LOTHIRIEL -- go walking out with destiny

[garulf]

The black stallion galloped into the land of Gondor with its rider on top, leaning forward and with a red Rohirric cloak flying after his back in the wind. His hazel eyes were focused on the road ahead of him and his thick dark brown hair got pushed away from his face. The rider was for sure a member of the Rohirric army because of his riding skills and the clothes he was wearing. However his head was not covered with their characteristic helmets. He was not at war and he had nothing to fear as he entered the boarders of Gondor. On each of his side were holsters for swords and in them he had his daggers which he usually duel wielded. But being a knight he had a sword as well. That was placed on his back instead of a backpack. The blanket and the supplies were in a saddleback behind him, so the rider had only his armour and sword to carry.

He did not slow down as he made a turn and headed for the small peninsula Dol Amroth the stallion enjoyed the run as well as the rider. It did not seem to get tired from the exhausting three days ride; however they had of course made a few stops on the way to rest. The landscape slowly changed as he came closer to the Bay of Belfalas and he could sense that the sea was near. It was a misty day so it was almost melted together with the sky when he finally saw it. It was a beautiful sight and the man stopped up to watch big waters for a moment. Seagulls flew above him and let out their familiar shrieks which made the rider smile. He had seen the sea twice in his life – each time when he had visited Dol Amroth.

When he finally sat in motion again he slowed the horse down and made it look less rushing from an outsider’s point of view. He passed by a few fishing towns and greeted the inhabitants with a dashing smile. Most of the people – men and women – looked back at the stranger with the interesting seal on his cape. Many smiled back and welcomed him with small waves. Gárulf Folcwine was used to all this. Being a Rohirrim Rider was a big honour and even back in Rohan they were greeted with love and good wishes when they entered a town. This town just greeted the exotic stranger because he was something they had probably never seen before, however a few older men nodded politely at him with recognition in their eyes.

Gárulf Folcwine was a man who was born to be a Rohirrim Rider. He was from a family of poor peasants, however his spirit was far from suitable for their farm-life. He had travelled out into the world to explore in a very young age, and had finally ended up in Edoras and started his training as a horse master. The man rode through a small valley of apple trees and stopped underneath one whose branches reached all the way down to his head. He extended a hand and picked a white flower from one of them. Putting it up to his nose, he inhaled slowly the sweet smell of the apple tree flower and smiled at the familiar scent.

[lothiriel]

Lothíriel was not supposed to be doing this. And she was well aware of it too. But for the first time in a while, her own impatience and frustration was outweighing her intellect. Deep down, she felt, or rather she knew, that her family was hiding something from her. There was the wary look in her father's eyes, as if something dark was always on his mind. A similar anxiousness seemed to be troubling her elder brothers, but every time she attempted to confront them they shook her off. That action was what worried her more than the actually fact that they were keeping information from her. Despite being a woman, her family had always treated her like an equal when it came to affairs of the kingdom, but suddenly they wanted to keep her in the dark. Right now, though, she couldn't stand to stay home and remain silent. If they wanted to pretend like nothing was wrong, so be it. She would pretend like it was fine to take her horse and go for a field by herself.

She had left a note in her bed chamber, if anyone became truly concerned. And admittedly, it was unlikely that anything was going to happen to her. She took pride in the fact that Dol Amroth was a very peaceful country, especially if she stayed near the city limits. Still, the young princess knew it was uncommonly petulant of her to pull such a stunt, but as soon as her dark stallion, Veryohtar, broke into a sprint through the tall grass, she could not help but smile. She was usually not a master rider by any means, but moments like this she loved. Feeling lighter than air as the wind blew past her fast, the slight smell of salt still lingering from the nearby sea. She rode out for a little longer, before she turned around and back towards some of the coastal villages.

When Lothíriel neared the towns, she jumped off her stallion, taking her reins in her hands. The violet riding dress she was wearing was fairly simply in style, but she pulled her grey cloak closer around her shoulders, as well as putting the hood lightly over her head. It was possible that she might still be recognized, especially by the older citizens. That was not exactly a problem, though sometimes she felt she was more an interruption than anything else. She enjoyed quietly passing through, smiling at those who based her by, getting glimpsed of their daily life. Eventually, she made her way through the more urbanized area, before reaching another valley, though this one was more for farming. Several different rows of trees grew her, but it was open to the public. Alone again, she lowered her hood, her pale blue eyes scanning the branches over her head. This was one of the places her mother would take her as a child. Their secret spot.

