Never will I forget my first glimpse of Edoras.

Amrothos had knocked on the carriage door in the early morning and when I'd opened up, he'd held out a hand and with a practiced movement swinging me up from the carriage step to sit behind him.

"Look Lothíriel."

The city roofs seemed ablaze in the brilliant morning sun. It was early enough that some morning mist still clung to the knees of the horses and swirled in the wake of the carriage, as we wound down a mountainous path protected by the tall coniferous trees on the hillside from the dawning day. But across the wide expanse of marsh and meadow that lay between us and our destination stretched an endless sea of blue sky more brilliantly blue than any ocean. And beyond it the city was like a crown set upon the great dome of the hill. The most brilliant jewel was the hall of Meduseld, shining out like a beacon.

I shivered. The flaming city made me think of the lighted beacons that had called the Rohirrim to our aid during the War of the Ring. These men had fought and died to free Minas Tirith from siege, honoring their duty when it was sure that Denethor would not have done the same had the message for help come in the other direction. I had heard the horns of Rohan from the depths of the Houses of Healing and it had been as though a fever had suddenly broke within me—despair and terror ebbing suddenly and unexpectedly away to make room for a little trickle of hope: sensation returning to my body and reason to my mind after days of nothing but destroying fear.

"It's beautiful." I murmured to my brother.

"It is that. But practically impregnable as well." He returned.

"Oh?"

"The fence around the outer walls could be breached but the path up to the stronghold is only wide enough for a few to cross at a time. A long siege might work but even the stream that feeds the city flows down from the mountains directly into the stronghold from the snows of the mountain above. Most invaders would assume that they depend on the river Snowbourn for water—and indeed some of the city does in times of peace but there would be no way to cut them off from water by force. And the Rohirrim of course lay in many provisions of other kinds for just such a siege."

"I suppose it must be so to have lasted so long. I read last night that it was built by Brego son of Eorl the Young in the third age and it has never been taken by force."

I had been entertaining myself with a variety of books on Rohan during our journey, including all the studies of their history and geography I could lay my hands on, as well as a primer on the basics of the language. The grammar and vocabulary came easily but the pronunciation remained a puzzle. I had heard some Rohirrim speak in the days after the final battle—mostly to each other in the Houses of Healing as they recovered—and I knew enough to know that my own vocalizations did not quite sound the same as theirs but couldn't quite work out in what manner to change.

"Only I've never been able to understand how they get water in the winter of a siege. Surely the mountain streams all freeze."

"Over the surface they do. But even a stream that appears frozen can have a deep and living torrent beneath. I expect it is these deep waters that feed the city."

"How fascinating. I should like to see these streams. Do you think there is a way up into the mountains to see the headwaters?"

"I am not sure. Perhaps Éomer King, our host, could tell us."

"Will you ask him? I should be delighted to know the answer. Perhaps he will take you and you can describe the site to me afterward."

"Perhaps he would take us both up."

"Perhaps." Though I knew better. Ivriniel would never allow me to trek into the wilderness to find the source of some mountain spring. Besides surely it would only be accessible by horseback, and a difficult ride at that. I was not sure I should be able given that I could barely manage sitting behind Amrothos and had never managed more than a pony when I was a little girl by myself.

Amrothos seemed to perceive my thoughts however because he didn't pursue the idea of the adventure. Instead he said, in a remorseful and consoling tone, "When we get closer I can point out some of the other fortifications I've been told about as well."

"That would be very kind."

"Faramir I'm sure would be pleased to tell you about it."

"I'm sure he shall have rather more important things to do during the week of his wedding feast than entertain his bookish and inconsequential cousin."

"Bookish certainly, but inconsequential never Lothi. Besides you know how fond Faramir has always been of you."

"Like any of the rest of you, always happy to see me when you have a cut that needs mending or need a tea to counteract too much mead from the night before." I said with a smile. "But even you, soft heart though you have for me, must admit that I am not known for my popularity at parties."

