#eomer x lothiriel
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You know, I recognize that I have second lead syndrome, but seriously, it is getting out of hand.
Eomer of Rohan is not even the second lead, or the third, or the fourth, like...there are 9 REALLY great guys, and then I'm like...
"No, I want that odd ball. Gimmie the weirdo horse man. I want that one."
ugh.
#ellatalks#lord of the rings#lotr#eomer of rohan#eomer#eomer x reader#eomer x lothiriel#emoer x you#eomer x y/n#tolkien#the lord of the rings#tlotr#lord of the rings x reader#lotr x reader#tlotr x reader
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Of Blessed Thyme and Thistle - Chapter 1 | Page 1
Faramir's cousin, Lothiriel, comes to Minas Tirith to become a companion of his new bride, Eowyn, something that he hopes will ease Eowyn's rough transition into Gondorian Society. Eowyn, for her part, decides her new companion would in turn make the perfect bride for her brother Eomer, King of Rohan. Matchmaking shenanigans ensue 😏
Yayy I finished page 1!! I plan to do at least another page this weekend, but do let me know if you'd like me to continue!! I survive on encouragement 😆
Also yes i know i Know "Black" is the color of Sauron, shhh let's just pretend that now that Sauron is out of the picture Normal people can be goth or wear black without moral issues lol
#eowyn x faramir#faramir x eowyn#eowyn of rohan#faramir/eowyn#faramir#farawyn#eothiriel#eomer x lothiriel#eomer eadig#lothiriel of dol amroth#eomer/lothiriel#lotr#lord of the rings#tolkien fanart#lotr fanart#my art#Enjoyed making this! like i said i'm hoping to finish another page or two this weekend :)#also let me know if you don't mind this coloring/painterly style I'm doing here 🤔#It's... interesting but i think it fits the vibe and is certainly better looking than if I tried to detail everything with lineart...#let me know tho if you like this so far (i know it's only just begun) and whether you'd like me to continue!#I also plan to do another page of Romance in Rivendell this weekend if I can manage it#also for those curious those pale markings on Eowyn's arm neck and chest are scarring/marring--effects from fighting/defeatig the witch kin
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apparently Éomer is skilled enough poet/composer to spontaneously come up with verses in the middle of battle (and presumably he took part in the singing of Rohirrim on the Pelennor fields). it's also stated in ROTK that Dol Amroth has the best harpers of Gondor and it bears thinking that maybe Lothíriel was taught to play a harp as part of her education.
so do you think that Éomer and Lothíriel ever perform music together? 🤔 because I now do.
#Éomer#Eomer#Lothíriel#Lothiriel#Éothiriel#Eothiriel#eomer x lothiriel#House of Eorl#Eorlingas#Rohirrim#Lord of the Rings#Tolkien#headcanon#text
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Person : So who's your favourite from LoTR?
Me : Lothíriel 💕
Person : Who?
Me : Loth. Thi. Ri. El. :)
Person : Is that your original character?
Me : No wtf human how are you even living your life without Éothíriel in it- *proceeds to type out by heart that single paragraph in the Appendix where Lothíriel is mentioned*
Person : That's it?
Me : That's all we need, really.
#lord of the rings#lotr fandom#eomer x lothiriel#eomer eadig#eomer of rohan#eomer#lothiriel#dol amroth#lotr movies#lotr books#otp#my otp#my beloveds#eothiriel#why am i like this#but like#i love them#People should know more about them#lothiriel love of my life#dreambigdreamz
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Notes: Previously... (and the last part ;))
***
Éomer was smirking. “Really?”
Her smile was a slow, tentative thing. “Yes.”
Éomer cupped her face between his big hands, then lowered his forehead to hers. “If you want me to stop, let me know.”
Lothíriel knew that Éomer was a man of his word -it was one of the things she admired the most about him -but the gentleness he used to kiss her almost made her melt. He lowered his mouth to hers as if he had all the time in the world to do this. He brushed his lips against hers, before pressing them together.
His big hands never left her face, even as his kiss became just a bit firmer. Just enough to make her curious.
There was so much to feel: his beard against her skin, his kisses, his hands, his smell… Lothíriel had been unsure where to put her hands on him, and settled for his shoulders. They were incredibly firm under her palms, and she had the sudden desire to let her hands explore him, find more of him.
But she was a proper lady, so she didn’t do it.
“Good.” Éomer broke the kiss as gently as he started it. “Good start.” He said, his thumb brushing her cheek.
“Start?” She opened her eyes slowly, dazed.
“Yes. There’s more. Would you like to try it, or do you want to stop?”
“More?” She frowned. “What is more?”
His smile was soft and fond. “I can kiss you deeper.”
“Oh.” Lothíriel had no idea what he meant by that. “Sounds lovely, let us do that.”
Éomer chuckled before resuming the exact same position they were in before: his hands on her face, hers on his shoulders and kissing.
Except… It was nothing like the other time. Éomer was still gentle about it, but she soon understood what he meant for ‘deeper’.
His tongue traced her lips, and shocked by the sensation, Lothíriel opened them for him. Only to be even more shocked by what came next, how his tongue caressed hers in tantalizing strokes.
It was decadent, hot and it felt… It felt like she shouldn’t be doing it, because something so good had to be wrong, right? At least it was what her aunt would say.
However, she had no strength -or desire -to stop this slow burn taking over her body. If this was just the kissing portion of the night, how would she survive whatever came next?
Talking about next…
“Éomer.” She pulled back, breathing hard. “After the kiss…”
“Yes?” His eyes were darker somehow.
She licked her lips nervously. “What happens?”
“Well…” In a fast movement, he picked her up, making her squeal. Éomer laughed as he carried her the short distance to his bed and laid her down. “I will do this.”
She frowned. “Put me to sleep?”
He chuckled. “No, love. Carry you to bed, where we will kiss some more.” He sat next to her.
“And?” Lothíriel pressed.
He chuckled. “I am still trying to find the words to explain it.”
The princess frowned. “Is it that complicated?”
Éomer sighed. “No, it is not that.” He assured her with a smile. “I just… I never had to explain this to someone before.”
“So it is complicated.”
Éomer laughed, and laid down next to her. “No, I promise it is not. I am just trying to find the words to explain it to you, and only now I noticed that it might sound somewhat… Odd when explained to someone.”
Lothiriel frowned. “Odd?”
“I am making this worse.” He groaned in frustration. Éomer took a deep breath in. “What will happen between us in this bed can have many meanings. It can be done out of love, pleasure, friendship and even confort. Yes, it can be done for bad reasons, but none of those have anything to do with us.”
He cupped her face. “I will kiss you more, but I will also touch more.”
“Where?” She asked, her voice soft.