She continued to pull Veryohtar on his reins, but a moment later he stubbornly came to a spot with a light whinny. The young woman paused and turned around to noticed the horse's neck stretching towards the leaves above. Looking up as well, she let out a small laugh, realizing he was trying to grab an apple. Of course, he would want to stop under the apple tries. "Very well, I suppose you have earned it," she said with a gentle smile. Her pale hand reached and grabbed the ruby red fruit, taking a small bite herself before offering the rest to her old friend. Lothíriel stood quietly, stroking his neck slowly. Then, stepping away, she leaned up against the trunk of the tree, pulling a small book from the pocket of her robes. Of course, even on a ride, the Gondorian princess wouldn't miss a chance to read.

She was not sure how many minutes has passed, lost in her history pages, but she was pulled away from her thoughts when she heard another low neigh of a horse, though it hadn't come from her own. Her gaze quickly darted up, and she saw she was no longer alone. An older man and his stallion were only a few trees over. He did not seem to notice her, and she was about to stay quiet and mind her own business. However, faint surprise passed over her features when she noted his manner or attire. She knew what it was supposed to symbolize. She set the leather-bound book in her lap, though kept a finger marked on the page she was on. "Rohirrim," she commented off-handedly, her tone gentle yet loud enough to be heard, as her eyes observed him with curiosity. "It is quite rare for such a rider to come to our humble nation, especially by himself."

Lothíriel realized this could be a compromising conversation. It was not quite proper for a lady to be speaking alone to a man his age, especially one that was probably fairly armed. However, at the same time, she was still a representative of the noble house (even if he did not know that), and if he had official business here that was no reason why she should not hear it.

[garulf]

Being in a country like Dol Amroth was really refreshing for the young man. He liked the smell of the sea and the sky seemed bluer here than it did in Rohan. He had no idea why. The landscape was different as well, and he liked it. He was getting tired of the steppes of his homeland and had been longing to see something else for a change. He loved the smell there had been in the small fishing town he had rode through. It had not been of farms, like most of the towns were in Rohan. It had smelled salty and of fish. Now to some people that smell may be repulsive, but not to Gárulf Folcwine. It was wonderful. He even considered quietly in his mind that if he ever found a wife who was willing to move with him wherever he wanted to go, then they should move to Dol Amroth. Out to the sea and to the beautiful castle one could see in the distance.

Of course, it could not be compared to the capital of Gondor, Minas Tirith. That white city was magnificent in many ways, but it was placed in a position where it had mountains in its back and faced the fields and Mordor. The city showed strength, but also warfare. It was placed in a tactical position that still amazed the young rider in many ways, but he was sure that there will be a time where wars will be over and where there will no longer be a reason for Gondor to be on look out for enemies. He believed in the rumours about the lost king and he hoped that he would live to see that change in Gondor. But to come back to the fact, even though the man loved the city of Minas Tirith, he could never live there. It was too white for him.

Gárulf Folcwine had a thing for small dirty places like; small towns, small libraries and most of all, small pubs that served the strongest ale of them all. He had a fashion for getting a bit tipsy and of course get into a fight with the locals – mostly because he knew that he would win, since he trained his combat skills every day in Edoras. However that was a little secret of his and those fights were getting fewer and fewer. He was after all in the royal guard – though his alliance lied with Eomer and Theodred than the sick king Theoden. A Rohirrim rider could not act like a simple farmer anymore. He represented Edoras and the strength of Rohan wherever he went, so he had to make a good first impression.

So here he was, miles away from Edoras, underneath a beautiful apple tree. He smelled the flower he had between his fingers while thinking about spring and all the smells it brought. Suddenly someone called out his name, or not his personal name exactly. A female voice called out Rohirrim, and as a reflection the man turned his prancing stallion around to see who had called. His hazel eyes fell upon the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And this was not just the typical flirtatious Gárulf who was talking. Her black hair was shining in the sunlight, her eyes were mysteriously blue, her skin was fair and her face was gorgeous. Even if the girl had been a maid – no he would never think that – she was royalty. No maid had looks like that.

The man stepped down from his horse and flipped his cape away from one side as he bowed in front of her. “You called, my lady.” He said as a small smile played on his lips. Gárulf was completely oblivious to the fact that this girl could be an enemy. He did not think that a fair princess like her could ever be against anything good in this world. “Well, perhaps we should change that… I have nothing to fear in Dol Amroth. It has been our ally for many years. I have a request from King Theoden of Rohan (he never said Grima Wormtongue even though that man spoke for the king now). Some medical supplies that we can only get from you folk who live by the sea.” He said and took out a parchment. “My name is Gárulf Folcwine…” he let go of the reins, knowing that his stallion would go nowhere, and stepped closer to the girl. “I believe that this belongs to you.” He said and gave her the flower he had picked before.