A THOUSAND FLAWS & MORE (previously OF TWO MINDS)

CHAPTER I.

What first warned Lothíriel of their impending arrival at the White City was the lull in the once constant buzz that had accompanied her whole ride from Dol Amroth. She was finally enjoying some quiet in her little horse-drawn carriage, but knew it wouldn't last long; the chatter abated only for a couple of seconds, before picking up again with renewed vigour. The people that rode from the South, mostly civilians ready to celebrate in the post-war festivities, were finally within reaching distance of reuniting with loved ones who had gone to fight in the war.

Lothíriel was excited too, having been separated from her father and brothers for many months. But she was reluctant to leave her seaside palace and instead emigrate to Minas Tirith for the next few months. The complex architecture, with its labyrinthine levels and fortified city walls, were unlike anything in the south. She had rarely visited the city when she was younger, yet every time she did, she was overwhelmed, both with awe and with something akin to claustrophobia. The practicality of building upwards rather than outwards, so that all the houses, and the markets, and the halls, seemed stacked on top of each other, like a bucket of freshly caught sea bass, had always seemed too military – as if its sole purpose of being built was to be protected like a stronghold, rather than inhabited.

"My lady, we're here," her handmaiden informed, just as the doors to the carriage were opened by a footman. He offered her his hand to help her exit, and she did so gracefully, and with just a slight pain in her backside. Although the coach had been decadently furnished, with beautiful tassels and drapes with golden trimming, at this point Lothíriel wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between its velvet seats and a milking stool. She had been sat down all day, for the last few weeks, and now that she was finally standing, her bottom felt bruised and her legs wobbly. Nevertheless, she stood to her full height, smoothing out her rumpled skirt, and looked around her, hoping she would spy her family. It was difficult to see past the heads of the soldiers who had constituted her escort. Thankfully, they had spotted her first, and Erchirion had been the first to surprise her by lifting her into the air and spinning her in his arms wildly.

"Lothíriel, sister!" he exclaimed in his excitement, as her other two brothers and father caught up.

Unimpressed by his reckless display of familial affection, Lothíriel begged him to put her down. "Brother, you have truly gone insane!" she squealed.

Finally he placed her feet back on the ground, where she was abruptly enveloped in three more pairs of arms. She recognised the distinct sea salt scent of them all, even though they had been away from the ocean for so long, and despite hating all sorts of unnecessary human contact, she nonetheless savoured the warm, genial hugs from her family.

"It has been too long, daughter," her father finally said, loosening his arms from around her. "My, thank goodness, you don't look changed at all." He smiled down at her fondly, grasping her face in his large wrinkled hands.

"I'm so relieved to see all you again." She looked upon the faces of each of her brothers in turn and finally up to the face of her father, lined with age, yet youthful in every other aspect. She truly was very appreciative that her family managed to survive the war with no serious injuries. She had heard about her cousin and his heroic sacrifice after she had received the news that the war was over, and she mourned for him as she did for all the other countless fatalities, but, whether this made her selfish or not, she was ultimately just relieved that her brothers and father had all made it through. "Enough of this loitering; I need a bath at once, or I may just die of shame if anyone else sees me in this state."

They laughed at her dramatics, but were more than welcome to lead her to the palace, where the family and their household had been placed together in an accommodating quarter, constituting of many rooms and small living spaces.

Lothíriel's own chambers were small in comparison to her chambers at home, but were regardless well furnished and had an agreeable view of the rest of the city below. She silently thanked the servants for their foresight in preparing a steaming, fragranced bath for her in the corner of the room, and once alone, she immediately stripped out of her dress and stepped in, sighing as the heat numbed the dull pain all over her stiff body. She undid her hair from its tight restraint at the nape of her neck and dropped the pins onto the tiled floor, knowing that a servant girl would pick them up for her.

"997...991...983...977..."

Her voice was barely a whisper in the bathroom, the primes coming to her lips automatically. It was a therapeutic technique to help her relax that she had memorised; she also counted using squares, factorials and permutations. She recited her prime numbers backwards from 1000, till she felt herself relax around the 541 mark. Without another thought, she dunked her head below the surface of the water and the whole world around her dissolved until there was just the loud silence of the water embracing her ears.

.&.