“Anywhere you will let me.” He told her truthfully. “I did not lie when I said I would not do anything you did not wish for. If you do not want to be touched or kissed anywhere else…”
“You would kiss me in… Other places?” Her eyes were round and shocked.
He smirked at her. “Princess, I would love to kiss every inch of your body.”
She frowned. “Certainly not every inch.”
“Every, Single. One.”
A blush stole across her face. “Would I… Would I do the same?”
Éomer cleared his throat. “Well, only if it was something you wanted to do.”
“Would we put out the candles?”
“If you wanted to.”
“And the clothes?”
“Whatever you want to.”
Her frown got deeper. “Why do you keep saying that?”
“Because it is the truth.” Éomer said simply. “I do not wish to do anything you might find uncomfortable. This is new for you, and I do not want you to fear my touch or our life together.”
She sighed. “Alright. I understand. I think.” She amended.
Éomer kissed the tip of Lothíriel’s nose. “There is nothing to fear.” He assured the princess. “We will do this anyway we want it and no one can tell us differently.”
Lothíriel felt her heart fill with fondness. “Thank you, Éomer.”
His smile was bright. “You are more than welcome, Lothíriel.”
#madame baggio#gifs not mine#the lord of the rings#cross posted on ao3#eomer#lothiriel#eomer x lothiriel#the time to ask questions
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Ride Out In The Country
Éomer raised a hand to shade his eyes from the sun. With his other hand, he held up a sack full of bright, red apples. Whistling through his teeth sharply, Éomer called, “Firefoot! Come here!”
Firefoot, who was grazing upon long, sweet grass some ways away, only swished his tail. Éomer supposed he was only glad the horse had not seen fit to relieve himself at his call.
“Firefoot!” he called again. Ridiculous beast, he thought privately.
This time, Firefoot did lift his tail to relieve himself.
“Having trouble, my Lord?”
Éomer dropped his arm and turned. “No,” he said stiffly. “I did not think to see you here today.”
Lothíriel Queen of the Mark, once called Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, only raised a dark eyebrow at his words. “I am here every day.”
read more on AO3. written for @eomer :) reblogs encouraged/appreciated!
taglist below. let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.
@lordoftherazzles @mirkwood @glamdolf @hobbitwrangler @gondolindon
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About Gardening your own Soul
Lord of the Rings | Eomer & Eowyn | Hurt & Comfort, Fluff | 2k
Eomer watches as his sister rebuilds herself.
read on ao3
#lord of the rings#lotr#eomer#eomer of rohan#eomer eadig#eomer x lothiriel#eowyn#eowyn of rohan#faramir x eowyn#fanfiction#fanfics#ahysopaefics
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Chapter 3 of A Starling in Rohan is out!! Thanks for all the support so far <3 do ask if you want to be tagged in further chapter updates!
@konartiste hope you enjoy!
"I shall not be entirely happy today, brother, unless you are. I want everyone to feel as I do! Now come, share your worries."
She sank down into the deep velvet cushions in the window alcove, and patted the nearest chair.
Éomer sighed, and relented, knowing she would not give up until he told her what was on his mind. "A messenger arrived yesterday from one of the marshals. Farms across the Eastfold have reported a disease amongst the potato seedlings that renders them completely useless. Éowyn, unless I am provided with a miracle, Rohan will suffer heavier loss of life this coming winter than in the War of the Ring - I am certain of it."
Éowyn went to bite thoughtfully on her thumbnail, caught herself in time, and smoothed over the folds of her dress instead. "A solution will be found, Éomer. I am sure of it."
Éomer was less sure, but he didn't say this aloud. Already he had cast a shadow over the happiest day of his sister's life, and he didn't intend to add to it. "Perhaps, but not today. Today I don't mean to be King of Rohan - only your brother."
#jrr tolkien#lord of the rings#tolkien#arwen#fourth age#middle earth#aragorn#lotr#eowyn#faramir x eowyn#eomer x lothiriel#eomer#lothiriel
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Rooted to the Ground
Fandom: The Lord of the Rings
Pairing: Éomer/Lothíriel
AO3
fanfiction
Summary: Éomer had mixed feelings when it came to love. He considered himself well beyond such things, cemented in the belief that romantic love was a novelty designed for young women and little girls, something that belonged in books because it made reality easier to contend with. He didn't doubt the possibility of love as a force; he simply doubted the extent of its reach.
A/N: I've never written from Éomer's point of view before (shocking, I know), but I thought I'd give it a go. Here is chapter one!
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A few lines from my LOTR fanfic
@konartiste : I got out the story and put it out in my Scrivener files. Not going to work on it right now, I think I have enough on my hand but... I'll keep it close.
So, here are the first lines of the story (not much, I know).
"She was known at the White Swan of Dol Amroth. It was said that she was as kind as she was beautiful. And she was fair, for in her shone the last of their elven ancestry, with hair as dark as a starry night, eyes as grey as the sea under the rain. But some were saying that those same eyes could grow dark as a storm cloud. But those who would say such things were never found and liars were known to be everywhere."
#maybe I'll share the headcannon for my Lothiriel#this is for you#Lothiriel#eomer x lothiriel#eothiriel
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Why, in the darkest parts of this hellsite, can I NOT FiNd fanfiction for Eomer of Rohan?! We have fanfiction for EVERYTHING! All the side characters, all the ones with THREE LINES, We create elaborate 100k+ stories for freaking Bucky “I have Two lines” Barnes, to the point we have fics about the ACTOR who PLAYS HIM. Hell, the amount of AU’s we have made for them all! But, when I look into the depth of Tumblr for the dearest Eomer of Rohan, from one of the BEST SERIES ON THE PLANET BOTH MOVIE AND BOOK, I find a VOID!!!
My heart is BROKEN!!! I have read the few that exist, where may I find more?! Recommendations! I need Recommendations! Not even AO3 is helping!!!
#ellatalks#lotr trilogy#lotr fanfic#lotr shitpost#lord of the rings#the lord of the rings#Eomer#eomer x oc#eomer x lothiriel#eomer eadig#eomer imagine#eomer of rohan#Eomer x reader#Eomer x you
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OF BLESSED THYME & THISTLE | Chapter 1 | Page 3
Masterlist of Pages
Faramir’s cousin, Lothiriel, comes to Minas Tirith to become a companion of his new bride, Eowyn, something that he hopes will ease Eowyn’s rough transition into Gondorian Society. Eowyn, for her part, decides her new companion would in turn make the perfect bride for her brother, Eomer King of Rohan. Matchmaking shenanigans ensue 😏
Page 3! Next page we'll start getting into the introduction of Lothiriel 🤗😁😏
#lotr#lord of the rings#farawyn#faramir#eowyn#eowyn x faramir#faramir x eowyn#eomer x lothiriel#eomer/lothiriel#eomer#lothiriel of dol amroth#tolkien fanart#lotr fanart#my art#fan comics#lotr fanfiction#lotr fanfic#lotr fancomic
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people quickly find out that it's simply not possible or worth the effort to tease Éomer about how smitten he is with Lothíriel. he owns it too proudly and sincerely. he will end up teasing you. also nobody has the patience to listen to him endlessly describing how beautiful and clever and amazing Lothíriel is (except maybe Aragorn who is also able to wax poetic about Arwen to a truly incredible degree.)