Like all the men in my family Faramir treated me with the uncomplicated warmth and fondness that is usually reserved for little girls. In my adolescence I'd sprouted up almost as tall as most of them and my shape had become womanly but the world around me seemed not to perceive the changes my small mirror did. There was something about me that remained to all who saw me the shy, eager-to-please child they had come to expect from me.

My season to be presented to the court of Minas Tirith as a woman had come and gone without anyone remarking on it. Traditionally a woman from a house such as Dol Amroth would have been taken to the court to be introduced to society as a lady and a potential wife to the eligible men my age. But when I'd reached the age, no one had suggested to Ivriniel that I might need different clothes or to be taken out into society to find a husband, least of all myself. I was keenly aware that even if I had been bought the proper clothes and taken to the proper places there was little chance of my making a good impression. I didn't know how to dance or converse with society, the little enough contact I'd had with it had impressed that on me with certainty. Other ladies my age had an ease with each other and with men that I simply did not share.

Which was why, eager though I was to see Rohan, I was full of trepidation of the coming week of festivities around Faramir's wedding. It was of course to be the society event of a lifetime, with all the great houses Minas Tirith making the journey to see him wed the slayer of the Witch-king. The scion of the house of the Steward of Gondor wedding the hero of the Ring War was both a symbol of the renewal of bonds between Rohan and Gondor and the joining of two great bloodlines. It was an event so big even Ivriniel couldn't reject the invitation.

Nor me neither.

In a moment of panic and folly, I had managed to persuade her that I needed two new dresses for the occasion. The nearly blind old tailor that she had used since I was a child had changed practically nothing to the style he cut for me since I'd come out of girlhood. Most of my wardrobe was of a simple, girlish design with loose, practical sleeves, no corset and little ornamentation. For the occasion I had managed to persuade him to use silk instead of cotton and at least adapt it into the more popular style for women of the time—thin sleeves with a small corset emphasizing my small waist and womanly shape. I'd tried it on only once in the shop, having no idea how to manage the corset myself and no maid to help me manage it.

I'd blushed when looking at myself in the glass, feeling absolutely ridiculous. Though I loved the feel of the silk on my skin and the way the cloth pressed close to my skin and breast I couldn't imagine what my brothers would say should I ever wear it in public. The teasing from my brothers would be merciless.

No, I had decided, it was not a good idea to wear such a dress. Calling attention to myself was the last thing that I wanted this week, and such a sharp change in my appearance would do nothing but invite remark and ridicule. So the dresses had gone to the bottom of my cases and for once I was thankful that it would be unlike Ivriniel to even remember that I had asked for them.

"Lothíriel!" Even muffled from the carriage my Aunt Ivriniel's voice was like the crack of a whip. I had been careful to open the carriage door quietly when slipping out but so something else must have woken her.

I sighed. "Well perhaps when we breakfast then you can point the fortifications out to me."

He swung me back to the running edge of the carriage and I opened the door and slipped in. On the bench across from where I had been curled up my Aunt gazed at me disapprovingly. She was a tall woman, like all the women of Dol Almroth, nearly a half a head or more above most men but still an inch or two shorter than me, and slender despite her age. She had a an abundance of silver hair with only a hint of the rich dark black it must have been in youth that she invariably wore piled like a crown around her head. But for all of that it was her eyes that made her truly striking: fierce and gray-blue they seemed to announce to the world the iron will and a fierce, unyielding and powerful intellect that lay behind them.

She had never married, instead devoting herself to what she considered more serious pursuits of scholarship of all kinds but most particularly in the question of medicine. It had long been a peculiarity of the line of women in our family that we were known as great healers. Mithrellas, the first princess of Dol Amroth had been a companion of Nimrodel when she fled Lorien and it was said that she possessed great healing power. The family legend maintained that any of the ailing whom she cried over was sure to have their spirit travel to the undying lands after their passage. Indeed local superstition still held that our tears held power and the women of the house Dol Amroth were all trained as healers, and all taught to weep over the patients we could not save to give comfort and succor to their families.

