3011 T.A., Dol Amroth

Prologue

Note: "Hands" is a measure of height for horses. Given as the height at the withers, it equals ten centimetres, or four inches.

Young Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth ran along the castle's corridors, the skirt of her gown bunched up in her hands at a very improper height. Even though her nurse, aunt, maid and mistress all tried to inculcate her the manners worthy of her rank, the eleven year-old girl resisted with all her headstrongness. Her aunt Ivriniel never failed to note with a condescending nod – or a consternated shake of the head, depending on the circumstances – that poor Lothíriel's exclusively male family environment no doubt was responsible for making her so difficult.

The girl burst out into the stables courtyard, breathless. Prince Imrahil, who had sent for her and waited for her, repressed a smile of amusement at her look. Her emerald gown fit faultlessly and displayed just enough lace and silk to put in evidence the princess' rank while still remaining befitting of a child. However, the way Lothíriel held the skirt up to her knees so she could run transformed the gown's look radically, as well as the way it showed her creamy stockings and the curly lace that ended them just under the knees. Dainty and discreet make-up also coloured Lothíriel's face, with the trademark subtlety and elegance of her maid Sanriel. Lothíriel's hair was beautifully braided with intricate ribbons in green and yellow. However, Lothíriel's breathless run had undone part of the braid and many ribbons hung askew, fluttering rather ungraciously in the light afternoon breeze.

Prince Imrahil cleared his throat.

"Daughter, come here, I want you to meet someone."

But, having already spotted the Swan Knight standing stiffly at attention behind her father, the girl suddenly turned shy and reflexively smoothed her skirt and hair down as best she could before stepping forward hesitantly. Imrahil smiled encouragingly at her.

"Yes, Father?" she began with all the patience and decorum her aunt tried so hard to inculcate her. But then her natural enthusiasm broke through her attempt at maturity and she exuberantly hopped up and down. "My nurse said you had finally agreed to let me take horseback riding lessons and that you even found a Rohirrim to teach me! Is it true? Tell me tell me tell me, is it truly true?"

Imrahil laughed and his deep voice carried through the courtyard. Some of the stable boys turned to give a fond smile to their prince who so obviously loved his troublesome daughter.

"Rohirrim is plural, Lothíriel. Rohir is singular. Here, I want you to meet him."

Imrahil turned towards the Swan Knight. The tall man stood level with the Prince, but he looked much more massive with the full plate and over-sized helmet in the shape of wings that identified him as a Swan Knight.

"Lothíriel, let me introduce Lieutenant Ésuthain, who will be your riding instructor from now on. Ésuthain, may I introduce you to Princess Lothíriel, my daughter."

The girl examined Ésuthain suspiciously. She detailed his wing-shaped helmet, the inspection-ready immaculate cape draped over his shoulders, the plate and mail shining in the afternoon sun, the sword belted at his hip and the blue shield emblazoned with the white swan and boat of Dol Amroth. She finished by very pointedly staring at his metal greaves for a long moment.

"You can't really be from Rohan!" she declared petulantly. "All the stories say that the Rohirrim have their own uniform and besides, there's no way you can ride bottled up like a tin can!"

Imrahil and Ésuthain shared a look and refrained from laughter with great effort –inadvertently insulting the princess by making fun of her childish comment would not be a good start for her riding lessons.

"My lady Princess," Ésuthain began politely while taking off his helmet. It revealed golden, curly hair, and grey-green eyes the colour of the sea. Lothíriel stared at him in wide-eyed shock and he smiled slightly. "While your assumption that I cannot ride to my full capabilities dressed in the armour of the Swan Knights is accurate, let me assure you that it will not impair my ability to give you riding lessons. You also seem to question my rightful Rohirric ancestry. It is true that my mother was a Gondorian – which allowed me entry into Prince Imrahil's army – but rest assured that my father is an authentic rider of Rohan."

Imrahil smiled benevolently, observing his daughter who slowly tried to regain her composure.

"Well, it's true that you have their hair," she stated without the expression of wounded pride Ésuthain had expected, "and I'm sorry I sounded like I questioned your ancestry. That's not what I meant – I just wanted to make real sure – I've been asking forever to be taught by a rider of Rohan!"

Ésuthain smiled and removed his gauntlet. "Well, then, my Lady Princess, it seems your father has found a way to grant your wish at last. From this day on, you will receive your riding lessons with a rider of Rohan. Shall we exchange a shake of hands to seal the deal?"

Lothíriel beamed happily at him and shook his hand vigorously.

ooooo

When Lothíriel left the courtyard, she held onto her nurse's hand and exuberantly told her how wonderful it would be to finally be taught how to ride. Prince Imrahil had sent her away under the pretext that she needed clothes more fitting for riding than her gown. Once the girl had disappeared from view, Prince Imrahil turned to his Swan Knight.

"Lieutenant, you understand that your assignment goes beyond riding lessons."

Ésuthain bowed his head.