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On Our Own | Éomer Éadig (part two)
Summary : Lothíriel braves through her wedding ceremony, trying to suppress her fears.
Author's note : I was having a bit of trouble posting this until I realised I had written over the maximum word count for a text block in one paragraph, now it's solved and I'm so heavened that I don't have to chop this up into several little more parts! Hope you enjoy Lothíriel!
Part One if you have not read it.
"I am Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil. I am not afraid of anything — I have never been afraid of anything. And if I, a princess of Dol Amroth, can be made to suffer through this much humiliation, and still survive the ordeal, so can you."
None of the ladies spoke a word.
"I am not afraid — I have never been afraid of anything. I know this must be done, and I will see it done. This is my destiny; this is my duty. This is my calling, to serve my father and my family, to change this nation, this world into a better place. And when they call my name, I will always step forward, ready to face anything. And I will face this martyrdom like a proper, dignified Princess."
A silent sniff escaped the girl, and she saw her own lips quiver in the mirror. She took a deep breath, gathering all her strength to keep her shaking shoulders back. She turned to her silent ladies standing behind.
"And I certainly don't want any complaints from any of you."
"We did not say anything, my lady." The calm voice came from the elderly lady whose head was lowered in a small bow. She raised it now for just a few seconds, her dark eyes sweeping over the frame of the younger lady. "It must only be the jitters, princess. Nothing to worry about. You had better get ready. This King obviously does not like waiting."
A hardly pretty scowl overcame the Princess's face. She did not like to be reminded of the first meeting she had with her husband-to-be. Only Lady Saelwen alone witnessed what had happened, when the King strode into her tent. And, the Valar knows, nobody would ever understand what Lothíriel was feeling then.
Despite her eagerness to fulfill her duty as best as she could, the process was not without any setbacks. There had been several, in fact. The need for getting hot water to her room being one of the dire requirements. "You're right. Tell them to fetch the bath, please, Lady Saelwen."
The older lady immediately set about ordering the others with their different duties. Lothíriel, watching her lady-in-waiting masterfully distributing orders to everybody, recalled what she had said about her to King Éomer. She couldn't suppress a smile at that: Lady Saelwen was anything but easily agitated. She was highly and miraculously stubborn, and that had been the actual case when she refused to let the King inside the Princess's tent. But Lothíriel knew she had to patch up what she could to gain the King's goodwill. A task she knew she had to carry out enduringly, and one she awfully hated. She never liked having to please others to save face.
Lady Saelwen had always been in charge of everything — except when they had to deal with the fuming King the first evening, and Lothíriel brushed her aside as someone who could not help her any more. Indeed she then knew nobody could; she was on her own.
"It is all right," the Princess now wondered aloud again as she sat down at the vanity desk, staring at her reflection that seemed like a stranger to her. "Father and Mother will pass away one day, though, the Valar be praised, it may not be for many long years. Elphir has his own family to take care of, and Erchirion and Amrothos will in time find their own families, tread their own paths, and live their own lives. Nobody would have been able to remain with me, anyway. The important thing is, I still have me. I will always have me, myself, and that is all that matters." She quickly took a swallow of her trembling voice, blinked away the silver beads of tears forming at the corner of her eyelashes. Yes, she still had Lothíriel even if she felt completely deserted by all others.
In this distant land, so strange, so foreign to her. And so entirely abnormal.
"If only we had a proper bath-house," Lothíriel mourned, "with steam and a tepidarium and a proper clean marble floor! Hot water on tap and somewhere for us to sit and be properly scrubbed. I should not mind anything at all if only there was a proper bath-house."
"Don't fuss," Lady Saelwen cooed. "When you are Queen, you can have a hundred bath-houses built, my sweet."
Lady Saelwen had commanded a great tureen from the flesh kitchen which was usually deployed to scald beast carcasses, had it scoured by three scullions, lined it with linen sheets and filled it to the brim with hot water scattered with rose petals and scented with oil of roses brought from Dol Amroth. She lovingly supervised the washing of Lothíriel's long white limbs, the manicuring of her toes, the filing of her fingernails, the brushing of her teeth, and finally the three-rinse washing of her hair. The lady-in-waiting had insisted that Lothíriel should bathe like a Princess of Dol Amroth though all the cooks in the kitchen have had to stop what they were doing to boil the water.
This was one thing Lothíriel had decided she must learn to endure. The servants of Meduseld had been amazed that she was going to wash on her wedding day and most of them probably thought that she was risking her life in this wintry weather. Lothíriel, brought up in the liveliest court in Middle-earth, Dol Amroth where the bath-houses were the most beautiful suite of rooms in the palace, centres of gossip, laughter, and scented water, was equally amazed to hear that the Rohirrim thought it perfectly adequate to bathe only occasionally during the winter and that the poor people would bathe only two or three times a year. She had seen it as part of her destiny, her duty, to endure as a Maia from Valinor endures the privations of this world. She had come from Swansong by the Sea — the paradise, the heaven — to the ordinary world. She had anticipated some disagreeable changes.
"Everything will be fine. I had to come to Dol Amroth from Minas Tirith to marry your brother. Life adjusts easily to Change as Time passes by. And better, if you can learn to love your husband." That was what her sister-in-law told her.
"Yes, but you had the luck to come to the best of places. I am not as fortunate — I have to leave the best place in Middle-earth to go to who-knows-where buried under the grass." Lothíriel had retorted. As for the part about loving her husband, she had omitted.
But truth be told, her husband-to-be had made a very different first impression. He was so handsome — she did not expect him to be so handsome! He was fair and broad, like a knight in shining armour from one of the old romances. She could imagine him waking all night in a vigil, or singing up to a castle window as was usual for a courtship in Dol Amroth. He had pale, almost silvery skin only roughened by the weather, he had fine golden hair, and yet it looked untidy and unkempt, so was his beard which Lothíriel had disliked in any man except now when it was him. He was much taller than her, and she could just feel herself melting away like butter whenever she dared to look up at his face.
He had a rare smile, one that would come reluctantly and then shine. And he was kind. That was a great thing in a husband. He was kind when he took the glass of wine from her: he saw that she was trembling, and he tried to reassure her. But at times he seemed so distant, and he would even sound angry, though naturally his voice was low and deep and that alone could make her heart skip a beat. But Lothíriel could not make out the character of this foreign King. She wondered what he thought of her — she did so wonder!
