Yours to Command

The Prince and Princess of Ithilien

It is only when we lose something that we truly start to appreciate its worth.

(Attributed to Isildur)

***

Éomer had seen snowstorms that radiated more warmth than the Princess of Dol Amroth. The fact that her brothers had taken up station on either side of her horse with expressions that could only be called belligerent did not help either. Not that Éomer had any intention of approaching her anyway. He'd had his fill of being made to look like a complete scoundrel. And his reputation in Gondor would probably not survive another beating like the one it had taken the day before.

Wearing a rich blue gown, the train of which draped over Winterbreath's croup, and with her hair elaborately braided around her head, she looked every inch the princess. Yet it seemed to Éomer that, much like a dark forest pool covered by a thin layer of ice, under her cool and collected demeanour lurked a vulnerable and lost young woman. It made him ache to see her looking like that, but Lothíriel had made it more than clear she wanted nothing more to do with him. The best service he could render her would be to stay away from her.

As Éomer watched, Amrothos reached up to help Lothíriel down from her horse. She smoothed out her skirt before taking her brother's arm and for just one moment he wondered if she would come over. However, the two threaded their way between the horses towards another group of riders waiting for the procession to assemble. From his vantage point on Firefoot's tall back, Éomer easily spotted the familiar bulk of Lord Girion amongst them.

The Lord of Lossarnach stood talking to a friend, his booming laugh ringing out over the small group of retainers, showing him to be in his normal good frame of mind again. In fact, despite its disastrous start, yesterday's hunt had turned out quite successful after all. While the birds were gone for good, they had unexpectedly scared up a big stag, which Girion himself had brought down, and the excellent lunch had mellowed him even further.

Ripples of silence spread through the crowd as Lothíriel and her brother approached, and eventually even Girion noticed and turned round to see what was happening. Éomer urged Firefoot forward to get a better view and saw an expression of what could only be called wariness chase across the lord's face. Lothíriel dropped her brother's arm and took the last steps on her own. Then she sank into a deep curtsey, her gown pooling in a shimmering heap around her.

"My lord, I owe you an apology for spoiling your hunt," she said, her voice pitched so everybody would hear her.

Girion regarded her for a long moment and Éomer gripped his reins more tightly. Couldn't the man see what it cost her to do that? If he dared to utter one unkind word to her, he would answer to the King of Rohan.

Then Girion reached out a hand and raised Lothíriel from her curtsy. "My lady, I gladly accept your apology."

"You are very kind."

He had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Not at all. I wish you hadn't done what you did, but believe me, I don't usually take out my temper on children." He looked her over with appreciation. "Nor on pretty women." She blushed and he laughed, certain of his ground once more. "I like a lady with spirit."

With a frown Éomer noticed that the man was still holding Lothíriel's fingers. She withdrew them gently. "Thank you."

Amrothos stepped forward and she took her leave of Lord Girion. His glance lingered on her trim figure for a moment longer and Éomer could feel his temper rising. Surely the man was old enough to be her father?

Brother and sister made their way back to the Dol Amroth party and Amrothos helped Lothíriel mount Winterbreath again. Éomer suddenly became aware of the fact that everybody pointedly avoided looking at him. Belatedly he realized that by apologizing so publicly to Lord Girion, but not to him, Lothíriel had just delivered another blow to his reputation. Suppressing the curse rising to his lips, he turned back to his sister and Faramir. Fortunately Éowyn seemed not to have noticed anything amiss. She had chosen to wear traditional Rohirric dress today, although much more lavishly embroidered than her usual clothes, while her betrothed looked splendid in black and silver. She smiled at Faramir and Éomer was relieved to see that not even the worry about her brother's affairs could spoil her joy and happiness on this special day.