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Of Swans and Horses : Queen of the Riddermark	By : lynnwood84 Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > General Views: 5558 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings book series and movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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- 2
- 3
Chapter One
Doubts of a Princess
Who Would Be Queen
~~*~~

Dol Amroth, Gondor
April 17^th of the year
3020 T.A.

�� This
was it.
�� Princess
Loth�riel of Dol Amroth took in a deep breath and did her best not to give into
the growing urge she had to turn tail and flee into the sea. Perhaps the Valar
would take pity on her and the depths would swallow her whole, saving her from
the impossible task that had been set before her.
�� In
some ways, she was still reeling from shock, which had not abated in the seven
months that her father and three older brothers had returned from Rohan. Not
since her father had given her the unexpected news, that he had offered her
hand in marriage to the new King of Rohan and�against all believability�that
the Lord of the Mark had actually accepted.
�� Aunt
Ivriniel had been perfectly scandalized of course. Whoever had heard of such a
thing as a Princess of Gondor wedding one of those �savages of the North?� Of
course, Lady Morwen of Lossarnach had done so�wed to the former King of Rohan,
Lord Thengel, in fact. Yet Lossarnach was only a small fiefdom and was so far
north as to be practically part of the Kingdom of Rohan anyhow, according to
her aunt, so that did not in any way count. The older woman had dropped into a
dead faint at the news and took to her bed for months afterward.
�� Loth�riel
herself had been a touch hurt and confused at first, that her father would make
such a momentous decision without her knowledge or consent. It was true that
such alliances were not uncommon, yet the Prince of Dol Amroth had always doted
on her and given her choices in everything else about her life. Why take those
choices away from her so suddenly? Then Imrahil had explained to his youngest
child the reasons why he had done what he had, however. That he had hoped she
and Lord Eomer could have met ere the betrothal was made, only Fate had decided
otherwise. He sat her down then and told her of the troubles of Rohan, told her
about their dire need and how the proud Rohirrim would not accept aide unless
it came in the form of an alliance, not in the form of charity.
�� She
therefore understood the importance of her marriage to the young King of Rohan,
and did not begrudge her lack of a decision. Only . . . she still didn�t think
she was up to the task.
�� She
didn�t think that she was fit to be a Queen.
�� Loth�riel
bit her lip as her maid assisted her in dressing. She let the woman worry about
the cloak being secured around her shoulders, meanwhile she busied herself
tugging on her thick blue-black riding gloves. She hoped that the chore would
disguise her furiously trembling hands.
�� Faith,
how many times had Aunt Ivriniel told her she was too quiet, too faint of
heart, too shy and retiring? That she spent far too many hours with her nose
stuck in a book? She was a gentle sort, a scholar at heart. She was too short,
too plain, and so far beneath what the Kingdom of Rohan must value in a Queen
it was near to unseemly.
�� Hadn�t
her father returned from Rohan to immediately have her begin instruction on how
to �ride properly?� While she had always proclaimed a fondness for horses, she
had never really had much to do with them. There wasn�t much use for the
creatures in her home by the sea. The only real exposure she�d ever had was to
learn to ride side-saddle for the occasional tame trots ladies might take for leisure
or for long journeys to other parts of Gondor.
�� Yet,
as the future Queen of Rohan, she was expected to know how to ride astride and
do so with poise and skill. The learning of it had been quite a trial, where
she had earned no small amount of bumps and bruises after being thrown and
falling. That is, she had sustained these injuries while attempting to learn to
ride on one of her father�s horses. Not so, astride her new mount.
�� A
month ago, a small party from Rohan had arrived with her bridal gift, which
Eomer King bade her to ride when she came to Edoras for the wedding. He had
gifted her with a breathtakingly beautiful golden mare�descended of the legendary
Mearas�a horse fit for a King. Or a Queen, as it were. The men who had
accompanied the mare told her that their King had trained the horse for her
himself all through the winter months, teaching her spoken commands in Westron
instead of Rohirric. Her name was Gyldenfax, which meant �golden-hair� in their
tongue. The horse was indeed beautiful, gentle in spirit yet noble in bearing.