In Ivriniel however this family tradition had truly bloomed. She was ceaseless in her dedication to uncovering or learning all uses for medicinal plants. She had dedicated years of her life to the pursuit and written more than a score of books on the subject. Though I had heard she had been a serious beauty in her youth there had never been any question that she would marry. Her love for books and learning had been a jealous partner in her life—leaving no room for other pursuits.

Which was why she'd had a rather limited idea of what to do with me when she'd first met me, a somber and grieving eight-year old. When my mother had been unexpectedly taken by fever three weeks prior Ivriniel had been called back to her childhood home in Dol Amroth from Minas Tirith to help my father raise me, and provide suitable female guidance for me. What constituted "suitable," "guidance" or even "female" when it came from Ivriniel was anything but conventional however.

While other girls my age learned to dance, to dress well, sew prettily and make polite conversation- accomplishments which might someday reward them with a husband- I had instead been learning midwifery, surgery, how to make and administer herbs for ailments of all kinds. In Ivriniel's way of thinking the purpose of any exercise was to search out the raw materials she needed for her unguents and cures and the purpose of any emotions were to give succor to her patients. If playing a harp made her herbs grow faster she would have taught me that. If stitching anything but a wound would have made me a better surgeon she would have made me embroider until my fingertips were raw. If dancing or conversing charmingly could have taught me to be a better birth assistant she never would have let me stop practicing.

Perhaps the only feminine wile, to a truly cynical view, she'd ever taught me was how to cry on command.

She'd once caught me crying one afternoon several months after the death of my mother, folded over and bent double after simply collapsing when we'd been served her favorite cakes with our tea. She hadn't spoken but watched as I nearly choked on my grief, wallowing in the impossibility of going back to the time before. The before of my mother being alive and when every breath did not seem to catch in some torturous mechanism in my throat. When my first thoughts in the morning hadn't been the desperate hope that somehow, in some way it had all been a dream.

"There's no use crying Lothíriel." She'd told me when I'd been calmed down a bit, or at least my sobs had dribbled out to stuttering inhalations of pain. "There's no work that's done with these tears, no motor that they turn or strength that they give you. All it gets you is salt down the front of your gown. Save them for when they can help others."

And now I couldn't even do that.

I had never had trouble crying over our lost patients. It was expected of us as healers and we were all more or less adept at it. I'd never had Ivriniel's easy way with memorizing the looks and uses of plants but tears and logic had always come with facility. Ivriniel told me that it was a skill she had taken years to perfect, the mechanics of getting her eyes to water on command but for me it had been all but natural—a bursting torrent of emotions I'd had to harness if anything. But since the last battle my torrent had dried.

Over the men in the Houses of Healing I had not been able to weep. Some other emotion had slithered in between me and the fallen men and stood like a Nazgul guarding the corpses from me. I'd felt trapped, like an insect in amber, frozen in time and robbed of my ability to feel. I had read in a book once that certain frogs of the Northern lands could spend the winter in a frozen pond, only to wake when spring came. That was how I'd felt—frozen in a still water but with no spring in sight. I'd cut my hand and dripped blood over their chests as recompense. If I could not offer my salt to these men who had fallen to save my home, my iron was the least I could do I felt. Often my blood mingled with their own on smashed thoraxes and open wounds and I would never forget the sight of it.

"Edoras is in sight." I said with a small smile, hoping to appease her. "We'll be there by very soon, I expect."

"I see."

"Surely it will be a relief to you to get out of this carriage for a while."

"It will be a relief to unpack our herbs. I shall never rest easy until I see the glass I brought has been preserved. I wouldn't have believed it possible that the roads here would be so rough. They must be in shattered pieces by now."

"Don't despair Aunt, I packed them very carefully."

She blew out a breath. "We shall see."

I fiddled with my gloves and said nothing. She had been complaining about the roads and the damage to her fungi collection since we'd crossed the Mering Stream. I had noticed very little difference between the roads of Gondor and Rohan but my Aunt was convinced that the rocky soil of this wild country was ill tamed and built for nothing so much as ruining her specimens.