"Of course, my Lord Prince. As a Swan Knight, I have pledged my life and my loyalty to Dol Amroth and Gondor. I shall watch over Princess Lothíriel and I will gladly lay down my life to defend her if it comes to that."

Imrahil sighed. "Thank you, Ésuthain, I know I can count on you, even though you are very young to have such responsibility bestowed upon you. She is only eleven years-old, but already so headstrong… I fear what she will demand a few years from now. Obviously her caprices will go further than requesting a riding instructor from Rohan." Something occurred to the Prince suddenly and he turned to his lieutenant. "Do not think that your father's origin is the only reason why I chose you to be her bodyguard of sorts. I have heard of your incredible skill with horses from Captain Serelir, and even Colonel Sarugîm noted your prowess at arms during the skirmish against wargs at Edhellond. I have complete trust in your ability to defend my daughter against danger; that you satisfy her fancy by having Rohirric ancestry is only better."

Ésuthain saluted, proud and flattered by his lord's compliments. "Thank you, my Lord Prince. I shall fulfill my duty to the best of my knowledge."

Prince Imrahil nodded. "Onto more pragmatic matters, now. What mount shall we give her?"

"I have already checked the royal stables, my Lord Prince, and there are no ponies that would fit her temperament. If you do not mind her riding a horse, I think Lapsana would be calm enough for a girl to ride, but Lothíriel appears a bit short to ride a sixteen hands mare yet."

Imrahil nodded pensively again. "Yes, I see your point. Besides, it might be a good starting point for Lothíriel to shop for her own pony and learn the costs to possess such an animal and the care it justifies."

"I agree, my Lord Prince. Shall I bring the Princess with me?"

"She would love the occasion to wander in the city, I am certain. Yes, bring her with you – but I suggest you bring reinforcements as well."

"Of course, my Lord Prince!" Ésuthain assured hurriedly. "I was not thinking of taking the Princess in the city streets without a complete escort!"

Imrahil smiled slyly. "I was rather thinking of her maid to help you handle her."

ooooo

"No, miss Sanriel, that riding skirt will not do," Ésuthain stated calmly.

He had witnessed earlier how the diminutive-looking woman could handle the turbulent princess and a few obstinate merchants, so he expected the surprisingly venomous glower the maid directed at him.

Lothíriel, even though obviously happy to have found herself an unforeseen ally in her battle against her maid's clothing requirements, did not provide much assistance. Actually, she threw oil in the flames.

"Ah! See, I told you!" she exclaimed, her arms crossed on her chest.

The Princess quieted hurriedly and lowered her eyes immediately when the maid glared sternly at her, before turning her fierce look back to Ésuthain.

"And what would you have her wear, Lieutenant?" Sanriel asked in a falsely sweet voice. "Pants like her older brothers, perhaps, to encourage the gossip about Prince Imrahil having four sons?"

In addition to guarding her mistress' cleanliness and virtue, it seemed the maid also had every intention to preserve her ward from gossip. Ésuthain was suddenly very conscious that he was only sixteen years-old and that the maid must be twice his age… and did she know how to be authoritarian! Still, Ésuthain was a lieutenant in his own right, and he could be stern when he needed to, but somehow he did not think throwing the maid into a cold stream would quite succeed in re-establishing discipline.

Sighing inwardly, he schooled his features into a mask of calm and disinterest.

"Prince Imrahil has asked me to take charge of Princess Lothíriel's riding lessons," he reminded in his flattest tone. "The first lesson a rider must learn is to have a proper seat so she will not be thrown from the saddle at the first misstep of her mount. I intend to show Princess Lothíriel what a proper seat is so she can ride without risk of injuring herself by falling down her pony. To learn that, she will need clothes that she will be comfortable and at ease in and, moreover, they must not force me to set the stirrups too high, as would the riding skirt you are proposing. Therefore, I will not allow Princess Lothíriel to ride with this skirt until she has a good enough seat to know the difference." He paused to let Sanriel fume in silence a few seconds. "I am sure we can come to an agreeable compromise," he finally stated. "The women of Rohan ride in pants, yet those pants look like skirts when the women stand – surely you would find that acceptable, miss Sanriel?"

The maid gave one grudging nod.

"My older sister learned to ride wearing those clothes," Ésuthain pushed on, taking advantage of being ahead. "My father would not have shown her how to ride with a Gondorian riding skirt. I am certain my mother still knows how to sew them. Perhaps you could arrange a meeting with her to get the pattern, so you can choose the fabric and the size at your leisure?"

The maid nodded more graciously this time – he had done right to let her some power of decision in the matter still.

He sighed inwardly again – onto the next battle.

"Now, about those shoes…"

"I told you!" Lothíriel perked up again. This time she was silenced by both Ésuthain's and Sanriel's glares.

"You are not going to make her wear those ugly – brown – things – those boots!" Sanriel exclaimed indignantly.