Gyldenfax had not once thrown her, had in fact moved in such a way several
times that had managed to keep her from falling.
�� The
gift, while cherished, only made her feel worse about her impending nuptials,
however. She wasn�t worthy enough to ride Gyldenfax, and she wasn�t worthy
enough to be Rohan�s Queen.
�� No
doubt King Eomer would take one look at her and run screaming in the other
direction. She had met Lady Eowyn, now the wife of her beloved cousin Faramir,
and had seen for herself what a lady of Rohan was expected to be. She was
neither tall of build nor brave of character as was the White Lady of Ithilien.
�� The
things she had heard of Eomer King in no way set her mind at ease, either.
�� Her
brothers had returned from the Battle of Pelennor and the Battle of Morannon with
amazing tales of the brave Rohirrim and their new Lord. A man who had
single-handedly brought down two M�makil and an unaccounted number of Haradrim
upon their backs with one spear toss, Elphir reported. A seven foot tall warrior
broad of muscle and powerful enough to tear the head off an Orc with his bare
hands, had been Erchirion�s solemn boast. A golden lord so handsome the jaded
ladies of Minas Tirith had all but fallen over themselves in order to taste, if
Amrothos� lofty praise was to be believed. Surely a man such as this could do
better for himself and his country than her? A shy Princess of Gondor who went
atremble at the mere thought of the terrors that her father and brothers had
been forced to endure. A young girl who was struck breathless in the face of the
horrors that had returned to Dol Amroth after the War of the Ring had ended.
�� She
wasn�t sure just what her father had told the man to get Lord Eomer to agree to
wed her, but whatever it was, he was bound to see it for a falsehood as soon as
he set eyes on her. And then she would be sent back to Dol Amroth in shame. That
was, perhaps, her greatest fear.
�� More
than anything she desired to bring honor and pride to her father and family, a
goal she had always felt falling short of her whole life. The thought of Eomer
sending her away was almost more than she could bear.
�� And
so�only weeks after she had learned of the betrothal�Loth�riel had begun to
mount her own defense. It was the only sort of weapons or armor she had at her
disposal; knowledge. As soon as the finality of her situation set in, she had
bade her cousin to send her any and every bit of literature the Great Library of
Minas Tirith possessed concerning their allies to the north. She read anything
she could get her hands on�books, scrolls and treatise�soaking up any and all
information about Rohan and its people as she could manage. She had even begun
teaching herself a little Rohirric, though it was slow going and she could only
translate a few words and certainly nothing complex as yet.
�� In
the last seven months she had read all about the varied history of the Sons of
Eorl, the long line of Kings that had led to her soon-to-be husband�who would
in fact be the first in the Third Line. She had learned that the Rohirrim did
not refer to their country as �Rohan,� rather that was the Westron term that
the people of Gondor had bestowed them. Instead they called their lands the
Mark of the Riders, or Riddermark, or just the Mark for short. She learned that
their language of Rohirric was largely spoken, that in fact many of the people
of the Mark could not read or write. She learned that, instead, their history
was handed down from father to son, mother to daughter in the form of great songs
and epic tales. She had taught herself terms such as �orlingas, which
meant the Sons of Eorl, a loose title the Rohirrim gave themselves in deference
to the first King of the Mark. She had also learned words like �ored,
which was the name for an irregular unit of calvary, and learned the difference
between the Westfold and the Eastfold. Loth�riel had familiarized herself with
all things of the Mark, in an attempt to arm herself with whatever she could to
help secure her fate. Whatever that was destined to be.
�� And
now the day had come for their company to start out. Her father, three older brothers,
Elphir�s wife Riana, their three year old son Alphros and their nine month old
daughter Finuviel as well as her cousin Faramir and his wife Lady Eowyn�the
latter of which had just arrived in Dol Amroth earlier that week�would be
setting out north today for the Blackroot Vale. They were to take the pass
under the mountain�beneath Dwimorberg�which would open up into the Dimholt.