"Now Lothíriel, since I see you're awake and clearly bored as you're stepping out to ride with your brother, we should put your time to good use. Please recite for me all the uses of the belladonna family. You may begin with Atropa Belladonna and progress alphabetically."

Dutifully, I began. "Atropa Belladonna, or A Belladonna can be used in a variety of ways. For those whose pulse is too slow a tincture may be brewed that allows us to bring the speed more into harmony. For those who suffer from putrid lung..."

Soon I was hoarse and only up to Datura Belladonna and the dangers therein, by the time we reached the gates of Edoras. Also I had the same headache I always had when Ivriniel and I sunk into these discussions. Whatever I said, nothing was ever good enough. There was always a detail to correct or a fault she found in my recitation.

It was a relief when we reached the steps of Meduseld and the carriage rolled to a stop. Amrothos dismounted and helped Ivriniel out, taking her arm and leaving me to stroll behind as the two of them mounted together.

To my surprise it was Lady Éowyn herself who stood at the top of the steps, a chalice of mead in her hands. I had read about the tradition in Rohan of welcoming guests with a drink before they crossed the threshold but had never imaged that Éowyn herself would greet us. The formal feast to mark the beginning of the wedding festivities was still several days away and we had only traveled so early because Ivriniel was averse to traveling in the congestion of the roads that was sure to happen.

Amrothos bowed and my Aunt swept a very neat and practiced curtsey which Éowyn returned. I bobbed my own wobbly one back.

"Well met Lady Ivriniel Lord Amrothos and Lady Lothíriel. Welcome to Meduseld."

"You do us an honor to greet us personally Lady Éowyn." My aunt replied.

"Renowned healers such as the two of you, and a fighter as strong as Lord Amrothos deserve nothing less than the warmest welcome to our land. We are privileged to have you grace our hall and my celebration."

Éowyn passed the mead first to Ivriniel, then Amrothos, then me and we drank in turn. The mead was rich and sweet, speaking of a summer of wild flowers for the bees to feast on. I hadn't tasted such a rich flavor before and found myself looking forward to trying it again.

"We will only be a small party at supper tonight I'm afraid. My brother and Faramir are riding back from Aldburg this morning and should arrive shortly from what I hear. Éomer will be glad to see you again Amrothos."

"As I will him."

We had been given rooms within Meduseld, an honor given how many nobles would be flooding into the city: most would have to stay in the inns and taverns either in Edoras or in the surrounding area. I was shown to my room and introduced to my new maid, a slender girl a few years older than me with fine features except for a scar that ran from the right corner of her mouth down past her ear. She bobbed a curtsey.

"I'm afraid Gallen does not speak Westron Lady Lothíriel," Éowyn apologized. "But she's very bright and I'm sure she can do all that is necessary for you."

"Not at all Éowyn, I'm sure most other ladies would bring their own maid, only I find I have no need of one at home. It's very kind of you to accommodate me with one here. Besides, I have been practicing my Rohirric. It will be a pleasure to have some impetus to actually use it. Only please do ask her not to laugh too much at my accent." I addressed the girl. "Westu hal Gallen, I am Lady Lothíriel." I tried in stilted Rohirric.

The girl smiled and curtseyed deeply. "Westu hal Lady Lothíriel, please be welcomed in Edoras." She spoke slowly and clearly, not as if to an idiot or a child but only enunciating her words to let me catch the meaning of each before proceeding to the next.

"I think we shall get along quite wonderfully," I told Éowyn. "Thank you very much indeed."

With Ivriniel safely napping, as she had not slept well on the road, I was free to spend the day how I pleased and, as could have been predicted, went immediately to the library. It was a much more profitable experience than I expected. Not only was the size of it quite larger than I would have imagined and almost all of the volumes in Westron but the topics within were largely unfamiliar to me: from the horse breeding practices of the Mark to sword-smithing and battle tactics almost none of these titles were in my Aunt's library which was much more flower and herb based.

