A Kinship History, part 2

There was a time when I too was carefree. I was young once, a young maiden of Gondor, with dreams to spare. Running along the tiers of the white city was one of my favourite past times: endless chases filled with mirth and laughter and there were plenty to be had. 

My father, Berongorn, traded in crops, and was often on the road. What once was a safe profession, was becoming increasingly dangerous, as the shadow of Mordor was growing stronger even then, making the roads treacherous. My mother must have begged him to change line of work countless times, more than I care to recall, but to no avail. ‘What I do is necessary, Gwendien,’ he would answer her inevitably. And she knew he was right. 

With him absent, my mother raised my sister and me with a firm, but fair hand. Freawyin was ten years younger, fairer in skin and look – or so I always thought. I enjoyed taking her with me whenever I went for a stroll around the city, showing her the vast plains below and the high ridges behind us. She was curious by nature and eager to learn. Most of all, she loved horses. I would sit her in front of me when I went riding, and I would show her the borders of Rohan, telling her stories of golden haired men and their wondrous steeds. 
I remember once, a man had come from Edoras to visit the Stewart. We were sitting by the first gate then and Freawyin, who was no more than eight years old, was spellbound by the majesty of his horse. She took a little step forward and passed her trembling hand on its mane. The man looked down on her, not unkindly. ‘One day, little one, you’ll be big enough for it.’ Freawyin blushed and hid behind me, daring only to take a small peak from under my arm. The man then smiled at me, before riding on. I didn’t know then, but it was the first time I ever laid my eyes upon Eomer son of Eomund, and little did I know that our paths would cross again under much harsher circumstances. But that is another story.