Post by Admin on Sept 12, 2022 20:47:29 GMT
Author: Niliwen
Summary: Lothíriel finds a cure to her restlessness, and possibly an avenue to something new.
Rating: K
Characters: Lothíriel, Elphir, Éowyn, Arwen, Aragorn, Faramir, Éomer
Although Lothíriel, the daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, considered herself more well-traveled than most other noblewomen of Dol Amroth (after all, being a princess did have its advantages), the forests of Ithilien had never before been in any of her itineraries. “Now I have every reason to go there and see for myself, especially since it’s almost spring and the best time to be there,” she said to her oldest brother Elphir as they were going over some of the recent accounts from their
father’s knights and their respective holdings. “Besides, it would be grand to see what cousin Faramir has done with the place.”
“Ithilien is still wild for the most part, even if Emyn Arnen is…safe,” Elphir said, raising one bushy eyebrow at his only sister. “Father would insist to have you here anyway for the spring festivities.”
“Only for suitors—and yes I have an answer to that, dear brother,” LothÍriel replied, putting her hands on the table. “Emyn Arnen is a short ride from Minas Tirith, and Princess Éowyn has promised me that we will visit the city and Queen Evenstar’s court from time to time.”
“Making a pest of yourself is more like it!”
“Well, what am I, a pest that is to be married off?”
Elphir sighed deeply at this new iteration of an argument that was coming up more and more often in these recent years. It was no secret after all that the children of the Prince of Dol Amroth were a restive sort, and always looking for something useful to do in their fiefdom. “If you want to try your luck with the court and its nobles, I won’t envy you, Thíri. I think Father would send you there anyway at some point – maybe next year!”
It was all that Lothíriel could do to keep a straight face at the very idea of her father playing chaperone while she struggled through dancing with yet another suitor from among Gondor’s few remaining noble houses. “Then I’ll save him the trouble and go this spring. Everyone will want to celebrate the ending of the War,” she said calmly. “Besides I think I’ll be more useful being away from here – just to see what Ithilien can do for Dol Amroth besides just sharing relatives.”
“You’d do that?”
“Someone has to. You’re busy helping Father. Erchirion is seeing to our navy, while Amrothros is training with the knights. Who’ll be your eyes and ears abroad?”
“You’re just looking for an excuse to travel!”
“Am I not right, dear brother?”
Elphir sighed again but this time he looked more seriously at his sister. “Then please be back by winter – with or without a husband. We’re not celebrating those festivities without you,” he said.
“Or you could just catch up!” Lothíriel quipped, earning her a groan from Elphir. ‘Besides if everyone intends for me to be married off and a lady of the court in short order, I may as well make a good memory or two before that happens,’ she decided as she went off first to break the news to Imrahil, then to pack her things.
**
Despite all her good planning and haste, Lothíriel found that the earliest she could expect to be in Ithilien would be in the week leading up to the New Year celebration marking the downfall of Sauron.
“There will definitely be more parties than even Father will expect,” she muttered to herself as she and the three knights she was traveling with passed the Rammas Echor along the banks of the Anduin well after sunrise. If she looked to her right, she could already see the green peaks of Emyn Arnen, where nestled in some vale there was the young Steward’s house. ‘It’s just like Faramir to want all that privacy,’ she noted amusedly as she shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun.
“My Lady, look to the city,” one of the knights said to her in an undertone. “Can you imagine that a year ago, this place was besieged?”
“I can,” Lothíriel said, tucking a stray dark lock of hair behind her left ear. ‘The last time we were here months ago for my cousin’s wedding, much of the place was still fire-scarred,’ she thought. Yet none of that destruction seemed evident to her waking eyes now as she took in the sight of Minas Tirith’s newly renovated circles and the White Tower in the midst of all this. The ramparts had been repaired, the once deserted houses now had lamps in the windows, and the crisp scents of fresh grass and spring blossoms now banished whatever traces of smoke and rot may have lingered from the battles the year before. ‘Perhaps this is the Minas Tirith that Father and Aunt Ivriniel remember,’ she thought as they now neared the city’s gates.
As they passed the sixth circle, Lothíriel caught sight of a tall woman stepping out of a fair house with a notably fragrant greensward and courtyard. For a moment the young woman started, for this lady’s golden hair and proud countenance were unmistakable. “Princess Éowyn!” she called as she brought her own horse to a stop.