Time after time, the incredulous maids of Rohan toiled to the door to receive another ewer of hot water from exhausted page boys and tipped it into the tub to keep the temperature of the bath hot.
"Your parents would be so proud of you," Lady Saelwen said dreamily as they helped the Princess from the bath and patted her all over with scented towels. One maid took her dark mass of hair, squeezed out the water, and gently rubbed it with a cloth of silk soaked in oil to give it shine and lustre. They led her towards the wardrobe and started to dress her in the layer after layer of shifts and gowns. "Pull that lace tighter, girl, so that the skirt lies flat. This is all of Dol Amroth's day as well as yours, Lothíriel. This is your father's victory, and he said that you would marry the King of Rohan, whatever it costs him."
"Hush. You make me sound like a parcel." Truly, that was what she felt like sometimes. As if she had been shipped off because she was unwanted. Of course, Lothíriel understood her father wanted the best for her, and this match was the best for her. But still.
"Of course not! Your father did this all for your sake although, quite frankly, it amazes me how he happened to choose such a person — I mean, he is King and all, but what a coarse and unrefined—"
"Hush!" Lothíriel repeated, now raising her voice slightly, her brows furrowed in distress. "He is kind, almost sweet, if it weren't for that rude incident." She didn't know why, but she found herself wanting to defend this man, the King of Rohan, who would soon be her husband. But she hardly knew him, and was terrified to speak to him when they were face to face. So Lothíriel was often led to her imaginations of what he might really be like. She hoped he was kind like her father had assured her. She didn't know about that, she had yet to learn about him to form her own opinion. And of opinions, there were so many different ones thrown about Éomer that she hardly knew what to make of him.
But that would not even matter once they were married, nothing could be changed even if she found him not at all agreeable. Again, she wished their period of courtship hadn't been only a year of correspondence and a couple of days in person.
"That was most certainly rude of him," Lady Saelwen remarked, sniffing her nose in disdain as she began to rearrange Lothíriel's hair. She did not answer to that anymore, wishing to drop the subject.
There would be no persuading the lady to any other opinion. She did have a right to feel bitter against the King: he had demanded to meet the Princess of Dol Amroth in front of his travelling party, without ceremony, without dignity, like a scramble of peasants. Lothíriel herself had been so embarrassed, horrified, but she gritted her teeth, and stood up her ground like a fighting soldier meeting the battle head-on. But she couldn't smile like her Mother told her to.
There was a knock on the door. One of her maids, Mylaela, rushed inside with her round face flushed. "It is the King. And he says he wishes to see the Princess."
Lothíriel immediately locked eyes with Lady Saelwen, the older woman raising her eyebrow. It seems this was another one of the traditions of Rohan, unlike Dol Amroth where it was absolutely forbidden for the wedding couple to see each other before the ceremony. Of course, in the same case, the bride would have also been secluded from the sight of every other man as well, but Lothíriel was pretty sure all the people in Rohan, all the pigs, geese and, of course, horses must have seen her face already by now.
"I will see him," said she, silencing her lady-in-waiting with a significant look. She put on a cloak, a dark blue one with lighter hue interwoven like ripples of water, and walked slowly and steadily towards the door.
She was, once again, surprised to see just how tall he was, but hid any emotion well behind her mask of serenity. She curtseyed, but did not say anything, waiting for him to start.
"I am sorry for this inconvenience, my lady."
She nodded her head once, not knowing how else to respond. She couldn't possibly pretend to say it was no inconvenience at all, because it really was. Who would want to meet her husband-to-be, hair drenched in water and face so bare?
"But I came to give you these," he held out a red velvet purse, and almost shoving it to her, immediately withdrew his hands to his back after she received it. She took it politely, with an inclination of her head, but she did not open it. She waited for him to say something more, but they stood silently for a while longer until he cleared his throat and continued, "They are the jewellery of the Queens of Rohan, heirlooms of the family, and it would be kind of you to wear them to the wedding ceremony."
Kind? She was going to be, she was already all but, Queen of Rohan — it wouldn't be a matter of kindness, it was duty, appearance, tradition.
"My lord honours me," she said with a small curtsey, and he took it as a sign to leave, and bowed stiffly. She opened the door behind her, and slid in carefully, feeling quite nervous as she always did whenever in his presence.
Her ladies-in-waiting were eager to see what was inside the small purse, and they wasted no time in taking out the contents, displaying them carefully on the desk. There were golden bracelets, and a necklace strewn with little rubies, and brooches. But what stood out particularly was the coronet. It was wreathed like golden flowers, and the light glistened off its surface like golden rays of sunlight. Lothíriel held it up, examining it in detail.
"Then I cannot wear my tiara," said she, with a hint of despair in her voice.
"You need not wear the coronet today. Perhaps later. You can wear your tiara, for the last time. It is the tradition, he will not object, surely," Lady Saelwen suggested.
"For the last time," Lothíriel murmured. She put down the coronet, pushed the jewellery a little bit aside, and took out her tiara. It had two endearingly lovely swans, and Lothíriel loved it dearly. It was like her own personal badge, her worth, her rank as the eldest unmarried lady of the royal house of Dol Amroth. It had been hers since she was 10, when her cousin Ariellë had married.
She put it on now, looked into the mirror with a close look as she never looked before. She searched for the traces of that little girl who had first tried it on secretly, before Ariellë's wedding day, enthusiastically waiting for that day which would make this invaluable treasure all hers, solely hers.
Now, it was time to let it go.
"Well, take one last look, Lothíriel. Nothing's ever permanent, anyways, and you've had your share of joy these years past." She didn't know what was ahead of her now. She couldn't think of it.
"Oh! darling," Lady Saelwen cried, flinging her arms around her. "I tell you, you need not put it away just yet, not today."
"But I will have to do it sooner or later," she replied determinedly, trying to be strong and not weep. And I had better make the King happy, she did not add this silent thought. She truly wanted to see him smile, though she will most probably be too busy looking at the ground to see even if he did. "It must be this way."
Slowly, she put the tiara down, and beckoned them to continue what they were doing. When they had finished, she looked a most stunning picture — her black hair let down in a thick wave down in front of one shoulder, the golden coronet round her smooth forehead, her silver mantle gleaming with a faint glow of blue as she moved, and to perfect it all, a sure, steady smile that could win any heart. She knew this. She knew she must look something beautiful. King Éomer had even said she looked prettier than her portrait! Of course, Lothíriel knew flattery was to be expected from him, he could just have been doing it out of politeness, the way he said it grudgingly.
She had been raised to feel confident in her looks, she had learned to love the way she looked, everybody always said how lovely she looked. And though Lothíriel did not necessarily believe it much herself — it would be wrong and quite vain — she believed it must be a bit true, at least, because others said so. She had long, dark hair that was often compared to the nightsky, and her skin was perfectly unblemished, and she knew she carried herself gracefully enough, thanks to the years of supervision under her Mother, Aunt Ivriniel, and Lady Saelwen.