Thirteen glorious hours of dreamless sleep until Lothíriel was awoken the next day well past noon by her handmaiden. Once she had finally managed to get up and out of bed, stretching out her muscles, she found herself revitalised. She readied herself for the day, knowing that there was to be a pre-coronation social gathering (it wasn't nearly as spectacular as a feast, and neither was it a formal sit-down dinner, but she had heard that there was going to be dancing involved) with the important houses across Gondor and Rohan tonight. But until then, she detached herself from the world and settled herself comfortably in a chair on the balcony, with a book and a stack of blank paper. Dipping her quill into a pot of ink resting precariously on the armrest, she wrote out a series of mathematical equations, trying to solve different puzzles that the book provided her with.

Hours must have passed without Lothíriel even glancing up, only sipping occasionally on a cup of tea which was always refilled by a servant buzzing around in and out of her chambers. Before she knew it, the sky was a canvas of explosive reds, and harmonizing yellows. Just as she got up to stretch out her legs, there was a knocking at her door, and she languidly went to open it as she came in from the balcony.

"Lothíriel, you aren't ready yet?!" Amrothos rushed in, taking in her dishevelled hair and the ink stain on her white sundress. "The evening is starting – I was sent to escort you to the hall." He looked at her as if she had gone crazy. Evidently, her handmaiden seemed to have forgotten to bring her out of her studious privacy, and was absent altogether. It wasn't like Lothíriel couldn't cope without her anyway.

"It's alright," she said, quite at her own leisure. "I'll just throw on a dress and fix my hair. I won't be long, brother."

She did as she said, and Amrothos was surprised at her tranquillity. His panic dissolved, as he took a seat on her bed. "This is quite a change, sister. You used to spend hours in front of the mirror, dolling yourself up for a special occasion."

She laughed behind the partition, where she was changing into an archetypal Dol Amroth dress, with short, off-the-shoulder sleeves and a V-neckline. It was perhaps less appropriate for the slightly chillier evenings here, and perhaps too casual when in the company of the King and Queen, but she didn't have the time to tie up a proper corset beneath her dress, and to don all these complicated, layered robes took too much effort.

"It's the new fashion, brother," she said, finally revealing herself in her light blue and silver gown. "It's an attempt at effortlessness and minimalism," she added drily.

"And like sheep, the young maidens will turn up to the coronation tomorrow with the exact same idea..." He grimaced at the lack of creativity and substance that most of the girls at court were afflicted with.

She sat down to expertly pin up her own hair. She left a few tendrils out to frame her face but otherwise it was set quite severely in a tight bun at the back of her head.

Patting a bit of rouge onto her cheeks and lips, as well as a bit of perfume behind her ears and on her wrists, she was done in less time than her brother had expected.

"You look radiant as always, sister," he complimented, offering her his arm.

They made their way to the hall, where, even with the doors shut, there was an anticipated wave of music and talk filtering into the corridor. When they entered, the brightness of the hall was momentarily blinding, and it took a moment for Lothíriel to take in the congregated groups of Gondorian nobles, of war heroes and high-ranked officers, and finally to those stood on the raised dais – the rest of her family with others she had yet to be introduced to.

"Amrothos!" came a loud shout between the throngs of people. "We've all been looking for you." It was one of his friends from the Dol Amroth militia. Lothíriel had not one iota what his rank or his name was. He gave a slight bow to the princess in greeting, but otherwise proceeded to drag her brother away. "A drinking contest between an elf and a dwarf, if you would believe! One of our men has already passed out trying to keep up with them!"

Their excited voices faded between the thick noise surrounding them, and Lothíriel found herself standing idly by herself in the centre of the room. She considered going to the dais to see her other brothers, but saw a few ladies whom she recognised, standing to one side. They waved at her enthusiastically as they saw her. She didn't know if she felt relieved to see them all again after such a long time, or if she felt dread for the inevitable trivialities that they all had so much fun discussing. Nevertheless, she made her way over to them and inspected them each head-to-toe, quite obviously judging their attire. She inwardly snorted, as she noticed the flared out bell sleeves and pale colours with wispy fabrics. They hadn't done a very good job at trying to imitate the Elvin Queen's sartorial choices, or at least they hadn't done a very good job at making it inconspicuous.

"Why, Lothíriel, you look beautiful!" Vanima, one half of the Lossarnach twins, said, whilst running a careful finger through the rich, pearlescent silks of Lothíriel's gown. Her twin, Mirya, was standing next to her, with a much more serene look on her face. The two sisters were identical in everything apart from disposition, the former being much more boisterous and... chatty.