I spent a delightful morning perusing the titles before I found a title called Strategies of the Haradrim and Their Defeat and had determined to return to my room with it to read until supper. However on leaving the library I found that I was rathe disoriented in the new environs. Eventually I managed to locate an exterior door leading to a garden and had resigned myself to walking around to the front of the house for a fresh start on locating my room or at least perhaps someone to help when I heard the sound of muffled swordplay that told me I was near the training grounds and decided to see if Amrothos was practicing.

A screen of trees prevented me from seeing the combatants before I arrived but I pushed though the wooden gate and into the spectator circle surrounding a sanded flat area used for training or, more rarely, duels of honor. I recognized Amrothos's armor at once but I recognized the other as well: the Lion of Rohan.

My breath stilled in my throat.

My brother was a rare hand with a sword but I had never seen a man move with the grace of Éomer. He wore no helm and his long hair was tied back, his face locked in intense expression. Every individual line of him was taught with intention and power and he and Amrothos moved through an impossibly fast series of play and counter-play. The great two-handed broadswords would have been too heavy for me to even lift but they wielded them as if they were mere fencing sticks and the flash of them in the sun was an incredible sight. Breath left my lungs.

I had never witnessed anything so beautiful in my life.

I had seen a fair bit of these practices. Ivriniel often sent me with the men of my family to tournaments of all kinds. Even with blocked swords there was sure to be someone who didn't get out of the way fast enough and caught a wicked blow that might need our tending. Consequently I'd seen almost as much of this kind of dueling as any other lady of my standing. I'd never found it anything but irritating, something which created work for me that might be avoided if only all these silly men didn't need to prove themselves with sword or bow.

Before that day I had never taken an interest.

The bout seemed to go on forever and I could have watched it for even longer. I was transfixed, with one hand still on the gate. But finally Éomer slid the padded edge of his sword between a guard block that came a second too late and closed the distance, knocking Amrothos back onto the soft sand.

With a whoop my brother was back on his feet, shaking Éomer's hand delightedly. "I say Éomer, I'd forgotten what a damned fast hand you are. I cannot think how you managed that, I was fighting at my best today by my measure."

The other man smiled. "A lucky blow is all."

Amrothos caught sight of me and smiled, coming over to my end of the arena with a smile. "Hello Lothíriel! Come to see your brother get knocked on his... to the ground?"

My voice caught in my throat, hands still clinging to the gait. I wracked my brain for words, sounds, anything intelligible. I didn't want to be the focus of his attention, plain and drab as I was I hadn't wanted him to notice me at all. His gaze and notice seemed a torment and all I could think about was escaping it before my heart truly did beat out of my chest.

"Yes I thought I might find you here. I only came to say hello." I managed.

"Éomer, this is my sister Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. Lothíriel this is Éomer King of Rohan."

I managed to release my grip on the gate and drop a wobbly curtsey. "A pleasure to meet you my lord."

He bowed. "You as well, lady. Have you just arrived this morning with your brother?"

"Indeed."

"I hope you're not to weary from the travel."

"Not at all. Thank you for your inquiry, my lord."

Amrothos turned back to Éomer. "You simply must show me that dastardly backhanded slash you were using to counter my thrust at the end there..." I turned to head back to the castle, heart still pounding. "You're more than welcome to watch another bout Lothíriel." Amrothos called after me.

"Not at all Amrothos, I only meant to say hello. I've found a book that I want to start before dinner."

"Do you know your way back to your rooms, lady?"

"Yes of course, thank you my lord."

Back in my room I turned the pages of the book but found that I comprehended nothing. All I could think about was replaying over and over the lines of his face, the raw power and beauty of his movement. I had never been a girl who thought overmuch of men, less still one that mooned over them. I had of course imagined myself in love at various times in my teenage years, little tender feelings for a neighbor's son or the handsomest of my father's knights. But these childish fancies had seemed academic even to me. I'd had tried to nurture them, to grow them into something more than the mild interests they had been but to no avail.