But what if Éomer's taste wasn't like all the 'others' who praised her beauty?
What if he liked his women lighter-haired?
That would be a misfortune, indeed, since nothing could be done about it. He would just have to put up with it, probably regretting his foreign dark-haired Queen. But that would be really unfortunate, Lothíriel couldn't help despairing over it.
What was it that her Aunt had told her?
"Consider your husband carefully. He will own all your property, your good name will be in his keeping, and the happiness of your life will be decided by him. If you cannot be a loving wife, then be at least a wife of whom he can make no complaint. That is the best advice I can give to you, Lothíriel: be a wife of whom he can make no complaint. You will be his wife, that is to be his servant, his possession. He will be your master. You had better please him."
The words still echoed in her mind like some sort of prophecy. She had put up a smile, thanked her Aunt archly that it gladdened her heart to be reminded of it, while secretly she scorned and said to herself sarcastically, "No wonder she is a spinster!"
But Lothíriel had held that advice close to her heart, subconsciously, trying to be pleasing to this stranger on whose goodwill her fate, the rest of her life, depended.
She wondered whether he would make a complaint against how she looked. She wouldn't be able to help that. She might be sent back, and the business of searching a husband for her would have to be done all over again — except she would then bear the shame of having been rejected by the King of Rohan.
At least she would get to spend a couple more years in Dol Amroth, before being sent away again.
These different thoughts made her eyes leak somehow, and suddenly she was crying full on.
"La! What is the matter, dear?"
A hiccup escaped before Lothíriel took a gulp of air. "I — I don't really know? It's just — it's just happening by itself and I can't stop it? May—maybe it's what you said, the jitters, the wibber-gibbers like Alphie would say — and, oh! my darling boy, I have forgotten my darling boy, how shall I live without him? And Elphir, and Andrídha, and Erchirion, I miss him already — I admit it! I know I swore I won't but I do! And, and I miss Gwyneth, that dairymaid who ruined my blue-ribboned shoes, Cael the stableboy, even though I always made a point to glare at him whenever he winked at me, and, and everybody!" Lady Saelwen was the only one whose face was still calm and composed, others already baffled by this outburst of the Princess. Lady Saelwen did not speak, and she continued to pat Lothíriel's heaving shoulders in a loving embrace, silently. The words now poured out of her mouth, and suddenly there was no stopping anymore. "I think he doesn't like me very much, this King Éomer, he doesn't talk to me, and he is probably disappointed with how I look. What if he sends me back? Or worse, what if I disappoint him even as Queen of Rohan? What if I am terrible at it? What if I bankrupt the country and ruin everything? — I always forget my numbers, you know that."
"Now, now," Lady Saelwen soothed her, gently rubbing her back, "you are getting too carried away. It's just not possible for you to bankrupt an entire country, and you probably won't be burdened with those crazy duties. You'll just have to keep the accounts in order, the household in order, like your dear Mother does. The rest—" At this, Lothíriel let out a wail, for she could not possibly strive to be anywhere near her Mother's efficiency. "Don't distress yourself like this, dear. It will happen by and by, and you won't even notice it — you'll be such a beloved queen. And as for the King not liking you, why, I never heard such an abominable thing! He would say something about it, wouldn't he, if he didn't like you? That is absurd. And anyways, the men of our court can teach him a thing or two, perhaps a black eye if you request, you see if he doesn't like you then. And today, when you go in with your long, dark hair falling over your white gown, looking like Elbereth herself, the Star-queen, you'll see if there's a soul in the whole of this country, wretched enough to not fall in love with you!
"Now, stop this silly nonsense. You are going to look a mess."
"Well," Lothíriel swallowed a hiccup, now feeling foolish when Lady Saelwen pointed out things that way, and wiping her runny nose feeling like a wayward child, "I suppose I am being silly. There's no point in worrying over things that I cannot change. I will do my best, and leave the rest in the hands of the Valar. But, wouldn't it be more natural to look the blushing bride?"
"Yes, but you are going to get a red nose and red eyes, not alluring, red cheeks." She pinched Lothíriel's cheek lovingly, and again they set to work.
When the bells started to toll, Lothíriel stood up from where she sat, ready and secretly nervous, and said,
"Well, ladies, we have got a wedding to attend."
"Only, you're the bride this time," one girl teased boldly.
Lothíriel mustered all her courage, and strength, and smiled graciously and gaily and giggled, "All the more reason for me to look dazzling!" But a sudden gloom seized her heart, remembering that the joys of childhood would be denied to her after this day onward. And she would not be a maiden any more . . . She shook herself out of that train of thoughts.
She found to her pleasant surprise that her brother Amrothos was waiting outside the door.
"Ready?" He asked with a lopsided grin that made her laugh despite her heavy heart.
"What are you doing here?" She asked, amazed.
"Why, to escort you, of course. We can't risk you being attacked by some ambushing savages, can we?"
She gave him a look of caution.
He chose to ignore it, and remarked with a comical look, "You are so beautiful, I fear I may go blind from your dazzling-ness."
"So do you, dear brother," she said generously.
"Ah, but all the rest of us are only stars and stars cannot be as dazzling as the Moon, no matter how bright they shine."
"I thought dazzling was used to describe the Sun?"
"Spare me the poetry lesson for this once, love." He then asked again light-heartedly, "So, is the beautiful bride ready to mesmerise these petty people?"
"I was born ready, brother."
"Oh I don't know about that — you had such a terrible cry when you were born, I wept for days, terrified of your cries. I remember Auntie soothing me, saying you must be very mad about being brought into the world so early."
Lothíriel couldn't help smiling, a little sadly, at the mention of them as children. It didn't seem that long ago, and yet at the same time it felt so very long ago. Amrothos noticed her half-hearted smile, and turned her round to face him fully, and pulled her into a tight embrace.
"You've come so far, Thiri. I still can't believe you survived that terrible drowning when you were four. To think, we could have lost you then! I am glad we did not, sincerely." He placed his hand upon his chest soberly.
"I will survive anything, beloved brother, you need not worry about me," she said coolly, her eyebrow raised.
"Of course, my sweet sister," Amrothos smirked back. "I believe all this is just a piece of cake for you as well?"
A whole bakery, Lothíriel thought, but she answered anyways, "It is."
Amrothos studied her face carefully, saying slowly, "You know we love you."
"I do."
"And this is probably for the best."
"It is."
"Then why looking hang-dog?" He slapped her arm playfully.
She rolled her eyes, scoffing unbelievingly. "Every bride needs to look a bit hang-dog before the wedding."
"Not Andrídha, she did not. She was beaming enough for the both of them."
