Yours to Command

The White City

Then somebody called her name and without warning she was enveloped in a bear hug.

"Elphir!" she exclaimed rather breathlessly, recognising her eldest brother at once, and hugging him back as hard as she could.

It had been over a year since that terrible day when her father and brothers had left Dol Amroth to join the defence of Minas Tirith against Sauron's forces and he had not been home since. He had suffered an injury in the final battle at the Black Gate, and although he had written to say that he had recovered, it was not the same as actually being able to touch him again and to hear his voice.

"Did you have a good journey?" he asked, letting go of her at last.

Lothíriel took a much-needed breath of air. Her brother sometimes underestimated his own strength.

"Thoroughly boring," she said and smiled up at him.

"Our sister was disappointed we didn't encounter any corsairs and weren't swept off to uncharted waters by freak storms," Amrothos joked.

"You have no sense of adventure," she shot back, causing Elphir to laugh.

"I can see you two are still bickering away like an old, married couple," he said, "it seems some things at least never change. Let's get the horses and we can talk some more on the way."

Lothíriel wondered what horse they would produce for her, but she did know that it was bound to be the oldest and most lethargic animal in her father's stable. No doubt she would make herself a complete laughingstock, riding between her brothers on their purebred warhorses. However, once he had mounted, her eldest brother told Amrothos to toss her up behind him.

"I've brought your special pad and you can ride pillion behind me," he told her, "Herefara won't mind carrying double."

"Herefara?" she queried as she arranged her skirts and then slipped her arm around his waist, "What kind of name is that?"

"Rohirric," Elphir explained. "The horse was a gift from King Éomer."

"How come the King of Rohan has given you a horse for a gift?" she asked. "I thought the Rohirrim hardly ever parted with them."

"Actually it was a gift for father," Elphir explained, "but you know how attached he is to Swift, he would never ride another horse. I think it was meant to express King Éomer's gratitude."

Lothíriel felt a twinge of guilt when she thought of Swift's predecessor, dead these eight years, who had been equally beloved.

"Gratitude for what?" she asked.

"For all the grain we sent them over the past winter. The Rohirrim would have had a hard time without it."

"I see."

Since she had nothing to do with the running of Dol Amroth, she had not been aware that the wagonloads full of supplies being sent to Minas Tirith over the winter had been meant for the Rohirrim.

"He's beautiful," Amrothos remarked, and there was a hint of envy in his voice.

While they exchanged opinions of all the finer points of the gelding, Lothíriel let her mind wander. Herefara, she repeated to herself. The name had a foreign ring, making her think of wide, open grasslands and charging bands of riders with their blond hair flowing behind them in the wind. She did not say anything, though, for Amrothos liked nothing better than to tease her about her predilection for listening to stories of the Ring War.

They soon left the bustle of the busy port behind them and the talk turned to family matters. Elphir's wife and young son had taken refuge in Dol Amroth during the war, but had now moved back into the town house situated on the Sixth Level.