Éowyn turned and smiled on seeing the princess. “Princess Lothíriel! We weren’t expecting you for some days yet,” she greeted amiably as she walked up to the mounted travelers. “Though please, just call me ‘Éowyn’. Whenever I hear someone call me “Princess”, I end up looking around for someone else!” she added in a whisper.
“But you are the Princess of Ithilien!” Lothíriel pointed out. Yet even as she said this, she was already keenly aware of other people staring at them in the street. ‘Is it because of how we’re talking or because of how we’re dressed?’ she wondered, noting that her riding attire of a tunic and a pair of trousers were rather dusty from travel while her kinswoman had on a plain white dress and a forest green cloak that were unlike the purported fashion of Gondor’s court. ‘At least during the time of Uncle Denethor,’ she told herself as she reached down to help Éowyn boost herself behind the saddle despite the exclamations and protests of the other knights who were about to offer her a horse of her own.
“By the time we are at the White Tower, Queen Arwen should be done speaking with some of the ladies from Lossarnarch,” Éowyn said confidentially as they rode to the seventh circle. “She asked me to send for some herbs for a headache.”
“For yours or hers?” Lothíriel asked lightly.
“Both of us, and some,” Éowyn replied in a tone of wry amusement as she gestured to a pouch of herbs she had at her belt. “I did not think at first that the Queen herself would have these difficulties with the courtiers. The ways of Gondor are so different from the ways of the Elves,” she added in a lower voice.
‘Nor are they like the ways of Rohan,’ Lothíriel thought as she reached back to comfortingly squeeze Éowyn’s hand. “We of Dol Amroth are from Gondor – but also said to be descended from Mithrellas of Lothlórien. Now that makes three of us versus the rest of them,” she said.
“Mithrellas was an Elf?”
“Yes, as is said in the story of the Princes of Dol Amroth and all their line.”
“You’ll have to tell me more of that story, Princess Lothíriel,” Éowyn said. “Perhaps later after we’ve gotten you settled at Emyn Arnen.”
“And while I’m there, or in your company and Faramir’s, please call me Lothíriel,” the younger princess insisted. “It’s so unnatural to be formal around one’s cousins.”
At the gate to the seventh level, Lothíriel and Éowyn both dismounted and allowed the knights to lead away the horses to the stables. The liveried guards at the gate bowed before letting the women in through to the wide, sunlit courtyard. At the fountain in the middle of this courtyard, Queen Arwen sat quietly, seemingly watching the White Tree’s leaves rustling in the breeze. Although she was simply clad in a gown of silver and white, with a gem upon her brow, the Queen had an air of quiet elegance that had Lothíriel wishing she had the time to wash and change her attire before this audience.
At the first footfalls of the newcomers, the Queen rose to her feet and looked to the gate. “Now I must thank you twice over, Éowyn,” she greeted warmly. “You’ve brought the balm and a friend!”
“Your Majesty, you do remember Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth,” Éowyn said, bowing slightly to Arwen. “She was last here in Minas Tirith when Faramir and I were wed, and I have invited her to visit us in Emyn Arnen.”
“Any kin of Prince Imrahil and Prince Faramir is also welcome here,” Arwen said graciously to Lothíriel. “Are your father and your brothers with you?”
“No, Your Majesty. They are preparing for festivities and managing affairs in Dol Amroth, but I am sure they would have liked to come to celebrate the New Year here,” Lothíriel answered. Yet even as she said this, she was keenly aware of the Queen looking at her intently, as if divining her thoughts. ‘Does she already know what my father hopes for me?’ she could not help but wonder as she followed Arwen and Éowyn into the great hall that held the throne of King Elessar.
On this morning though, the throne was empty; indeed there was not a soul to be found in the hall. “The King is probably still in his meeting with the other lords and the King of Rohan,” Arwen remarked. “It is turning out to be a lengthy discussion.”
“Perhaps I should have requested for more herbs for him, the Steward, and even my brother,” Éowyn quipped even as another door opened in the hall. She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “And not a moment sooner!”
Lothíriel stepped back to watch first as Arwen greeted Aragorn, while Éowyn also greeted Faramir, who’d taken care to only enter the hall a few steps behind the King. The sight of these happy couples had her smiling, more so when she recalled her own parents or even her brother Elphir and his wife in the days before her nephew Alphros had been born. ‘Would that such fortune smile on me as well,’ she thought as she came forward to make her own greeting in turn. “My liege King Elessar, allow me to convey the greetings and good will of the Princes of Dol Amroth,” she said, making a customary curtsy before Aragorn.