From there, to Dunharrow and then only ninety or so miles north through the
valley of Harrowdale to the capitol city of Edoras. Within which was the Golden
Hall of Meduseld, which was to become her new home.
�� Being
terribly claustrophobic due to a game of hide-and-seek gone horribly awry when
she was a child, Loth�riel wasn�t even going to let herself think of the many
hours she would be forced to travel beneath the ground under the Haunted
Mountain. She already had enough worries to contend with as it was, without needlessly
adding to them. Taking the Dimholt road would cut their travel time in half. Though
whether or not that was a good thing or a bad thing she had yet to decide.
�� Loth�riel
finished tugging on her gloves, then replaced the fluttering maid�s hands in
securing the silver clasp at her throat, cut in the shape of a swan in flight.
Her gown was not the richest in her wardrobe but it was well-suited to travel,
a fine gray-silver muslin trimmed in darker blue to match the velvet cloak now
secured about her neck. Unheard of in Gondor, she also wore a soft pair of gray
hose beneath her skirts in the way of Rohirrim women, to maintain her modesty
as she sat astride in the saddle. A sturdy pair of soft black leather ankle
boots had replaced her fine silk slippers. The only real Gondorian bit of
fashion she retained was her headdress. Her thigh-length black hair had been
twisted up and tamed in several coils pinned in her nape, all covered in a fine
silver veil wrapped around her head and neck and trailing down her back beneath
the hood of her deep blue cloak.
�� In
a way, Loth�riel was almost glad her Aunt Ivriniel had refused to come and bid
her goodbye. Surely the old dragon would faint dead away at the mere sight of
her. The young princess pushed away the pinch of hurt that assaulted her at the
thought, doing her best to steel herself against it. It was true, her elder
Aunt had had much of the raising of her in the place of her own mother, who had
died when she was only seven years old. Yet Lady Ivriniel had never been what
one might call loving and warm, instead she was everything that was strict,
haughty and downright cold at times to her only niece. Ivriniel had felt
betrayed when Loth�riel did not heed her words and refuse her father�s wishes
to wed the King of Rohan outright. She had made no secret of the fact that she
could not forgive or forget such an end, and had all but disowned her,
privately if not publicly.
�� Not
that it mattered much. After today, she would likely never see her Aunt
Ivriniel again.
�� Before
she could depress herself even more, Loth�riel turned on her heel and left out
of her room, putting out of her mind the fact that she would never return to
it. She held her head high, chin lifted, as she glided through the open
hallways of her father�s hall. Her expression was serene, her smile tight but
heartfelt to greet the throng of her father�s people who had turned out to see
her go. She nodded to those who called out to her, moving purposefully toward her
horse and inwardly praying that her fierce trembling was not visible to the
naked eye.
�� Gyldenfax
waited patiently for her to mount, decked out in all the finery that she had
come from Rohan bearing�an exquisitely wrought dark brown saddle and tack tooled
in gold and green, made especially for her. This was apparent in the fine
breast collar that attached to the saddle, having silver and gold studs
intricately carved with alternating running horses and swans in mid-flight.
�� The
mare itself stood at least eighteen hands high, her coat a burnished amber that
glistened like molten gold in the morning sunlight. Her mane and tail were a
pale white-blonde, and she had a bold white blaze down the front of her face,
as well as three white socks on all but her left rear leg. As always, Gyldenfax
greeted her warmly with a soft nicker and a gentle thump of her pale pink nose.
Afterward the princess accepted the assistance of a man-at-arms and a sturdy
mounting block, hopping up into Gyldenfax�s saddle with little trouble�praise
be to whoever was listening.
�� Loth�riel
was so focused on not fumbling that she completely missed Lady Eowyn�s small
smile and nod of approval nearby.
�� As
their party�surrounded by an entire contingent of her father�s Swan Knights�started
out from Dol Amroth, Loth�riel allowed herself one look over her shoulder. Her
eyes wandered along the glittering coastline, gazing out along the rooftops of
the city, staring at the awe-inspiring Sea-Ward Tower of Tirith Aear. She
committed to memory the beauty and the wildness of the sea beyond that she had
always admired, if never able to emulate.