"As do all of you," Lothiriel replied. "It really has been too long," she commented half-heartedly. "You're all faring well, I presume?"

Astawyn, perhaps the most handsome of the three, but also the ditsiest, gave a large grin as she looked behind Lothíriel to the front of the room. "Faring extremely well now that the King of Rohan has arrived."

Lothíriel looked behind her to survey exactly what it was that had piqued the attentions of the whole female population within the room. Well, he was certainly handsome in a roguish sort of way, with his long hair and his beard. Perhaps it was his character, or his exotic looks, but he wasn't what Gondorians typically thought of as attractive, and yet he had still managed to engage every woman's interest.

"I've yet to be introduced to the elusive kings," she murmured, taking a goblet of wine as a server passed by. "What are they like?" She wasn't particularly interested, but she knew Astawyn and Vanima were bursting to tell her.

"Technically, King Elessar isn't even a king till his coronation tomorrow, and Queen Arwen isn't even technically his queen yet either until their wedding in a few months, but everyone around here are simply too thrilled to have our monarchy back and are just continuing calling them King and Queen; to hell with propriety and all that!" Vanima supplied, becoming more and more excited the faster she talked. "But about the King – he's simply indescribable, Lothíriel," she continued uselessly, barely even taking in a breath. "It's as if he was born to be a king; he's so patient and calming, and his voice is so soothing..."

"And he's handsome!" Astawyn interrupted, "They both are! King Éomer is equally well-mannered, although perhaps less inclined to rule. All he needs is a Queen to support him." Her lingering hint in her aspirations was obvious and Lothíriel couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"Yes, because that is a woman's sole purpose in life, isn't it? To support her husband," Lothíriel said drily. Mirya, who had kept quiet up to this point, was the only one to acknowledge Lothíriel's words with a small chuckle.

"And to the left of King Éomer is his sister, Éowyn, but that should be obvious; one can't really mistake the slayer of the Witch-king. Have you met her yet, Lothíriel? She is engaged to your cousin, is she not? If it weren't for the King marrying an elf, there would surely be a lot more excitement around your cousin and his fiancé. They do make a fine couple."

Lothíriel felt the urge to snap at the incessantly blathering Vanima, but resisted. "My idiot brothers have yet to drag me back over there and introduce me to all these accomplished idols you speak so highly of," she drawled. "Perhaps I'll just go over and introduce myself," she decided. It was partly just an excuse to simply get away from her friends' endless chatter.

King Elessar and his queen saw her arrival before she had even gotten up the steps. They, along with Rohan's king and his sister, whom they had previously just been engaged in conversation with, had quietened on her approach. She could see, from the corner of her eye, her father, most likely sputtering in his cup when he saw that she approached first without performing the proper social etiquette of waiting till one of her male relatives introduced her. Nevertheless, she curtsied deeply in reverence to each of the royalty in turn, and called them each by their long, showy titles. Elessar and Arwen didn't correct her when she addressed them as King and Queen.

"It is such a thrill and an honour to meet you all. I am Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, Prince Imrahil's youngest child and only daughter," she greeted, plastering on a lovely smile.

It was then that her father came over, and apologised for not introducing her first. She restrained from rolling her eyes, and instead linked her arm cordially with her father's.

"Lothíriel ruled over Dol Amroth in our absence," her father informed.

"I had a lot of help really... Ingrid, the matron at Dol Amroth, bore many of the duties of head of household. And Elphir's wife is always setting a good example to the other ladies." She wasn't just being modest for the sake of courtesy; she really didn't feel as if she had been involved in much during the war, although she did try to help in whatever way she could. She was simply not fit to rule in that way.

"Nonetheless, you must have been brave to carry the burden," Arwen spoke, her lilting voice never failing to steal a little bit of Lothíriel's breath every time she spoke.

"How can I talk about being brave during the war to the people who physically fought in it," she laughed. They had probably heard something similar from all the ladies in the room at some point in the evening, but they laughed nonetheless. The soldiers' heroics and valour fighting in the war were seen as something romantic in the eyes of many who had been absent from the frontline. Lothíriel knew this, but still she had said it.

When no one else spoke for a few seconds, Lothíriel found herself reverting yet again to the civil, sociable lady she was brought up to be. "The weather is so pleasant; I just hope that it will stay this fine for the coronation..."

