Title: Heart of a Queen

Rating: T

Pairings: Éomer/Lothíriel

Genre: Romance/Drama

Summary: "You are a Princess of Dol Amroth, Lothíriel, and you were born as brave and proud as your brothers."

Disclaimer: The Lord of The Rings is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien and his estate. This is a work of fanfiction, written for the enjoyment of myself and others. No financial profit is made by writing this.

Author's Note: My muse works weirdly sometimes. For one, he likes to keep me up at night when I should be sleeping. Well, this much you knew, if you have been previously following me and my fics. And some stories come to me and I just have to write them down, even if I have other things going on already. This is one such occasion.

Don't worry - A Long and Winding Road is not going to be neglected by this one. In fact, these detours usually tend to refresh my muse for the main thing I'm doing at the time. And in any case, this will probably be three, four chapters at most (this time I mean it). My tumblr friends and followers will probably guess this is the "unnamed story" I was talking about some days ago - it really has started to live a life of its own!

Hope you enjoy!

A Bride for the King

May 3020

The first time she saw him was in Minas Tirith.

One year exactly had passed since the day King Elessar had entered the city after the war's ending, and many of the heroes who had fought against Sauron had travelled back for a reunion. There was to be a great celebration to honour the year of peace and prosperity, and for the brothers in arms to meet up once more. At least, that was what Father had stated to Lothíriel with a formal note that made him sound like he was giving her a speech. It was all well and good, and she was as eager for the commotion and excitement caused by the upcoming feasts as anybody.

As such, she never saw his suggestion coming on the afternoon no less than two hours after they had arrived in the White City. Her brothers had left the house almost as soon as they had entered it, as they were in hurry to go and meet friends they had made during and after the war. Amrothos in particular had been unbearable, as on their way to Minas Tirith he had done nothing but rambled about his Rohirric friends and how this time, he was so going to out-drink them.

Lothíriel herself had been much more collected about the trip, and her first deed upon arrival had been to talk with the housekeepers of their town-house and give necessary orders for the staff. After that, she was busy unpacking and settling down in her rooms, when a servant came to summon her, saying her father wanted to see her in his study.

She put aside whatever was in her hands at the time and made her way down the hall to the door of Father's study. Her mood was light and she thought whatever he had in mind had to do with the banquet tonight, which would be hosted by King Elessar himself to an assortment of his friends and acquaintances. Idly she thought it would be interesting indeed, perhaps even recall the feasts a year ago now. She hadn't participated any of those, because when he had ridden with her brothers to defend Minas Tirith, Father had left her in charge of Dol Amroth – a dreadful task, it had seemed when he had first assigned it to her, but somehow she had managed.

When she entered the study, Father was pacing slowly back and forth while reading what looked like a letter, and she smiled fondly. He could never keep still when he was thinking. But then he lifted his eyes to see his only daughter, and a smile appeared on his features. He was tall, just as her brothers, and there was something kind and friendly about his features. She knew she resembled him a great deal, as they both had dark hair and grey eyes, and they had always understood each other in a way her other siblings did not share.

"There you are, my dear", he said as she approached him and tiptoed to kiss his cheek.

"You wanted to talk with me, Father?" she asked him, and at her question, he gently took her hand.

"Indeed I did. Come, sit with me, Lothíriel – I have something important to speak of with you", he said, pulling her after himself to a pair of chairs next to a window. They took seat there, and he looked at her with warm eyes.

"I must admit, it impressed me to see how you took over the management of the house when we arrived", he said and smiled at her.

She shrugged and clasped her hands in her lap.

"No one else was going to do it", she said simply, and her father let out a wry little chuckle.

"You are quite right about that, daughter... you have always been much more responsible than your brothers. They took a lot more raising than you did, Lothíriel", he said, considering her thoughtfully, until a small frown appeared on his brow. "I know it's because of your mother. She left us all too soon, and her passing made you feel like you had to make up for her absence. While I'm thankful for the way you took care of us all, I have sometimes regretted it, daughter – it was my failure as a father. I should have made sure you could still be a child."

"But a city like Dol Amroth needs a lady, Father, and Amrothos in particular would never have survived to adulthood without someone minding him", she pointed out, and shook her head. "It's no matter. You were always good to us. And I don't think I would have been happy to grow up pampered and idle."