I could not explain what it was about him that so sparked something in me. The rush of feelings had been so unexpected and so overwhelming. It was as if I had stepped into what I'd thought was a stream only to find it a roaring river that had swept me away. I had read widely enough and been raised near enough animals to understand what the throbbing feeling between my legs meant but had never imagined I would feel such a thing. Was it not the man who was meant to lust after the woman? I'd never heard it described in poetry or literature of a woman who had impure thoughts towards a man.

And yet, I knew I wanted to be bedded by him. There was no use pretending to myself that I did not. I could so clearly imagine him pushing me back on a bed, hands tangled in my hair. I could imagine my own hands running over the hard planes of his body as he took me. The violence I'd seen in the bout, I wanted somehow turned towards me. I wanted him to grip my hips or hair with the same furious will he used to guide his sword.

At that imagery I almost laughed aloud. I would have mocked any poet who used such an obvious metaphor as a sword for manhood and yet the parallel was there in my mind. Plunged into. I wished to be plunged into.

These were my thoughts as I bathed and got ready for supper. Gallen had aired out one of my new, more mature dresses but I waved her off, pointing instead to my habitual black, maidenly cut. She frowned but obeyed, not having time or perhaps words or patience to argue. She did however insist on brushing my hair into a more elegant style than I usually wore, two braids she wove and then looped them together into a circlet over the crown of my hair.

I was almost the last to arrive but managed to slip in almost unnoticed. There were only twenty or so people in a small parlors waiting for dinner to be announced in the hall. I knew only my family, as I had expected, but I managed to find Amrothos, speaking with Faramir.

"Ah, cousin! You are a sight for sore eyes." Faramir greeted me with a fond hug, lifting me up so I was a head taller than him. "And how you've grown little Lothi!"

I laughed as he set me down with a kiss on the cheek. "Hello cousin. And a thousand blessings to you and Éowyn. May you have many long and fruitful years together."

"So formal! But thank you for your kind wishes. Now, what have you brought me?"

As a child Faramir had never forgotten to bring me gifts when he visited Dol Amroth. Then, at ten or eleven, I had stubbornly decided that it was not for him to spoil me but rather for me to spoil him. I had for years surprised him with little gifts I'd found of wood sanded by the sea or sea-shells strung together on a string or the like. I had felt foolish preparing a gift for him but was gratified that he remembered the tradition. From one pocket I brought out a little parcel and handed it over. "Seeds from the best tomato plant I've ever grown. I've wrapped them in wax paper so they will be good for a year or more if you have no time to plant them soon. Only sprout them first in a little pot and then transfer the young plants once they're just to your ankles or so."

"Ah! A very fine present indeed." He folded them into his pocket and planted a warm kiss of thanks on my cheek. "You do spoil me."

Dinner was served and we sat to table. I was seated almost directly across from Éomer but managed say almost nothing to him. He asked if this was my first time visiting Rohan, I said it was. He asked if my rooms were comfortable, I said they were. And then he turned to continue his conversation with my father.

The conversation around me faded from my ability to comprehend and I looked down at my plate, forcing myself to focus on the mechanical motion of eating. I tasted nothing of the fine venison in wine sauce, nor the wine, nor the sweet cream and cake that came after. Even with my head bent to keep him out of my vision as much as possible his presence seemed like a physical force on me, radiating out from him. I knew where he was without trying to calculate, the exact distance between the nearest point of him to me. It as a relief to finally be excused to return to my room and feel the overwhelming sensation fade.

Gallen helped me undress and I lay awake for many hours. When sleep finally did come, I dreamed of rough hands caressing me from stem to stern and woke with a tortuous unfulfilled need.

TBC: It's great to be back! I hope you all enjoy the new story! Of course and as always please, please, please drop me a line to let me know what you think! I'm open to any and all suggestions and I particularly want to know what you think of the new characterization of Lothiriel (and Eomer once we truly meet him in the next chapter!). What do you think her motivations are? What do you think makes her weak or strong? Also if you read the Ugly Duckling check out the epilogue I just added—a little sweet look into married life from our old couple! Love as ever, Spake.