly at his pony's rein to urge the beast to make room. On her bay palfrey she was quite tall but there was enough room to ride five abreast with four ponies. She settled next to Pippin, feeling better about rejoining the line with her friends.

"You arrived last night, so said Faramir," Merry commented, his grey pony flicking her head against a fly.

"Yes, most unceremoniously. We feared missing the party."

"Was there trouble on the road?" Pippin inquired with piqued interest.

"No, thankfully. It was a swift flight from the coast. We were delayed by my brother's newest child, born later than we were anticipating. But he came healthy and his mother is well. Thus Amrothos and I rode at great pace to arrive in Minas Tirith."

"You're the healer they've been on about," Sam inquired tentatively.

"I am, I suppose. Lothíriel, if you please. A pleasure to finely be acquainted, Master Gamgee."

"Sam, if you please," he replied with a small smile. "You're a from the coast of Gondor."

"Aye, down in the Bay of Belfalas."

"You're related to the Prince?"

"His daughter."

"How is it there's a Prince and now Faramir is made Prince too? Will not Aragorn's son be named a prince as well?" Merry asked with a frown, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of straw.

"It has ever been so that there is a Prince of Dol Amroth. But my father is a lord, despite the title. It's more of an honorific now that the King has returned to the throne."

"But you're Men? That is, not Elves," Sam put in with curiosity. "But speak Elvish as I heard your father talking to Strider – er, Aragorn."

"Our line carries Elvish blood from the Second Age, much diluted in this day. But Dol Amroth was home to Elves for a time. We maintain the language and customs as much as we might. But it is no Lothlorien or Imladris."

"I should like to see it one day," commented Merry. "Perhaps we'll make a grand tour of Middle Earth so that we might see all our friends."

"You would be welcomed! Is that your plan?"

"No," came Frodo's quiet response from the other end of the ponies. "We begin the journey home once the festivities conclude."

"Gandalf'll see us to Rivendell, perhaps further," Sam added.

"I am glad of it," she replied. "It is good to go home after such a long time away."