Ésuthain sighed.

ooooo

It actually took over a week to arrange for Princess Lothíriel's first riding lesson. First, Ésuthain had explored Dol Amroth's horse fair to get an idea of what to look for. Then, it had taken a day to show all the suitable ponies to the princess. Ésuthain had extremely carefully avoided letting any cute but headstrong animal within her eyesight for fear it would strike her fancy and she would somehow force him to buy a too lively animal. After that, there had been two days of various negotiations between Lothíriel, her father, her aunt, her maid, her nurse and her mistress, and finally they had all agreed to call a meeting and asked Ésuthain himself to deliver his professional opinion on the matter: which pony was more suited for Lothíriel?

He had very carefully pointed out one animal: a small mix-bred pony of some rohirric ancestry by the name of Whitestar, sold by an old friend of his father at a modest price. Ésuthain had carefully pointed out that the animal was healthy, well-fed, well-shoed, calm and steady – all the arguments that convinced the adults to back his suggestion – while still luring Lothíriel with the promise that Whitestar was not a sleepy barrel-belly and was very willing to please his rider. Ésuthain concluded by relaying the positive comments his younger sister had given after trying Whitestar at her brother's request. At fourteen, she still weighed little enough to ride ponies, while possessing enough skill that she was in no danger even if she found herself on a turbulent mount.

Lothíriel stood straight, with her eyes shining with the prospect of wild races on the beach of the Bay of Belfalas, when he spoke of the pony's willingness. On the other hand, the adults were reassured that the animal was well-behaved. Once they were certain it would be him Lothíriel would set her heart on, thanks to Ésuthain's description of his well-toned musculature and spirit, they let the Princess choose which animal she desired.

Of course she chose Whitestar. So the next day, the Princess, her maid, her aunt and a full escort exited the castle and noisily descended to the lower part of the city where horse trade was conducted. Ésuthain, with a flair for horses and good deals, had already negotiated a price before the merchant saw him arrive in the company of an eager princess with little idea of the real value of things. The transaction was over in little time, though it left the merchant obviously unhappy not to have known before what exactly was at stake in the transaction – obviously the bargain could have been more in his favour if he had known Ésuthain was shopping for a princess' mount.

Lothíriel requested rather imperiously to ride her pony back up to the castle now that he was hers. Ésuthain was glad for Sanriel's presence. The maid succeeded in convincing the young girl that the pony would be unsettled by all the fuss and the strangers, and would more likely prefer to get used to his new masters without anyone riding on his back.

After that transaction, Ésuthain gave the pony a day of liberty in his paddock to get used to his new surroundings. Whitestar adapted with remarkable calm. Then, for four days Ésuthain supervised his sister who rode the pony to make sure he hid no nasty surprises.

And then came the morning of Princess Lothíriel's first riding lesson. For the occasion, Ésuthain had chosen a secluded paddock where Lothíriel would not be distracted and where nothing was likely to spook Whitestar. Even though it was early morning, the sun had already made good progress on transforming the world into a furnace. Ésuthain twirled his hair and stuffed it up under his hat to keep his neck cool. When Lothíriel arrived at the small enclosed space, Ésuthain was petting Whitestar affectionately, and had his back on the short path to the castle. He had been expecting her to come with a whole court of admirers – her brothers, her father, her maid, her aunt, and so on – so he did not pay attention to her lonely and quiet footsteps. He was startled by her indignant accusation.

"Amrothos! What are you doing petting MY pony!"

He whirled around, surprised. There stood, alone, the Princess of Dol Amroth. She wore the skirt-pants of Rohan in pearly white silk, along with a demure white shirt that buttoned at the collar, but had blessedly unadorned cuffs – he swore he would have torn off any lace that would have threatened to get entangled in the reins. She also wore very conventional riding boots, all brown and supposedly ugly that they were.

"Your Highness, it is I, Ésuthain."

She stared at him in open-mouthed shock in silence for two long seconds.

"Ésuthain! But you're not that young!"

An amused smile made its way onto his lips.

"I assure you that I am merely who I am, Your Highness. Why are you so surprised?"

"Where's your hair! And you've been hiding under your armour all that time! I thought you were old like my brother Elphir, not scrawny like Amrothos!"

At that moment, she seemed to realize what she had said, for she blushed and began to mumble hasty excuses. He could not repress a chuckle.

"No offence taken, Your Highness," he reassured her warmly. He beckoned her closer and she hesitantly approached. He crouched and put a hand on her shoulder to pull her close enough to put his hand to her hear and whisper conspiratorially, "Besides, it would be best for both of us if Amrothos never learned you think he's scrawny, and that I think it's a laughable matter."

She nodded gravely at him, and they both exploded in laughter.

Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta Lialathuveril (if not for her, this story would be riddled with non-canonical events and ungracious stylistic mistakes!). You should go check her profile, her stories are great!

Note: for visibility's sake, I put Éomer's name up in the character category, and he will have an important role later in the story. But this is Lothiriel's story, and it will be a while before Éomer comes into her life.