"No, I suppose that's not like you", Father agreed and leaned forward in his chair. He regarded her keenly now. "That is also what has had me thinking lately, daughter. You know I made friends with King Éomer of Rohan back during the days of war. He proved himself a good, brave man, and it's thanks to him that Minas Tirith still stands."

Father let out a small sigh then and he took her hand in his own as he continued, "I have been in correspondence with him during the past winter, as you probably noticed by all those riders coming and going, delivering letters. Éomer writes of many challenges he is facing and of his frustration with his advisers. As you can imagine, they are eager he should marry as soon as possible. It has given me an idea, daughter, of a union between our House and his. He has not said yes or no yet, but we both agree it would be sensible politics, as it would bring our two peoples even closer together. And the war is over now, and sooner or later, your sister-in-law will take over the place of the Lady of Dol Amroth, as is her right as Elphir's wife. When that day comes, I would want your future to be secured."

"So you mean I should wed the King of Rohan, Father?" Lothíriel asked at last, and she wasn't sure what she thought about this – not beyond wondering if King Éomer would think of her as a part of the weregild; that by her bearing his heirs, Gondor would make up for Rohirrim who had died defending Minas Tirith...

"I mean only that you should meet him, Lothíriel. See if you like him, and if he likes you. I am not making any decisions for you, and what happens next depends entirely on your choice", he answered steadily. "Just remember it is in your power to make our alliance with Rohirrim even stronger. And through you, the blood of Dol Amroth would live on with the House of Eorl."

When she got ready for the ball that night, Lothíriel asked her maid to see some extra effort for her hair and overall appearance. She didn't know if it was necessary, and how this night would turn out, but she had decided to try at least. After all, Father would be disappointed if she acted indifferent, and she had been raised with the knowledge one day she would be married to the man whose connections would best benefit her House. Yet even she, daughter of an ancient and noble line, could only have imagined becoming the wife of a king.

And so she had entered the hall in the Tower of Ecthelion – not the great feasting hall of Merethrond, but a smaller one, and more intimate for such company as was gathered tonight. Her maid had piled her hair in a crown of braids that descended open on her right shoulder, and she was wearing her favourite blue and silver gown along with her mother's star-shaped pendant on her breast, hoping these things would lend her some confidence for what was to come. It was not every day one met a famous young king with the hopes of catching his eye. Maybe it was all unnecessary, anyway; she knew Rohirrim were blond and tall, so perhaps she with her dark hair and small stature would be most unappealing to the king of horselords.

She reminded herself neither of them could be making any decisions just based on looks. This was clearly to be a marriage of convenience, and if they were to manage as king and queen, they would have to be at least compatible, if not affectionate towards one another.

Lothíriel shook herself and bit the insides of her cheeks. Nothing was decided yet and it was silly to plan ahead when she hadn't even met the man.

Fortunately, the occasion was not very formal, and there was no herald to announce them when she arrived with Father. She knew he would have liked to bring her straight to the Rohirric king and get the introductions out of the way, but she told him she needed a moment to prepare.

"I will come when I'm ready, Father", she told him, and thankfully, he understood.

Getting ready required two glasses of wine, which she more or less gulped down as she stood hidden behind some pillars at the left side of the hall. She took cover there also because she was not in the mood of exchanging pleasantries with other guests; it was demanding enough to keep her act together as it was. Not to mention, she didn't yet know what kind of a man King Éomer was, and how much effort she would have to put into keeping up small talk between them.

Having emptied the glass and feeling the warmth induced by wine spreading into her limbs, Lothíriel took a deep breath and moved so behind the pillar that she could search the crowd with her eyes, but remain mostly hidden. She wanted to take a good look at this Rohirric king before actually meeting him, as it wouldn't be polite to stare when she was face to face with him. True, she wasn't going to make any choice just based on how he looked, but she wasn't going to jump into this blindly, either. The princess had heard many stories of him and his people – some said he was a great war-hero and an honourable man, but there were also those who weren't at all impressed with the Rohirrim. Some whispers went as far as saying they were a lesser people, a band of wild, uncivilised brigands who were only somewhat redeemed because of their hatred of the Dark Lord. Apparently they always smelled of horses and spoke in an incomprehensible language, couldn't read or write, and were altogether too noisy. However, the letters passed between her Father and the Rohirric king at least refuted the bit about reading and writing, and Lothíriel's own brothers and her father had always spoken highly of King Éomer. She was more inclined to appreciate their opinion than what went by in court gossip.