"That's because she's a fool half-sodden in love." She was pretty sure she failed to keep out the bitterness in her voice.
"And you are not?" Amrothos was looking as if he was trying so hard not to laugh out loud. "Hmm, you probably are not."
She didn't answer, because she didn't know. She was drowning in a sea of worries.
When they reached the door, beyond which was the Hall where all the guests were assembled, a guard bowed at the siblings but told them that the Lady must walk in alone, as was the custom.
"What! This is strange indeed, and if I weren't so nice as I am, I would call this exceedingly stu—"
Lothíriel tugged at her brother's elbow, hissing, "Mind what you say, Amrothos." Already she could feel the terseness of the lords since her arrival, and while Amrothos may not need to care about them, she was to remain here for the rest of her life and she knew she wouldn't survive long if she didn't make herself liked. Another inward sigh. "And really, you couldn't have stuck with me all the way through this marriage anyways, it's all on me." On my own. She tried to smile brightly, and hoped it was convincing enough. "So off you go now, my little star. Go twinkle somewhere else."
"It'll be all right. I know you'll be all right," and with a warm kiss on both cheeks, and one last concerned look, her brother left ahead.
She turned to the guard again, and ordered coolly, "Announce me."
He nodded, knowing this particular about the new Lady, as did many of Rohan by now.
"The Lady Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth, and Queen of Rohan!"
The heavy, wooden doors creaked open. Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil, armoured only with steely determination, stepped forward, her head held high and her footsteps unfalteringly in-beat.
Only she could hear her heart hammering in her eardrums.
Nobody must ever find a Princess of Dol Amroth falling back for fear.
No one will ever know what it cost her to smile, what it cost her to stand before all these people and not tremble.
She was not yet twenty-two, she was far from her Mother, she was in a strange country, she cannot speak the language, and she knew nobody here. She had no friends but the party of companions and servants that she had brought with her, and they looked to her to protect them. They did not think to help her. They could not help her.
Nobody could help her.
No one would ever know that she had to pretend to ease, pretend to confidence, pretend to grace. Of course she was afraid. But she will never, never show it. And, when they called her name, she would always step forward.
Amidst her own heartbeats, she could faintly hear the whisper of voices around her. She could not understand them, nor did she want to. Her eyes, fixated straightforward, fell onto the tall figure of the King. He stood proud and regal, like a pillar of strength. He wore the great woven cloak of gold and green, with the sigil of the horse, and on his head was the heavy crown wrought majestically in gold and white jewels. His face, Lothíriel stole a quick glance as she reached up to him and he took her hand in his, was solemn, almost even stern she would imagine.
She listened attentively, and repeated the vows in her best manner, but heard little. Her thoughts were busy elsewhere. She only registered dimly the voice of the King beside her, standing close by. In fact, she realised, they were so close she could almost discern the faint smell of musk and ambergris wafting around with the underlying notes of sweat, leather, and horses. She remembered it from the first evening when he barged into her tent.
Other than the thud-thud of her heart, she could not acknowledge his presence beside her. Neither did he seem to.
She knew what she had to do. She had to be a princess of Dol Amroth for Rohan and a queen of Rohan for Dol Amroth. She had to seem at ease where she was not and assume confidence when she was afraid.
Éomer may be her husband, but she could hardly see him, she had no sense of him yet. She had no time to consider him. She was absorbed in being the princess that he had bought, the princess that her father had delivered, the princess that will fulfill the bargain and secure the friendship between Rohan and Dol Amroth.
Every now and again, she glanced very briefly at his face, but he stood as still as a statue to reveal any answers to her incessant, whirling, silent questions of what he was like. He stood so still, she could not even tell whether he was breathing or not. Both his hands held her right hand between them, as if ensuring safety and comfort. But Lothíriel was uneasy, wondering if this was one of Rohan's different traditions as well; in Dol Amroth, the bride only held on to the man's arm.
The only thing that disconcerted her throughout the process happened when it was time for them to exchange the rings.
The ring-bearer was a man whom Lothíriel remembered to be one of Éomer's near-kin, but all these lords and Riders had the same bearded faces, the same fair hair, the same silence. If she hadn't mentally prepared herself for it months before she came to Rohan, Lothíriel was pretty sure she'd have gone insane by this unfamiliarity in the strange, foreign land. She wished she could see somebody from home, somebody who hadn't followed hither — she would even be glad to see Wat the groom who sang bawdy songs with his obnoxious voice.
The rings were brought on a small pillow-cushion while she was meditating these worrisome thoughts. When she saw Éomer taking the smaller one, she dutifully held out her hand for him to put it on her finger.
But he didn't.
Éomer took her hand, and turned it so her palm was held upward, and placed the small golden band on it. Confused, Lothíriel looked up at him, and her cheeks flushed warmly when she saw him smiling gently.
"In Rohan, we exchange the rings and wear it ourselves, my lady."
He explained kindly, but suddenly the former warmth in her cheeks grew hotter and she looked down at her palm, possibly looking furiously crimson.
"Oh," was all that she could say, blinking nervously as she reached for the other one and placed it in his upturned hand. Embarrassed, and wishing the wooden floorboards would open up to swallow her, she hastily put her ring onto her finger. Only after that was she able to recollect herself, braced herself, and looked up with a positively bright smile to say, "I wish I had thought to learn of it beforehand. But no matter. It is done."
He smiled again, and Lothíriel noticed, for the first time, the little crinkles near his eyes when he did so. For some reason, the discovery made her feel somehow light-hearted, and she found that she could return his smile with equal sincerity, without at all feeling the tiresome stretch in her cheeks when she had to remind herself to properly regulate even the degree of her smile.
"It is done," he echoed, and in her natural maidenly reserve, she lowered her eyes.
She felt him leaning down, felt his rough hand under her chin, felt her head being raised up to look at him. Only, she didn't want to look yet, and closed her eyes tightly. Then she felt his lips on hers, the warm kiss making her head spin around in circles, and she felt his hand brushing against her cheek, all in a daze. She only felt, and knew nothing of what was going on.
It was done.
When Éomer stepped back, she saw the timid smile on his face, as if he wasn't sure how much he should be smiling as well. When she looked around, she saw the smiling faces stretching from her feet to the doors of the Hall. And when they went down the aisle together, past the rows of benches and guests, to the bright wintry sunlight outside and heard the roar of the crowd for Éomer and his bride, the King and Queen of Rohan, Lothíriel started to realise that she had done her duty finally and completely. She had been promised to Éomer for more than two years, and now, at last, they were married. She had been named Queen of Rohan since she was twenty years old, and now, at last, she had taken her name and taken her place in the world.
It had felt impossible until it was finally done.