“And allow me to welcome you once again to the city, Princess Lothíriel,” Aragorn said, motioning for Lothíriel to stand up straight. “It is a joy to have you with us for the New Year.”
Lothíriel smiled before turning to greet Faramir, who lost no time into pulling her into a warm embrace. “My father says you and Éowyn should visit some time soon, dear cousin,” she said in his ear as she squeezed his arms before stepping back to look at him properly.
“We shall, when we’ve settled matters for the summer,” Faramir said candidly. “That is assuming of course that Amrothros has forgiven me for beating him at our last competition.”
“That is why Father wants you to visit, just to show my brother where exactly he stands!” Lothíriel said, only to end up laughing when Éowyn, Faramir, and even Arwen could not suppress their chuckles at this. The sight of her cousin in a mirthful mood buoyed her spirits further, more so when she saw how relaxed and mirthful he now appeared even with all the cares of his recent office. ‘It’s the marriage, or getting to be in Ithilien again, or perhaps both,’ she decided even as she now saw Aragorn and Faramir turn towards the sound of more footsteps approaching the hall.
Éowyn grinned as she looked in the direction of these louder footfalls. “Don’t be such a laggard, brother! We have another guest!” she called.
“Who might that be?” a robust, distinctly Rohirric voice chimed in. A tall, golden-haired man attired in fine mail but with green livery now made his appearance in the great hall. On his head was a golden crown and he carried with him a long sword. “Will this guest require another lengthy meeting?” he asked by way of greeting.
“Only pleasantry,” Faramir replied. “Éomer King, you do recall my cousin Lothíriel? She was here in Minas Tirith months ago too, for the wedding.”
“There was so much going on that I can hardly recall other names or faces,” Éomer said. He bowed respectfully when he caught sight of Lothíriel. “It is an honor to meet you, my lady.”
“She is a Princess of Dol Amroth,” Aragorn said seriously. “Prince Imrahil’s only daughter.”
‘And now he will recall me only as that,’ Lothíriel thought, now fighting to keep a straight face. It did not help at all that the more she looked at Éomer, the more she did recall of him from Faramir and Éowyn’s wedding feast, and the sight of his face now could send an unaccustomed heat into her cheeks. ‘It was only a dance after all, so perhaps he wouldn’t remember that,’ she reflected, even as she willed herself to banish the recollection of callused hands meeting her slim fingers even as music filled the air.
In the meantime, Arwen cleared her throat before looking rather pointedly at Aragorn. “My Lord, I will make brew some herbs for us to share. It would do us good after a day of meetings,” she said in an even tone. “Will you join me?”
“At this moment?” Aragorn asked.
“Yes of course.”
Éowyn nodded to Arwen knowingly before handing over the pouch of herbs. “Faramir and I will follow later,” she said, reaching for the Steward’s hand in turn. She shook her head as soon as Aragorn and Arwen had left the hall before she nudged Éomer’s arm with her free hand. “You really do not remember her?”
"With all the mead and wine and ale flowing at that feast, I am lucky to even remember anything at all,” Éomer protested. “Forgive me, Princess, but my sister can be stubborn to a fault at times,” he said to Lothíriel.
“It runs in the family,” Éowyn muttered.
“Yet that determination has been life-saving, and her patients at our infirmary in Ithilien would attest to that,” Faramir remarked, reaching for his wife’s hand. “Both of you would find it interesting,” he said, looking to Éomer and Lothíriel.
“I shall make sure to see it when I visit,” Éomer said gruffly.
“My brother and some of the Riders are staying here in Minas Tirith as guests of the King,” Éowyn explained to Lothíriel. “But it would be nice to have them in Ithilien even for a day or two.”
“We’ll have to go on foot; those forests and those hills are not as good for riding,” Éomer said. “No offense meant, but that is how the terrain really is,” he added, looking to Faramir.
“It will be good exercise,” Éowyn argued. “And would allow the horses to rest.”
Lothíriel bit back a chuckle as she watched Éowyn and Éomer begin to banter about the merits of Rohan’s mounts in Gondor’s lands. “How do you live with him, when he’s around?” she asked Faramir in an undertone.
“It’s a bit like talking with Elphir and Erchirion again,” Faramir said dryly. “Only of course dealing more with horses than with seafaring vessels.”
‘Or not,’ Lothíriel thought, more so when she saw Éomer glance for a fleeting second in her direction. For a moment she felt a delightful frisson under her skin, prompting her to duck her head. ‘How would it be like to get him into a proper conversation?’ she wondered before following her cousin to seek out some of that much needed brew.