But then, a man's comrades in arms would naturally consider him differently than the woman who was to marry him. And her brothers in particular probably had other standards for what made a good man than she did.

And so she moved her gaze over the crowd of guests, her eyes set on looking for her father – he had said he'd go and greet the Rohirric king, and so she was like to see him too once she had spotted her sire.

Incidentally, it was King Éomer himself she saw first instead of Father – which was no wonder when she took in the full sight of him – and the moment her eyes set on the man, she knew it was him.

For the longest time, the only thing Lothíriel could do was stare, and she scarcely knew what to think. He was... big. Yes, that was the chief thing about him: he was even taller than the men of her family, and he was broader than them, too. His shoulders and arms looked strong enough for carrying a cave-troll on his back, and his long legs were like trunks of trees. He stood with his feet apart, hands clasped behind his back; even in this peaceful setting he seemed ready for battle. Lothíriel thought this horselord was twice as large as any reasonably-sized person should be, and even from this distance, she suddenly felt quite small in comparison.

Eventually, when she had got over the initial shock over the sheer amount of the man, she began to notice other things. He had that famous blond hair, which fell below his shoulders in smooth waves and she noted how candle-light lent it a soft golden shine. The shade went well with the dark green of his tunic – unusual colour in Gondor, as green had gone out of vogue years ago.

She saw him shift slightly, turning his head as though a great beast listening for some tiny noise made by potential prey, and suddenly Lothíriel felt like somehow, he knew she was staring at him. She shook her head and felt her cheeks warm up, but she reminded herself she was well-hidden and something else must have caught his attention. It occurred to her there was some truth about it when people said there was wildness in these horselords, but it wasn't the kind implied in stories. To her it seemed something elemental, something not out of this age.

At last, her eyes took in more than just the King of Rohan. She saw her father, and the way he was searching the crowd about them suggested he was starting to get anxious for her arrival.

Lothíriel took another deep breath and smoothed her hands across her gown, though she knew it was unwrinkled and her appearance was the best it could be. And Father had said the king was a good man. If he was serious about finding himself a queen, then he wouldn't interested in whether or not she looked like a strange breed of beardless dwarf next to him.

It was time to actually meet the Lord of Rohirrim.

Emerging from her safe little hideout and walking down to where Father was talking with King Éomer felt a bit like she was in a dream. Slowly she made her way past other guests, and her answering smiles and greetings were mechanical. No doubt the slightly dizzy sensation in her head was also partly because of wine.

"There you are, daughter! I was wondering if you would be joining us", Father spoke in delight when he saw her approaching, and she was able to return his smile. Why was she feeling so nervous suddenly? King Éomer was just a man, even if he bore striking resemblance to a giant. She wasn't going to be married off come the morning – all she had to do was just talk with the horselord.

"Father", she greeted her sire and halted to stand by his side, and then she carefully turned to look at the King of Rohan.

He looked even bigger up close and she had to fight the urge to step back. She thought he could have easily rested his chin on the top of her head and she thought she would have to stand on a box if she wanted to look into his eyes without having to tip her face upwards. Said eyes revealed very little of his character, as did his face. She did notice they were sharp and discerning, though the dark shade of them surprised her; she had thought Rohirrim were all blue-eyed. There was almost unsettling depth to the man's gaze, and she thought he had eyes of a much older man than his twenty and nine years.

Lothíriel couldn't exactly say if he was a handsome fellow – he was too foreign for her to make such a judgement. Well, perhaps he was, if you liked them with so much hair on them. Though in his defence, his beard was neatly trimmed close to his jaw, and his hair was clean and neatly fastened at the back of his head. A smile would have adorned his face well, she thought, but somehow she got the feeling such expression did not often appear on his solemn features.

"Éomer, this here is my daughter, Princess Lothíriel", Father said, startling her from her thoughts. She blushed in embarrassment, as she had already forgotten Father was even present.