She looked up and smiled, not as shy as one might expect of a blushing bride on her wedding day, but a real confident smile of a queen that promised strength and courage to the people she was now to call hers, her own; and the crowd, delighted with the free wine and ale, with the prettiness of the young princess, with the promise of safety from threats both internal and external that could only come with a settled royal succession, roared their approval.
They were husband and wife; but they did not speak more than a few words to each other for the rest of the long day. There was a formal banquet, and though they were seated side by side, there were healths to be drunk and speeches to be attended to and the musicians playing. No one had ever seen so much money flung at a single occasion. It was a greater celebration even than the King's own coronation — it was a redefinition of the Rohan kingly state. Lothíriel was perfectly at ease with everything, having expected this all her life since she learned her duty and destiny as a princess, a woman in a largely male-dominated world, where she could only ever amount to be a bridge to the next generation of great men.
But perhaps it wasn't exactly as she had always thought it should be. Given that she was not marrying a lord or knight of Gondor.
The people of Rohan obviously did not like talking much, and after the formal ordeals were done, everybody sat down to eating and drinking by themselves. Truth be told, Lothíriel was looking forward to poems composed for her and recited in her honour, like they did for the brides in Dol Amroth; she would have been disappointed about the lack of attention, if it were not for the dreadful prospect of the night's end looming over her head for almost the entire time. That was the chief occupying thought of her mind, and since nobody paid much heed to her except now and then to drink her health, and the members of her own party being a bit distantly placed, and her own lord husband scarcely turning his head towards her, Lothíriel was left to ponder her own dread and dismay.
She was brought back to reality by a voice addressing her from below the board.
"It would be a great pleasure for us all if the queen would give us a dance. Or is that not allowed in Dol Amroth either?"
The boldness of the question startled her. She noticed that it was one of the highl lords of the King's council, an elderly man who particularly was frosty in his manners to her since her arrival. Lothíriel turned her head to Éomer, and asked cautiously, "Since I am now Queen of Rohan, I must learn your customs. Would a Queen of Rohan get up during her wedding and dance for everyone like she is at a village fair?"
She saw that Éomer's face was broody, and uneasy. He shifted in his seat before answering her shortly in that deep, gruff voice of his, "If she would like."
This was enough for Lothíriel, who had grown up in the court of Dol Amroth where conspiracies and gossips went around like bees buzzing from flower to flower, and she immediately understood his answer as an hesitant yes. She did not yet know the ongoings of this court and the country, but she knew it was her duty to please the King first and foremost, and she had to learn later on of his affiliations and animosities alike.
So, for the present, she decided to oblige the possibly harmless request.
She threw a small, demure smile to the other lord, and said, "Then I will dance," and rose from her seat at the high table. She was expecting the King to follow suit, but he did not; she realised they meant dancing as in all by herself, like some performer, and not a proper courtly dance with her new husband. She stood still for a second there, feeling very much embarrassed and whacking her mind wondering what to do next, before she finally added with some recovered grace, "With my ladies."
She beckoned towards where they were grouped nicely, a little apart from the men, called out to them by their names. Four young women, dark-haired girls of youth and beauty, pretending shyness but eager to show themselves off, came forwards. The Princess Consort of Dol Amroth, Lady Anarïen, herself had personally selected the ladies, not very willingly acceding to her lord husband's blunt but well-founded request that all his daughter's companions should be pretty. The party of Dol Amroth could not appear in any less honourable manner or fashionable style — except King Éomer had jeopardized the whole plan by forcing his way rudely into the Princess's tent. But nonetheless, all the girls were good-looking, well-mannered, and perfectly suited to be considered close companions of a royal princess of Dol Amroth, but none of them outshone the Princess, who stood composed and confident and then raised her hands and clapped, to order the musicians to play.
The dance was a pavane, a slow ceremonial dance, and Lothíriel moved with her hips swaying and her eyes heavy-lidded, a little smile on her face. She had been well schooled. Any princess would be taught how to dance in the courtly world where dancing, singing, music and poetry mattered more than anything else; but she danced like a young woman who let the music move her naturally. She was doing all her best to prove everybody watching that she would be the greatest ornament to this court where they only discussed war-strategies and the meal-times were, simply, for eating meals and not for civilised conversation.
She stopped as the music came to its last note, and swept a curtsey at the King, and came up smiling.
"Do I please you?" She demanded, flushed and a little breathless.
"Immensely," a faint smile was lingering on his lips as he said so, and Lothíriel found herself smiling back with gratitude at his praise and wonder, wonder at what kind of a man he was.
When, later on, she was sitting in front of the mirror in her new room, the Queen's room — which, Lothíriel sniffed inwardly, should have been hers since her arrival — she was still left wondering about the mystery of his smile that had stayed in her mind for the rest of that evening.
Sincerely Snow,
19th April — 8th June 2023
#lord of the rings#lotr movies#eomer x lothiriel#eomer eadig#lothiriel#the lord of the rings#arranged marriage#oneshot#light angst#hope you enjoy#lothiriel being an internal mess#dreambigdreamz
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Notes: Previously...
***
Chapter 3
Lothíriel was called by many ‘The Jewel of Dol Amroth’. She was -of course -honored by the love of her people, but she didn’t let it make her arrogant.
Her aunt Ivriniel had taught her that as a princess she had many responsibilities. She was born into privilege, and that came with many perks, but also many obligations.
From a young age, Lothíriel learned that people expected things from her. She had duties to attend as princess of Dol Amroth, and things she believed she should do.
That was why she understood -better than anyone -the need for a good marriage.
Her father had been kind and patient so far; willing to let her choose a partner. Many young ladies didn’t have the same luck, and were forced into marriages that only benefited the men around them. Lothíriel knew she couldn’t delay this forever, but she appreciated the time she had.
She also knew that the time was running out. Lothíriel was at a certain age; she had to get married sooner rather than later.
And she was quite aware that her father had a person in mind to marry her: Éomer King.
Prince Imrahil hadn’t come out and said it to her with quite so many words. However, he’d said -more than once -that he’d wanted her to meet Éomer. Her father was never economic in his compliments to the other man, and he considered him a good friend.
It wasn’t hard to understand why her father wished her to marry Éomer. Besides the fact that Imrahil liked the Eorlinga very much, he was also a king.
Enough said.
And Lothíriel didn’t want to hold this against Éomer. She wasn’t even angry that her father wanted her to marry him; as she’d said, it was expected.
But at the same time… She’d been a bit confused.
On one hand, she’d really wanted to meet Éomer, for the help the Eorlinga provided during the war. She also wanted to meet the man her brothers talked so much about.
And on the other… What if he was going there to meet her as a potential bride? What if his reason for meeting her was to see if he wanted to marry her? Like someone would see a horse before buying it.
Again… This was how things were done, but it didn’t mean it was good. It didn’t mean she was fine with the idea of being appraised as a potential bride.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to meet him anymore.