Summary: Lothíriel finds a cure to her restlessness, and possibly an avenue to something new.
Rating: K
Characters: Lothíriel, Elphir, Éowyn, Arwen, Aragorn, Faramir, Éomer
Although Lothíriel, the daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, considered herself more well-traveled than most other noblewomen of Dol Amroth (after all, being a princess did have its advantages), the forests of Ithilien had never before been in any of her itineraries. “Now I have every reason to go there and see for myself, especially since it’s almost spring and the best time to be there,” she said to her oldest brother Elphir as they were going over some of the recent accounts from their
father’s knights and their respective holdings. “Besides, it would be grand to see what cousin Faramir has done with the place.”
“Ithilien is still wild for the most part, even if Emyn Arnen is…safe,” Elphir said, raising one bushy eyebrow at his only sister. “Father would insist to have you here anyway for the spring festivities.”
“Only for suitors—and yes I have an answer to that, dear brother,” LothÍriel replied, putting her hands on the table. “Emyn Arnen is a short ride from Minas Tirith, and Princess Éowyn has promised me that we will visit the city and Queen Evenstar’s court from time to time.”
“Making a pest of yourself is more like it!”
“Well, what am I, a pest that is to be married off?”
Elphir sighed deeply at this new iteration of an argument that was coming up more and more often in these recent years. It was no secret after all that the children of the Prince of Dol Amroth were a restive sort, and always looking for something useful to do in their fiefdom. “If you want to try your luck with the court and its nobles, I won’t envy you, Thíri. I think Father would send you there anyway at some point – maybe next year!”
It was all that Lothíriel could do to keep a straight face at the very idea of her father playing chaperone while she struggled through dancing with yet another suitor from among Gondor’s few remaining noble houses. “Then I’ll save him the trouble and go this spring. Everyone will want to celebrate the ending of the War,” she said calmly. “Besides I think I’ll be more useful being away from here – just to see what Ithilien can do for Dol Amroth besides just sharing relatives.”
“You’d do that?”
“Someone has to. You’re busy helping Father. Erchirion is seeing to our navy, while Amrothros is training with the knights. Who’ll be your eyes and ears abroad?”
“You’re just looking for an excuse to travel!”
“Am I not right, dear brother?”
Elphir sighed again but this time he looked more seriously at his sister. “Then please be back by winter – with or without a husband. We’re not celebrating those festivities without you,” he said.
“Or you could just catch up!” Lothíriel quipped, earning her a groan from Elphir. ‘Besides if everyone intends for me to be married off and a lady of the court in short order, I may as well make a good memory or two before that happens,’ she decided as she went off first to break the news to Imrahil, then to pack her things.
**
Despite all her good planning and haste, Lothíriel found that the earliest she could expect to be in Ithilien would be in the week leading up to the New Year celebration marking the downfall of Sauron.
“There will definitely be more parties than even Father will expect,” she muttered to herself as she and the three knights she was traveling with passed the Rammas Echor along the banks of the Anduin well after sunrise. If she looked to her right, she could already see the green peaks of Emyn Arnen, where nestled in some vale there was the young Steward’s house. ‘It’s just like Faramir to want all that privacy,’ she noted amusedly as she shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun.
“My Lady, look to the city,” one of the knights said to her in an undertone. “Can you imagine that a year ago, this place was besieged?”
“I can,” Lothíriel said, tucking a stray dark lock of hair behind her left ear. ‘The last time we were here months ago for my cousin’s wedding, much of the place was still fire-scarred,’ she thought. Yet none of that destruction seemed evident to her waking eyes now as she took in the sight of Minas Tirith’s newly renovated circles and the White Tower in the midst of all this. The ramparts had been repaired, the once deserted houses now had lamps in the windows, and the crisp scents of fresh grass and spring blossoms now banished whatever traces of smoke and rot may have lingered from the battles the year before. ‘Perhaps this is the Minas Tirith that Father and Aunt Ivriniel remember,’ she thought as they now neared the city’s gates.
As they passed the sixth circle, Lothíriel caught sight of a tall woman stepping out of a fair house with a notably fragrant greensward and courtyard. For a moment the young woman started, for this lady’s golden hair and proud countenance were unmistakable. “Princess Éowyn!” she called as she brought her own horse to a stop.
Éowyn turned and smiled on seeing the princess. “Princess Lothíriel! We weren’t expecting you for some days yet,” she greeted amiably as she walked up to the mounted travelers. “Though please, just call me ‘Éowyn’. Whenever I hear someone call me “Princess”, I end up looking around for someone else!” she added in a whisper.