�� Then
the Princess turned resolutely forward in the saddle and promised herself she
would never again look back.

~~*~~

�� I
still cannot believe he agreed to this madness.�
�� Loth�riel
was startled out of her game of keeping her swan clasp out of her tiny niece�s grasping
fingers and mouth at Eowyn�s sudden, disgruntled announcement. She blinked,
stunned, as the fiery Lady of Ithilien continued.
�� Agreeing
to marry someone he�s never even met before! And you given utterly no choice in
the matter, no less!�
�� Her
sister-in-law, Riana, frowned from where the three ladies sat in one of the
larger and more comfortably furbished tents. A full day�s ride away from Dol Amroth,
they had only recently set up camp for the night and were now seeking a bit of
rest from the weariness of travel. The precocious Alphros was currently holding
court with his father, grandfather, uncles and cousin outside.
�� It
is a little late for such thoughts, don�t you think Lady Eowyn?� Riana demanded
carefully after a moment of tense silence.
�� The
White Lady merely snorted, crossing her arms with a huff. Even dressed in a
fine blue gown with her golden hair twisted up in a plaited bun and tamed by a
silver netting as was the way of Gondorian fashion, Eowyn looked more ready to
snatch up a sword and defend the camp rather than hold court with her two
female companions.
�� It
may be too late to put a stop to this foolishness, but it isn�t too late for me
to be disgusted by it all. I had thought that that oaf of a brother of
mine was better than this.�
�� Riana
fell silent. Loth�riel swallowed the lump in her throat, then cleared it
hesitantly. �I . . . I am sorry that I do not meet your approval, Lady Eowyn,�
she started, but was cut short when the Lady of Ithilien whirled to her with a
stunned gasp.
�� What?
No! That�s not it at all, Loth�!� she protested immediately and vehemently. She
looked so surprised and offended by the thought that Loth�riel allowed much of
the tension she was feeling to melt away. �While it is true that we have only
recently met,� the blonde woman continued, �I like to think that we have become
good friends.� Loth�riel nodded to Eowyn�s questioning look, and the beautiful
Shield-Maiden smiled winningly. �Never doubt that I hold you in the highest
regard, Loth�riel,� Eowyn announced fervently. �Even if I did not have
Faramir�s utter love and devotion to you to go by, I myself can appreciate that
you are quite possibly the sweetest girl I have ever met. You accepted
me immediately without a thought, and have never made me feel less of a person
because of my homeland.�
�� Loth�riel
inwardly winced, knowing all too well the prejudice some of her more
�civilized� countrymen�especially the ladies�could have concerning the northern
lands and their �barbarous ways.�
�� I
do not protest this marriage per se,� Eowyn went on to clarify. �Only the
abrupt way it was arranged. Without your knowledge or even your consent!� She
seemed so scandalized and upset, Loth�riel felt obliged to set her heart at
ease.
�� While
it is true that I did not know of the match until after it had been decided, you
must not let that bother you, Lady Eowyn. The need of your people was dire, and
my betrothal to your brother was the perfect solution to their crisis.� She
gave a delicate shrug. �Such alliances are often made this way in Gondor.�
�� Eowyn
made a face.
�� Well
it is not the way of it in the Mark, let me assure you,� she protested. �And I
had taken my brother to be a better man than the sort to take a wife at the
price of a few barrels of grain.�
�� Arranged
marriages are not always so terrible,� Riana intervened with a knowing smile.
�My own marriage to Elphir was decided when we were still children. And as you
can see,� she continued, reaching out to lovingly stroke the black curls
gracing her second-born�s tiny head, �we have grown to care very deeply for one
another.�
�� Loth�riel
gazed down at baby Finuviel, for a moment unable to chase away the cold terror
that had suddenly taken root in her chest. It was one thing to worry over even
being accepted by the King of the Mark, of becoming the Queen of the Rohirrim
and establishing herself as a worthy Lady of Meduseld. It was quite another
thing entirely to face the finality of becoming a man�s wife, one who was a
complete stranger to her and would not be much better by the time of her
wedding night. To reconcile herself to lying with him and letting him touch her
intimately. Of bearing the man�s much needed heirs. How long would it be before
her belly grew large and round with the next King of the Riddermark?
