[Airerûthiel]

This land was strange to her. She had not walked in Gondor before this day, and half of her wished to be back in Edoras where she belonged. But there was little choice in the matter now; she must represent Rohan as best she could. Wearing such a long flowing gown was unusual for her, and she had been worrying about falling over it or getting it caught in her stirrups for most of the journey. She knew people would stare when she rode up to the red carpet on her stallion, but she did not care what others thought of her tonight.

She spoke to Gwigwyn in the language of her people, "Stille nu, fæste." He whinnied softly as she dismounted, the folds of her white gown falling around her ankles like a waterfall of liquid snow. She tried to remember all the tips from her lessons as a young girl, but they had gone clean out of her head. Internally she shrugged and turned to one of the many guards standing around. "Would you be so kind as to find a stable for my horse Gwigwyn? I shall come and collect him at the end of the party. You will be paid handsomely for his lodgings."

The guard nodded and took the bay stallion's bridle, clicking softly to the horse as he led him away. She tried to avoid looking at him, unable to face the sorrow that was in her heart. The two of them were the best of friends; she had never been parted from her horse for much longer than a night or two. But she had to put him out of her mind now. Rohan was counting on her to make a good impression at this party, and woe betide her if she did not.

The cameras clicked away wildly as she walked up the red carpet; she could hear the crowds of onlookers whispering about her in slightly too-loud voices. They all wanted to know who she was, but she would not tell them her name under any circumstances. The photographers and reporters shouted at her so loudly she could not hear herself think. Microphones and notebooks and pens were shoved in front of her at every possible opportunity. Endless questions mixed together in her mind.

"Remove your weapons, please." She rolled her eyes and took off the belt that she wore her ancient sword Dulthasil on around her waist. Having to abandon the blade made her feel even more vulnerable and weak, more ladylike than she really wanted to be. But she knew that no-one would pay much attention to her once she was inside; she was not famous, and so was not worth taking notice of.

The bar was packed with Middle-earth residents of every kind. She walked through the crowds of happy, chatting partygoers, completely ignored as usual, and pulled up a seat at the bar. "I'll have a glass of mead, please," she said, tossing back her waves of shoulder-length dark blonde hair. Her turquoise eyes were level with the barman's as she made her order and observed the action going on around her.