“But you are the Princess of Ithilien!” Lothíriel pointed out. Yet even as she said this, she was already keenly aware of other people staring at them in the street. ‘Is it because of how we’re talking or because of how we’re dressed?’ she wondered, noting that her riding attire of a tunic and a pair of trousers were rather dusty from travel while her kinswoman had on a plain white dress and a forest green cloak that were unlike the purported fashion of Gondor’s court. ‘At least during the time of Uncle Denethor,’ she told herself as she reached down to help Éowyn boost herself behind the saddle despite the exclamations and protests of the other knights who were about to offer her a horse of her own.
“By the time we are at the White Tower, Queen Arwen should be done speaking with some of the ladies from Lossarnarch,” Éowyn said confidentially as they rode to the seventh circle. “She asked me to send for some herbs for a headache.”
“For yours or hers?” Lothíriel asked lightly.
“Both of us, and some,” Éowyn replied in a tone of wry amusement as she gestured to a pouch of herbs she had at her belt. “I did not think at first that the Queen herself would have these difficulties with the courtiers. The ways of Gondor are so different from the ways of the Elves,” she added in a lower voice.
‘Nor are they like the ways of Rohan,’ Lothíriel thought as she reached back to comfortingly squeeze Éowyn’s hand. “We of Dol Amroth are from Gondor – but also said to be descended from Mithrellas of Lothlórien. Now that makes three of us versus the rest of them,” she said.
“Mithrellas was an Elf?”
“Yes, as is said in the story of the Princes of Dol Amroth and all their line.”
“You’ll have to tell me more of that story, Princess Lothíriel,” Éowyn said. “Perhaps later after we’ve gotten you settled at Emyn Arnen.”
“And while I’m there, or in your company and Faramir’s, please call me Lothíriel,” the younger princess insisted. “It’s so unnatural to be formal around one’s cousins.”
At the gate to the seventh level, Lothíriel and Éowyn both dismounted and allowed the knights to lead away the horses to the stables. The liveried guards at the gate bowed before letting the women in through to the wide, sunlit courtyard. At the fountain in the middle of this courtyard, Queen Arwen sat quietly, seemingly watching the White Tree’s leaves rustling in the breeze. Although she was simply clad in a gown of silver and white, with a gem upon her brow, the Queen had an air of quiet elegance that had Lothíriel wishing she had the time to wash and change her attire before this audience.
At the first footfalls of the newcomers, the Queen rose to her feet and looked to the gate. “Now I must thank you twice over, Éowyn,” she greeted warmly. “You’ve brought the balm and a friend!”
“Your Majesty, you do remember Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth,” Éowyn said, bowing slightly to Arwen. “She was last here in Minas Tirith when Faramir and I were wed, and I have invited her to visit us in Emyn Arnen.”
“Any kin of Prince Imrahil and Prince Faramir is also welcome here,” Arwen said graciously to Lothíriel. “Are your father and your brothers with you?”
“No, Your Majesty. They are preparing for festivities and managing affairs in Dol Amroth, but I am sure they would have liked to come to celebrate the New Year here,” Lothíriel answered. Yet even as she said this, she was keenly aware of the Queen looking at her intently, as if divining her thoughts. ‘Does she already know what my father hopes for me?’ she could not help but wonder as she followed Arwen and Éowyn into the great hall that held the throne of King Elessar.
On this morning though, the throne was empty; indeed there was not a soul to be found in the hall. “The King is probably still in his meeting with the other lords and the King of Rohan,” Arwen remarked. “It is turning out to be a lengthy discussion.”
“Perhaps I should have requested for more herbs for him, the Steward, and even my brother,” Éowyn quipped even as another door opened in the hall. She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “And not a moment sooner!”
Lothíriel stepped back to watch first as Arwen greeted Aragorn, while Éowyn also greeted Faramir, who’d taken care to only enter the hall a few steps behind the King. The sight of these happy couples had her smiling, more so when she recalled her own parents or even her brother Elphir and his wife in the days before her nephew Alphros had been born. ‘Would that such fortune smile on me as well,’ she thought as she came forward to make her own greeting in turn. “My liege King Elessar, allow me to convey the greetings and good will of the Princes of Dol Amroth,” she said, making a customary curtsy before Aragorn.