"Pleasure to meet you, my lord", she said and curtsied at the horselord, who took her offered hand in his own to plant a kiss on it. Idly she noted his hand was as big as a shovel, hard and callous, but also warm without being sweaty in the slightest. She just hated it when the lords of the society had cold, clammy hands and refused to let go of hers.

"Likewise, my lady", King Éomer answered, and the timbre of his voice had her skin on goosebumps. He didn't speak loudly, but she felt it was never hard to miss what he said.

A short silence followed, until Father cleared his throat and he smiled again at his Rohirric friend.

"Well, perhaps I will leave you two to get better acquainted with each other", he said warmly, kissed his daughter's brow quickly, and then made his exit as gracefully as could be expected.

Lothíriel cleared her throat as well, determined not to let an awkward silence fall between herself and the Rohirric king. Her first impression did not seem to imply he was an avid conversationalist, at least not with people he had never met before. But that was hardly a problem for her. After all, being able to conjure small talk was a necessity for any well-bred lady, and she had been taught by no one else than her aunt Ivriniel – a woman well known for her chattiness. Father had once said Aunt could probably make conversation with rocks if she just put her mind into it.

Afterwards, she wouldn't remember much of what they talked about. Her head remained dizzy through it, and most of her focus went into keeping up a coherent conversation with the Rohirric king. He seemed like a man of few words, and he didn't make many starters for a discussion, but he did respond politely to things she said. He had a deep, booming voice, which matched well his physical appearance. She thought he would have to raise it only a little in order to get the attention of everyone in this half of the hall. Most colour and liveliness he expressed when she mentioned her cousin Faramir and Lady Éowyn, the King's sister, and for a second Lothíriel thought she could glimpse another man entirely behind his tightly kept façade – a man who was not at all so withdrawn or quiet but thought and felt deeply – but quickly his true self was hidden again. Briefly she wondered if he ever revealed it in the presence of her father and brothers, or if he was always so reserved towards everyone.

It came to an end at last, when Lord Hurin of the Keys joined their company along with a few other lords who were part of King Elessar's council. Eventually, Lothíriel slunk away, feeling like her welcome in the King's presence was long over. When she took her leave, her mind remained undecided. And whether King Éomer had made any resolution or even considered her a potential bride, she couldn't say, either.

"So, daughter, what did you think of King Éomer?" Father inquired her the following morning. He had asked her to join him in the garden of their town-house – a quiet, green spot of peace that was surrounded by walls. Few trees grew there and the flowerbeds seemed to echo the memory of those back in Dol Amroth, though the variance and splendour of flowers was much greater back home. In the middle, there was a small fountain, bubbling away happily. Sometimes doves would land there to drink from the fountain, filling the garden with their soft cooing. The garden was Lothíriel's favourite thing about the house, and she often came there if she was in the city with her family.

"I... don't really know, Father. He doesn't talk much, and what little he does say offers no help in judging his character", she answered, frowning slightly as they walked with arms linked.

"He doesn't let people close very easily or quickly. But I can assure you he is a good man, fiercely loyal to those he cares about, and you will not find a more reliable friend once you have gained his trust", Father said, patting her hand gently. "I think he would make a good husband to you, if you gave him a chance to warm up. And I'm sure he will do just that. You are a very charming young woman, Lothíriel. Certainly your presence would bring much grace and delight not only to his court, but to his hearth as well."

"And what could he bring to my hearth, Father?" she asked him, looking at her sire sharply.

He smiled at her.

"I was waiting for when you'd ask that", he answered fondly, but then his expression sobered. "You are a Princess of Dol Amroth, Lothíriel, and you were born as brave and proud as your brothers. Women of Imrazôr and Mithrellas' line have never done well in idleness, and sometimes when I look into your eyes, I see there a desire for great things... such desire as would live in the heart of a queen. Rohan is different than Gondor, my child, and there a woman like you could find her strength appreciated in ways that are not possible in our society. And you were not born to be the lady of some small lord, to be shown off like a pretty ornament and locked away for the rest of the time."

"What do you mean, Father?" she asked her, her brow creasing slightly.