�� They
were only a scant week and a half away from the White Mountains, where they
were to meet Eomer King and his host of riders and be escorted the rest of the
way through the Dark Door and on to Edoras. Her father had told her that after
they arrived, they would wait another week to allow all those who wished to
witness their union a chance to arrive. King Elessar and Queen Arwen Und�miel,
as well as the White Wizard Gandalf were only a few among many others. After
that they would hold a ceremony at high noon in the Rohirrim way; an exchange
of binding vows before Mithrandir and the court of Meduseld, sealed by their
sharing of a cup of wine, followed by a huge feast that would stretch long into
the night and even the next day, she had been told. Not that she would be
around to enjoy much of the feasting.
�� Loth�riel�s
face paled with the direction her thoughts were suddenly taking, despite her
best efforts. The knowledge she had been so keen and stubborn on acquiring
suddenly turned against her, for she now knew very well what came afterward.
�� It
was tradition that the new couple would quit the hall early on the first night,
just after the sun had set, in order for the man to have his conjugal rights. They
would be brought refreshment later in the evening, but were otherwise forbidden
to be disturbed. Only afterward, on the morning after, would she be officially
crowned Queen of the Mark. Her �mettle� was to be tested, as it were, by her
husband and King before she could claim the throne at his side. At that
thought, her pallor instead burned into a scarlet tide. Admittedly, she didn�t
know very much about what happened between a man and his wife. Her Aunt Ivriniel
had been very vague, only to say that it hurt terribly and was extremely messy.
Her only advice had been that it was best she lay very still and close her eyes
very tightly, and pray that her husband had done with it quickly.
�� And
that had been told to her long before they had known that her husband would not
be a Gondorian noble, but rather a Lord of the Rohirrim. Faith, with the fierce
sort of man she was to wed, would she even survive the bedding?
�� Lucky
for her, Eowyn and Riana seemed oblivious to the mental avalanche her
inner-thoughts were creating, and continued their conversation.
�� Very
rarely are betrothals made by anyone other than the couple in question, in the
Mark,� Eowyn was saying, tone firm. �If ever. Finding one�s heart-mate is a
sacred matter to the Rohirrim, one we do not take lightly.�
�� Well
you know the new King of Rohan better than either of us,� Riana suddenly
announced, and Loth�riel tensed. �Prince Imrahil seems to think that your
brother and our Loth� will suit. What do you think?�
�� Loth�riel
suddenly found herself under Eowyn�s intense scrutiny.
�� Eomer
is a great warrior of Men,� she murmured softly, her ice blue eyes missing
little as they stared deep into the nervous princess�s own. �He has fought many
battles and faced many dangers�for our people and for all of Middle-Earth. He
is strong, proud, fierce in temper but fair in all things. A great man, though
stubborn and pigheaded at times,� she finished with a grin.
�� Riana
laughed, but Loth�riel grew silent. She bit her lip again, then suddenly thrust
her niece back into the arms of her mother. Riana took Finuviel with a
surprised lift of her brows, frowning as the young princess got to her feet
with a wrench immediately afterward.
�� A
great man,� she burst out, tone strangled. �Far too great for the likes of me!�
Eowyn frowned.
�� What
do you mean?� Loth�riel turned to her, expression desperate.
�� Don�t
you see! You are right to despair, Eowyn,� she let loose, near tears. �I am no
Queen of the Riddermark! I am just a frightened girl so scared I fear near to
fainting at any moment!�
�� Loth�riel
put her face in her hands then, fighting off the sobs that wanted to break
free. She felt Eowyn�s firm but comforting hand take her shoulder soon after.