“And allow me to welcome you once again to the city, Princess Lothíriel,” Aragorn said, motioning for Lothíriel to stand up straight. “It is a joy to have you with us for the New Year.”
Lothíriel smiled before turning to greet Faramir, who lost no time into pulling her into a warm embrace. “My father says you and Éowyn should visit some time soon, dear cousin,” she said in his ear as she squeezed his arms before stepping back to look at him properly.
“We shall, when we’ve settled matters for the summer,” Faramir said candidly. “That is assuming of course that Amrothros has forgiven me for beating him at our last competition.”
“That is why Father wants you to visit, just to show my brother where exactly he stands!” Lothíriel said, only to end up laughing when Éowyn, Faramir, and even Arwen could not suppress their chuckles at this. The sight of her cousin in a mirthful mood buoyed her spirits further, more so when she saw how relaxed and mirthful he now appeared even with all the cares of his recent office. ‘It’s the marriage, or getting to be in Ithilien again, or perhaps both,’ she decided even as she now saw Aragorn and Faramir turn towards the sound of more footsteps approaching the hall.
Éowyn grinned as she looked in the direction of these louder footfalls. “Don’t be such a laggard, brother! We have another guest!” she called.
“Who might that be?” a robust, distinctly Rohirric voice chimed in. A tall, golden-haired man attired in fine mail but with green livery now made his appearance in the great hall. On his head was a golden crown and he carried with him a long sword. “Will this guest require another lengthy meeting?” he asked by way of greeting.
“Only pleasantry,” Faramir replied. “Éomer King, you do recall my cousin Lothíriel? She was here in Minas Tirith months ago too, for the wedding.”
“There was so much going on that I can hardly recall other names or faces,” Éomer said. He bowed respectfully when he caught sight of Lothíriel. “It is an honor to meet you, my lady.”
“She is a Princess of Dol Amroth,” Aragorn said seriously. “Prince Imrahil’s only daughter.”
‘And now he will recall me only as that,’ Lothíriel thought, now fighting to keep a straight face. It did not help at all that the more she looked at Éomer, the more she did recall of him from Faramir and Éowyn’s wedding feast, and the sight of his face now could send an unaccustomed heat into her cheeks. ‘It was only a dance after all, so perhaps he wouldn’t remember that,’ she reflected, even as she willed herself to banish the recollection of callused hands meeting her slim fingers even as music filled the air.
In the meantime, Arwen cleared her throat before looking rather pointedly at Aragorn. “My Lord, I will make brew some herbs for us to share. It would do us good after a day of meetings,” she said in an even tone. “Will you join me?”
“At this moment?” Aragorn asked.
“Yes of course.”
Éowyn nodded to Arwen knowingly before handing over the pouch of herbs. “Faramir and I will follow later,” she said, reaching for the Steward’s hand in turn. She shook her head as soon as Aragorn and Arwen had left the hall before she nudged Éomer’s arm with her free hand. “You really do not remember her?”
"With all the mead and wine and ale flowing at that feast, I am lucky to even remember anything at all,” Éomer protested. “Forgive me, Princess, but my sister can be stubborn to a fault at times,” he said to Lothíriel.
“It runs in the family,” Éowyn muttered.
“Yet that determination has been life-saving, and her patients at our infirmary in Ithilien would attest to that,” Faramir remarked, reaching for his wife’s hand. “Both of you would find it interesting,” he said, looking to Éomer and Lothíriel.
“I shall make sure to see it when I visit,” Éomer said gruffly.
“My brother and some of the Riders are staying here in Minas Tirith as guests of the King,” Éowyn explained to Lothíriel. “But it would be nice to have them in Ithilien even for a day or two.”
“We’ll have to go on foot; those forests and those hills are not as good for riding,” Éomer said. “No offense meant, but that is how the terrain really is,” he added, looking to Faramir.
“It will be good exercise,” Éowyn argued. “And would allow the horses to rest.”
Lothíriel bit back a chuckle as she watched Éowyn and Éomer begin to banter about the merits of Rohan’s mounts in Gondor’s lands. “How do you live with him, when he’s around?” she asked Faramir in an undertone.
“It’s a bit like talking with Elphir and Erchirion again,” Faramir said dryly. “Only of course dealing more with horses than with seafaring vessels.”
‘Or not,’ Lothíriel thought, more so when she saw Éomer glance for a fleeting second in her direction. For a moment she felt a delightful frisson under her skin, prompting her to duck her head. ‘How would it be like to get him into a proper conversation?’ she wondered before following her cousin to seek out some of that much needed brew.