"Éomer is a young man, but I think he has it in him the makings of a great king. And daughter, the woman who weds him, if she has your gifts and your spirit, can achieve greatness by his side. This is your chance to make a difference, to use what you have to build and heal and teach others. You could help him to make Rohan prosper and grow stronger than ever before. If you show him your worth, one day you will stand beside him and rule with him", Father explained, and there was an eager light in his eyes. Now his words of yesterday, all that talk about securing her future, made so much more sense.

She was speechless. These things he spoke of... now she understood why Father had refused all offers for her hand since she had come of age. Previously, she had thought it was simply because he couldn't bear to let her go. Well, perhaps that was it in part. But now she understood it was also because King Éomer was the first man he thought worthy of her.

"You truly think so? That I could become someone like that?" she asked at last, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"I do, Lothíriel. You are the Jewel of Dol Amroth, and to me you have already proven yourself. Since the night you were born, I have known you were meant for something extraordinary", he answered, looking at her solemnly.

"And does he think the same?" she wanted to know.

Once more, her father smiled.

"He will, if you show him."

Father did not ask her to give an answer yet. He just told her to take her time and think of it in peace. As for himself, he left soon after for the Citadel – there were formal meetings between the two kings and as King Elessar's trusted friend and adviser, Father's presence was required. Lothíriel's brothers were out of the house as well, and so she did have plenty of quiet to think about the choice before her.

However, as she wandered through the garden and cut a flower from here and there to arrange them in the dining hall, she quickly decided she couldn't make her choice, not before she had met the intended bridegroom again and had some idea if he was willing to go through with this idea. Perhaps Father had known to expect that too, because when he returned for lunch, he brought the Rohirric king along. Seeing them in the courtyard as they made for the main door of the town-house, Lothíriel had to wonder if there had ever been a more unlikely pair of friends. Father spoke animatedly of something, and the horselord nodded quietly, wearing a thoughtful look on his face. In the middle of all this white stone, the golden-haired Lord of Rohirrim seemed oddly out of place.

Such a setting of them eating lunch together could easily have turned out rather uncomfortable, especially when none of her brothers were around to help out with holding the conversation, or to engage the king's attention with anecdotes on affairs they both knew. But if Lothíriel had been taught to entertain, so had her father, and he had twice her experience. As a result, the occasion wasn't half bad, and her sire even managed to get the Rohir to deliver answers longer than two sentences. But whenever he looked straight at her and those unsettling eyes of his considered her, she felt a most peculiar tightening in the bottom of her stomach.

Nevertheless, her curiosity was not so easily defeated. The princess observed the blond man as much as she dared, though she tried to keep her stares as few and far in between as this newly risen inquisitiveness would allow. She even spied him smiling once or twice, and she understood the man liked her father. That was, she supposed, the reason he had agreed to at least consider marrying her in the first place.

When they had cleared their plates and finished their drinks, Father looked at her with a smile, and he suggested, "My dear, would you like to show our garden to King Éomer? It is quite lovely at this time of the year, and I wouldn't have him miss it. You know how we always say it's a bit of Dol Amroth here in the city."

"Of course, Father", she answered, though suddenly she felt almost as nervous as last night. But she reminded herself of what he had said to her this morning, and so she gave a small, tentative smile to the King of Rohan, "My lord? If you would follow me?"

"Aye, my lady", he answered, nodded at Father, and trailed after her into the garden.

The weather was nice and the garden was lovely indeed, bright with flowers of May. But she didn't think a warrior king like him would truly have interest in such a place, even if he politely followed her and considered whatever she happened to show him. When she asked if there were any gardens in Edoras, he merely said, "There is one in Meduseld."

Anyone who hadn't cared to take their time to observe him might have taken the answer for a sign of simplicity. However, she already knew it was just what he chose to show her, and behind his curt answers was a man who responded well to her father and brothers, but always kept her at least an arm's reach away.

Lothíriel bit her lip. She didn't feel like she was doing very well, and it was frustrating when she didn't know what he even thought of her. Was he here simply out of courtesy, or did he have any interest in her father's idea of their union? She couldn't deny the possibilities her sire had presented were tempting. He was right: she did desire greater things than just idling her days in Minas Tirith or Dol Amroth. In Rohan, her life could have meaning unlike anything she could otherwise hope to have.

And it all depended on whether this blond giant who looked so lost in the middle of all these flowers wanted to take her to wife.