“Father didn’t talk to Éomer about marrying you.” Elphir, her eldest brother, informed her out of nowhere one day.
“Excuse me?”
“I know what you’re thinking.” Her brother said easily. “You’re smart, you probably already noticed that father would like to see you two together. I’m just saying that he didn’t tell Éomer any of that.”
Lothíriel arched an eyebrow. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I know very well, little sister.” He told her with a fond smile. “You’ve already put your defenses up, you’re trying to figure out if he’s coming here just to see if your market price is correct...”
Lothíriel blushed, because her brother was perfectly correct.
“So I’m telling you it’s not like that. Father didn’t say anything to him about marrying you. He’s leaving the choice to you.”
Oh.
That was… Really nice of her father.
It also knocked the winds from her sails, and her walls came crumbling down.
When she actually met Éomer, Lothíriel had no defenses left.
He was just a man she greatly admired, and a good friend of her father. He was courteous, polite and so handsome.
She hadn’t expected to find him so good to look at, but he was. So different from the men of Gondor, and yet so much better.
To make matters even worse he had a nice sense of humor. He’d helped her to hide from a suitor, had found it amusing that she sicced Captain and another, and she was almost convinced he’d flirted with her a bit the other day.
Maybe that journey would be quite good.
Unfortunately, two days before they were to leave she got bad news, and that was how Éomer found her: crying.
“My lady.” He seemed alarmed. “What is wrong?”
“It is Pearl.” She tried to get her sobbing under control. “My horse. She’s in pain and I don’t know why. The stablemaster said we might need to…” She pressed her lips together, incapable of saying what she’d been told.
“My lady.” Éomer touched her shoulders. She could tell him this wasn’t very proper in Gondor, but she was in no estate to care. “Take a deep breath in.” He asked firmly but kindly. “And tell me exactly what is wrong with Pearl.”
Lothíriel followed his instructions as if she was a child and had forgotten how to breathe properly. “Pearl is hurt.”
“How?”
“I do not know. It is nothing visible, but she’s favoring one of her legs.”
He nodded. “And the stablemaster…”
“He said we need to put her down! She’s not even that old. She was fine yesterday.” She knew she was speaking too fast, she could feel tears coming down her face, but she was truly distressed about this.
“It is alright.” Éomer used his thumb to dry her tears. “Will you allow me to take a look at her?”
“Yes.” She nodded vigorously. “Yes, please!”
“Alright.” He gave her a comforting smile. “I will get my stablemaster to come along.”
For some reason, Éomer made her feel as if things were going to be better. Pearl wasn’t an old horse, it’d break Lothíriel’s heart if they had to…
Her father’s stablemaster grumbled when Lothíriel told him that other people would look at Pearl. When she informed him that this was the King of Rohan, he only seemed marginally regretful. She’d have to talk about this with her dad.
Éomer and Leorif -his stablemaster- went into Pearl’s stall and checked her leg. They discussed the situation in their own language, so Lothíriel couldn’t understand what was being said. However, Éomer didn’t seem too concerned, so she decided to take that as a good sign.
He finally exchanged a nod with Leorif -as if they’d agreed on something. He turned to her. “Her problem is here on her hock. The joint is inflamed.”
“Is that serious?” Lothíriel asked, anxious.
“It could be.” Éomer told her gravely. “But we both believe she can still recover, she’ll just need to be well cared for.”
Lothíriel turned a freezing glare to her father’s stablemaster. “We’ll talk about that later.”
The man hurried out without arguing further.
“He probably wanted to spare himself the extra work.” Lothíriel grumbled.
“Yes.” Éomer agreed, obviously displeased. “Leorif will take Pearl to where we’re keeping our horses here. He’ll take care of her, and by the time we’re back, we’ll see how she is.”
Lothíriel’s leg threatened to give out, so strong was her relief. “Thank you so much, my lord. Truly.” She threw the older man a smile. “You too, Leorif. That is amazingly kind of you.”
The other man nodded at her. “No problem, my lady. She is a beauty, she doesn’t deserve to be put down just because that one is incompetent and lazy.”
“Oh trust me. My father will hear about this.”
Éomer was studying her. “Were you planning on riding her to Lossarnach?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “Now I’ll have to ask one of my brothers if I can take one of their horses.” She rolled her eyes. “But I can guess what their answer will be.”
Éomer hummed, then turned around and asked something Rohanese -which sounded lovely and now she wanted to learn the language. He nodded at Leorif’s answer, then turned back to her. “I can lend you a horse.”
“A Rohirrim horse?” She asked, full of interest.
Éomer chuckled. “Yes.”
“Really?” She could barely contain her excitement.
“Yes, but…” He pressed when he saw the glee taking over her. “It’s important to understand that this is a loan.”
“Oh, of course.” She assured him.
“It’s…” He cleared his throat. “It is just because I cannot gift you a horse.”
Lothíriel frowned. “My lord, I wouldn’t presume…”
“Not because of that, my lady. In Rohan, a man gifting a woman a horse would normally imply… A certain level of attachment.”
“Oh.”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat again. “And I would never…”
“You don’t have to explain y…”
“So just it’s clear…”
“Perfectly so…”
“It’s just that my people…”
“And the gossip…”
“And there’s your father…”
“And you’re a king…”
They both decided to stop talking at the same time. They probably should’ve stopped a while ago, but there they were.
“So…” Éomer clapped. “A loan.”
“It’s very generous of you, my lord.”
Pearl snorted, and Leorif did the same.
Well, that was a bit embarrassing.
***
Notes: Couple of things.
I don’t know anything about horses. I googled common injuries in horses that are non-life threatening, because the only thing I do know about horses is that very often an injury will result in then being put down. This is what Google told me.
Also, apparently the language of Rohan is called Rohanese according to Google, so… There I guess.
Let me know your feelings!
#madame baggio#gifs not mine#fanfiction#posted on ao3#the lord of the rings#eomer#lothiriel#eomer x lothiriel#not that kind of princess
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Oooh, I'm interested in She doesn’t know how to ride a horse (LotR folder) 👀
Ha! I hoped someone would ask about this one!
It's a story about Éomer and his canon wife, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, getting together. I think it'll be a pretty lighthearted romantic story set in Rohan, but with some cultural misunderstandings and hijinks. The seed of this one is that Lothíriel, being from a city where horses are only allowed to pull carts of goods into the city, never learned how to ride. This obviously is a bit of an issue for the Rohirrim. I haven't really read any fics featuring these two, so this might be a common trope, but if so, I hope I'll tackle it differently than folks have before.
This is mostly a story about learning to love someone when you are on different pages at the start. It's partially outlined, and I might get to it as a palette cleanser during some of the heavier parts of my main longfic.
Thank you for asking!!! <3
[from this ask game]
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