Yours to Command

Winterbreath

Firefoot

Dam line: Ash by Hostsplitter out of Wildfire, Wildfire by Clovenhoof out of Dawnlight
Sire line: Fleetfoot by Blackhoof out of Morningmist, Blackhoof by Swiftleg out of Shadow

(Excerpt from the royal studbook at Edoras)

***

Princess Lothíriel stumbled and Éomer stopped himself just in time from grabbing her arm. She had insisted on being perfectly able to walk on her own, but their camp, set out on a piece of grassland on the northern part of the Pelennor, had proven difficult for her to navigate. The ground was uneven and covered with small hummocks of grass. Also he had never before noticed the amount of jumble lying around the tents, starting with a lost boot and extending to washing lines, which were downright dangerous. As for the horse droppings...

However, she had a thin, elegant cane, which she moved in a sweeping motion before her to feel for obstacles as she walked, and he had to admit she seemed pretty proficient with it.

"I'm afraid it's a bit of a walk," he apologized.

She stumbled over yet another stone lying on the path. "I don't mind."

Éomer gently took her by the elbow to steer her round some guy ropes holding a tent down. "This way."

"It seems a very large camp."

"My sister is very popular," he explained, "and many of my countrymen have decided to attend her wedding."

"She's very popular here in Gondor as well." The princess smiled. "Everybody talks of her bravery during the war. You must be proud of her."

Éomer thought of that moment when he had found his sister on the battlefield, not far from where their camp was situated in fact.

"Yes, she's very brave," he answered.

He had thought he had kept his voice even, yet the princess must have heard something, for she suddenly stopped. "Faramir is a good man," she said after a brief hesitation, "and he loves your sister. I'm sure he'll do all he can, to make her happy."

When he didn't answer at once, she coloured. "I'm sorry, my Lord King. I know it's none of my business."

"No, you are right," Éomer hastened to reassure her, "and I'm deeply grateful my sister has found someone to marry whom she loves so well."

With an inward sigh, Éomer thought of his own endeavours in that direction. Although he had met plenty of suitable maidens since coming to Minas Tirith, he had found himself reluctant to commit to any of them. He would not be able to put it off much longer though, the Riddermark needed a queen. Elfhelm and his other advisors kept reminding him of the necessity for an heir to the House of Eorl.

The princess started walking again and gave him a shy smile. "Faramir came to visit us in Dol Amroth in the winter and all he could talk of was your sister and her beauty and bravery. It's clear that this is not just a political alliance."

She sounded slightly wistful and Éomer suddenly wondered if there was any suitable match planned for her. Somebody from Dol Amroth perhaps - surely not at her age, though?

He nodded and then had to remind himself that she could not see him. "That's true, but I also hope that it will bring our countries closer together."

"My father hopes so, too."

"I know, I have spoken to Imrahil about it. I'm afraid all dangers didn't end with the Ring War."

"So is it true we might soon have to go to war again in the south?" she asked. "My brothers seem to think so."