Well at least her father looked pleased with her. She couldn't say as much for the rest of the group, particularly the siblings from Rohan, who looked as if that one sentence had really tipped them over the edge. She excused herself quickly, and cringed away from the scene. She was exceptional at small-talk to fill in silences, but perhaps it just took someone of a more boring nature to catch onto her conversational cues. Lothíriel would not consider herself to be boring, but more often than not she felt it more appropriate to switch on that side of her – the well-bred, well-mannered princess – as most found her dry, wicked nature to be somewhat villainous and intimidating.

She saw Erchirion leaning against the wall watching the movements of the centre stage dancing ladies.

"Those royals are quite something," she said, approaching her brother.

He didn't even look away from the ladies, but grinned widely. "Aren't they? They're just what Gondor and Rohan need. Less of the stuffy aristocracy and more people like Éomer and Aragorn, who the people can really relate to..."

"I certainly don't feel like I can relate to them much... the beard for starters..." she grimaced. "However, the lady Éowyn I can relate to... we didn't talk much at all, but I got the impression as soon I saw her."

Erchirion looked as if he wanted to escape more conversation with his sister to go skirt-chasing again, but held firmly for a little longer. "Oh? I suppose I can see the similarity in your stubbornness... Faramir is going to have a hard time taming her."

"Taming her? Really, brother, if anything needs taming it's that chauvinistic attitude of yours."

"My apologies, sister, that was thoughtless," he drawled, although he didn't really look all that apologetic.

"Yes, it was quite thoughtless. But, either way, I got the impression that the lady Éowyn has developed a strong distaste for me."

Erchirion's brows furrowed, and he finally faced her. "Perhaps if you stopped acting like a pompous princess and more like yourself..."

"Not all of it is a facade, brother," she said with a slight chuckle, "Sometimes even I get confused with who I'm supposed to be."

.&.

The evening had ended a few hours ago, with everyone retiring exhausted to their rooms. However, Éomer and Éowyn, as well as a few Rohirrim soldiers, had stayed in the empty Great Hall to nurse a nightcap and to reflect on both the evening, and on fond memories back before the war. They all sat on an elongated table, with the mess of the earlier festivities still in the process of being cleaned up by maids and servants fluttering in and out of the room.

Éothain was sat on the table, his feet resting on a chair, and one cheek resting in his hand. "These Gondorians don't know how to throw a real party," he groaned, lifting a tankard of ale to his lips.

Éomer shook his head in amusement. "Just you wait till tomorrow evening after the coronation, my friend. Tonight was simply a rehearsal."

Éowyn smiled too and added, "Yes, Faramir said it was sure to be spectacular. The people have not had cause for celebration in such a long time."

"Regardless, if I have to partake in any more of those flowery, peacock dances, I may just ride back to Rohan early."

"But the young ladies are at least a silver lining, are they not?" asked another soldier, with a slight suggestive rise of his brow.

"I suppose it would be of great advantage to you men if you enjoyed the timid, lacklustre specimen of female, who are indeed abundant at this court..." Éowyn replied seriously, much to the humour of her male company. "I, for one, cannot see the appeal in women who can't think for themselves, whether they are beautiful or not."

"You are quite severe in assessing your own sex, sister," Éomer murmured, amused at the turn in conversation.

"Those sorts of women do more harm for our gender than I will ever do by speaking against them! I've half a mind to not invite those pretentious creatures to my wedding – including the Princess Lothíriel. It is just a shame that her father and brothers, and even Faramir, speak so highly of her."

Éothain snorted into his cup. "Was she really that bad?"

"Éomer could tell you. She was the epitome of a well-trained princess, with her fake smiles and her curtsies. And then she enthused about the weather! I am sure you would find that she is well-versed in Gondorian poetry, and enjoys embroidery and reading romantic novels in her spare time," Éowyn mocked, with her own interpretation of Lothíriel's haughty tones.

"Éowyn," her brother scolded, although he couldn't help an entertained smile from tugging up his lips. "You exaggerate. She hasn't done anything to wrong you. She was rather genial actually."

"Genial?!" Éowyn repeated incredulously. "Brother, you're starting to sound like them!"

He simply sighed in tired resignation. "I have to be diplomatic about these things, Éowyn. Her father and brothers fought with us in the thick of battle. And you forget that we may require Dol Amroth's help in the coming months."

"Urgh, I hate diplomatic Éomer."

The rest of the small group snickered at that, but Éomer couldn't find it in himself to do so as well.

Review please! I would love to know what you think.