�� Loth�
. . . I did not mean to make you doubt yourself. Never was that my intent. I
will count myself lucky indeed to gain you as a sister.�
�� And
I am not worthy of such praise,� she murmured miserably. She raised her
tear-stained eyes to the tall Lady of Ithilien, and took no solace in her
stunned expression. �I am n-nothing like you, Lady Eowyn,� she admitted at
last, her voice hitching. �I have tried very hard t-to learn all that I could
of your lands after father announced my engagement. And everything that I have
learned has only increased my doubt and dismay. I am no Shield-Maiden of
Rohan,� Loth�riel sobbed. �I cannot wield a sword, I can barely ride a horse
and I have no great courage or strength in me. Your brother will be shamed,�
the miserable princess finished, �to find himself bound to a short, dark-haired
child practically scared witless at the sight of her own shadow.�
�� There
was a long moment of silence, then Eowyn suddenly braced her fists on her curvy
hips.
�� No
courage? Are you daft as well as dense, Loth�riel?�
�� Stunned,
her tears dried almost instantly. She met the blonde woman�s eyes again and
took in her expression of exasperated humor.
�� Surely
you jest,� Eowyn continued, �to proclaim you have no courage. When in fact you
display a great deal of it to have agreed to leave everything and everyone who
is familiar to you behind and start a whole new life in a country that is
completely foreign. To wed a man you�ve never even met before on the word of
your father for the sake of a whole nation of people who do not share your
blood. I would not have the strength to do it,� she then announced firmly.
�� Loth�riel
blinked, stunned.
�� But
you . . . you slew the Witch-King of Angmar!� she protested, tone strangled,
and Eowyn laughed. Riana joined her.
�� Yes,
perhaps. But killing the Dwimmerlaik pales in comparison to this, I think. Had
Eomer or my Uncle even suggested it to me I would have blackened their eyes for
it and refused on the spot. I am not so brave as you, in this.� Loth�riel
looked so scandalized by such a declaration that Eowyn had no choice but to
chuckle and continue, wrapping a companionable arm around the smaller, younger
girl and giving a friendly squeeze. �You may not wield a sword and shield on
the field of battle, little Loth�, but that does not mean you have no strength
or valor of your own. Agreeing to marry my brother solely for the sake of a
people you owe no allegiance to,� Eowyn paused, then shook her head, unable to
put her thoughts into words. She continued after a moment along a different
vein, instead.
�� Your
compassion and the strength of your heart would challenge my skill with a blade
any day,� she announced solemnly. �Yours is a valor of a different kind, and in
fact far more in need by my people than any fighting skills that I might
possess. The Rohirrim need a Queen such as you, Loth�riel. A woman of
tenderness and gentleness, to sooth the pain of their loss and ease their way
into a new age.�
�� Here
Eowyn paused yet again, to let her words sink in. Then she grinned again, and
her serious tone took on a more teasing air. �And as to being �too small and
dark� for Eomer, you might as well reconsider that as well.� She laughed at the
other two when they looked confused. �My brother was quite popular with the
ladies of Minas Tirith during his stay for Aragorn�s coronation. He in turn found
their countenance quite fascinating as I recall, compared to our own tall,
fair-haired and blue-eyed variety. It seems my brother�s tastes just might run
more to the dark and tiny.�
�� For
all that Eowyn had meant to set her fears at ease, such a statement didn�t
exactly serve that purpose. Loth�riel wouldn�t have thought herself capable of
the emotion�especially for a man she had never met before�yet at the thought of
Eomer dallying with the ladies of the White City she found herself pinched with
a burning emotion that could only be likened to jealousy.
�� Yet,
Eowyn had a point. She couldn�t remain a frightened child forever. There were
hundreds of people from both countries counting on her now. She felt her
shoulders straighten. She was descended from the great Kings of N�menor. She
was a pure-blooded Princess of Dol Amroth, by the grace of the Valar.
�� And
from this moment on, she would start acting like it too. Even if it killed her.
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Of Swans and Horses : Queen of the Riddermark