"My lord", she spoke at last, her tone more plain than until now, and she forced herself to look straight into his eyes. Their stare was as intense as ever, making her wonder if other Rohirrim were at all like him, or if he was one of a kind. And either way, could she really be his queen?

"My lord", she continued, slightly stronger now, "Forgive me for being so blunt, but I must ask you if you came here today only out of courtesy, or if... if you are considering my father's proposal."

The tall man remained silent for the longest time. Still he kept staring at her, and she felt uneasy, wondering desperately what he was thinking. If he would just talk like normal people!

"My lady", he said at last, folding his hands behind his back, "When I have made up my mind, you will be the first to know."

He seemed to hesitate then, and he briefly looked away from her. But when he turned to meet her eyes once more, there was a quizzical look on his face.

"Lady Lothíriel, I would like to know one thing. Does your father expect you agree to marry me?" he asked her, his voice growing louder than it had been until now. He had a voice fit for battlefields and wide lands, a voice for songs that were sad yet fair. Perhaps that was why he spoke so little.

"He doesn't expect anything. But I believe it is what he hopes. He says it's sensible politics and a good thing for both our peoples", she answered slowly, wondering what had made him ask that.

His reaction took her by surprise: a wry smile appeared on his features for a second, and she thought she could even glimpse some dry amusement in his eyes. So, there was a person with feelings and a sense of humour somewhere behind all those walls.

"Indeed", he said, speaking in those low tones again, "He's not wrong about that."

The horselord looked away once more and he moved slowly from her. She saw his brow creasing as he halted by the fountain. How could he be so hard to read? Usually, she didn't have such trouble guessing what people were thinking or feeling. Maybe it was because he was so unlike anyone she had known until now.

He moved again, sharper this time, and he turned to face her.

"And you, my lady? What do you expect?" King Éomer asked, his eyes holding her captive where she stood.

"I expect to do my duty, and bring honour to my House", she answered softly and looked down.

There was a silence, but he broke it by picking up her hand in his own. It was just as she remembered, warm and hard, but there was surprising gentleness in his touch. He gave her knuckles a quick, small kiss before letting her go again.

"Then know, my lady, that you may consider myself available, if you decide your duty would have you unite your House with mine. For my part, I can say I would be honoured to call you my wife", he stated, quiet and formal. It was worlds away from the romantic stories she had used to read when she had been younger. But then, it wasn't like she had expected her own life to follow such courses.

King Éomer bowed at her and once more he took that warrior's stance, which seemed to be his most natural state of being when he wasn't horseback.

"Princess Lothíriel, I shall wait for your answer. I hope to hear from you soon. Good day", he said, and then, only moments later, he was gone.

Just as last night, she felt a bit like she was walking in a dream. She felt light-headed as she went and sat by the fountain, thinking of what had just happened.

He was available to her. What a way of putting it into words! Obviously, it wasn't going to be a marriage of love. He had promised no affection, just honour and duty. For whatever reason, Rohan's king did not allow people so close to himself – perhaps love didn't even have a name in his language.

But then, honour and duty were best a woman of her status could hope for. Nobility did not marry for love, and stories like that of King Elessar and Queen Arwen were extremely rare. And still... it would have been a lie to say some part of her wouldn't have liked that. To care, to cherish, to love, and receive those things in full measure... and she sensed somewhere behind those walls there was a man with a deep, profound capability to love.

Lothíriel shook her head. That was material for daydreams, and Father had been right to suggest this was a chance that came only once in a lifetime. True, she would probably miss her family and home if she married the King of Rohan. But her father had made a good point as well: she wouldn't be the Lady of Dol Amroth forever, and she felt it in her soul that whatever she had been made of, it wasn't meant for a quiet, small life in some Gondorian lord's little palace.

This was her chance to make a difference in the world, and to give her life meaning beyond anything she had imagined before this day. What was more, King Éomer had accepted her. He would make her his queen, if she so wanted – thus, he already treated her his equal. That was not something many women of her rank got to experience. And he was the first man Father thought worthy of her; first, and probably the last. Or, at least no one like him would ever come her way again.

And that was how she knew what she had to choose.

Well, she thought to herself, I suppose he will do.

To be continued.