Tempered With a Grain of Salt

By Lilithe

Amrothos knew something was copiously wrong the moment he laid eyes on his sister. He studied Lothiriel suspiciously from the tip of her dainty doeskin slippers to the intricate hair net she wore on top of the coiled braid at the top of her head. Her soft white robe, a high necked affair reaching down to her ankles, was firmly secured with a thick sash in Dol Amroth blue. Lothiriel looked back at him faintly irked as he made no secret of his scrutiny.

His misgivings had been well founded. Lothiriel looked simply wholesome. Her smooth, tanned skin glowed with the sheen of youth and her gaze vigorously sparked devilry and intelligence. A lovely, healthy blush adorned her high aristocratic cheekbones.

"Sister." He growled.

She schooled her amused features into an impassive expression and met his incredulous stare. "Brother."

Amrothos let out an exasperated sigh. It was time for the evening meal and, while Imrahil's table had never seen a more sumptuous banquet, the Prince's daughter had been conspicuously missing at the table. "Lothiriel," He moaned, "you do not look even slightly ill to me. Why are you not gracing father's table as hostess?"

Lothiriel lifted a creamy, embroider square of silk to her nose in response. A slight quirk might've teased the corner of her mouth before she blew air noisily into the cloth. Amrothos wasn't sure if he'd seen her smirk, all he knew was his own urge to throttle her was growing exponentially. He bit down on his tongue and crossed his arms demanding a response.

Finally, she relented. "Amrothos I have a head cold. Do you think Father would appreciate his daughter sniveling at the table in front of his royal guest?" Lothiriel paused for a moment, unsure if she should push her luck. "Besides, Cyrian was happy to preside as hostess. You know brother; I think I have overstayed my welcome in this household."

Amrothos was flummoxed. "Lori! That woman has been nothing but unpleasant to you since Elphir made the worst decision of his worthless life and married her! Why would you start paying her any mind now!'

Lothiriel scowled at the underlying meaning of his words. Now indeed. And that was the problem wasn't it? Why exactly was the now so important? Never before had his father ordered such extensive preparations for what had always been intended as a private, family affair – the Lord of Dol Amroth offering homage to his dear friend Eomer, King of Rohan during a friendly visit. Her lips thinned. Imrahil had betrayed himself. She ground her teeth thinking of the four new chests of clothing her father had gifted her just last month. She was not fooled into thinking it was the work of her aunts' persuading him that, with the Ring War over, her presence would be much more public at the Court. The gifts reeked of bribery and when he suggested she don her new wardrobe during King of Rohan's visit …well. And to think, she contemplated darkly, that it might have pleased me, this scheme of my father's, once upon a time. But no more!

She smiled sweetly. 'I haven't dearest. Not really. I took care of all of the arrangements for the feast, did I not? I am feeling unwell, truly!" Lothiriel coughed primly into her handkerchief again, keenly aware of Amrothos rolling his eyes. "I just meant that it is unfair of me to always play the lady of the house. After all, Cyrian is the next Lady of Dol Amroth whether you like it or not. She will succeed me sooner rather than later and I see no harm in her honing her skills while I am still here."

Amrothos's eyes suddenly narrowed. He leant his back on her door. A thought had occurred to him. He'd watched Lothiriel vacillate between the appropriate mild curiosity and the not-so-appropriate rapturous excitement of a young woman when their father had informed his family that they would be hosting Eomer, King for two weeks. The war had been over for a year and things had been hard for the young king. His worries had worn him deeply and his advisors had grown so concerned over his health that they had written Gondor's King for help. An afternoon meeting between King Elessar and Imrahil had resulted in the former sending out an invitation to Rohan to have her King visit his holdings. Eomer had been made to accept after much pressure from his council and arrangements were made. When these details had been disclosed by their father, Lothiriel had seemed touched by the idea of Eomer, the hero of many of her favorite stories of the War, being troubled by the burdensome aftermath of the war.

And then, quite suddenly, things had changed. Lothiriel continued to make preparations for the king's visit, but her enthusiasm to meet him had faded. Worse still, although she hid it well, Amrothos could read a new emotion simmer in her sharp grey eyes when someone mentioned Eomer's name. Now when, little sister¸ he thought, did you learn to be jaded with men? In all seriousness, Amrothos though Lothiriel looked like a frightened filly anytime Eomer's name was mentioned! Had someone … no, surely not! Lothiriel was just now reaching the cusp of womanhood! But perhaps…he cursed inwardly as the idea that had suddenly hit him took flight. "Lori, listen sweetheart. Why do you keep implying Cyrian will take over for you soon?" His eyes softened. "Surely you have no intention of leaving us, Lori?" His voice had too softened; his demeanor teasingly dismissing the very notion.

Lothiriel realized she had pushed her luck. He'd jumped to the right conclusion … that she'd found out about her father's little plan. He was fishing, analyzing her every argument, trying to determine if this was in fact about Cyrian or the awful truth she had discovered. Well, she would not admit to knowing the truth willingly! Let them wonder! She sighed and gave him a soft smile, one meant to appear genuine. "The truth then?"

"Lori," He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek. "I want to help you little sister. This is not really about a head cold is it? You would have at least welcomed Eomer to our home if you had been seriously ill…but you refused to come out from your room for even that simple courtesy. Father is not happy."

There it was. Why he'd come knocking to her bedroom door when she didn't show up for dinner and had simply sent a maid begging her excuses. Imrahil had not been amused, though he was able to hide it with his customary grace.

"Amroth." I wish I could trust you. She bit her lip knowing she really could not. "I am tired of dealing with Cyrian. She yearns to become the Lady of Dol Amroth and welcome! Amroth … I've written to Queen Undomiel. I have requested to become one of her handmaidens."

Ah, thought Amrothos relieved, this father can work with. A maiden's flight of fancy. A little rebellion. "Have you sent the letter Lothiriel?" He asked her seriously, but kindly. At least she doesn't know Father had planned to talk to Eomer about taking her to wife. He had been furious when his father had brought this up, but upon witnessing Lothiriel's original enthusiasm, he had become a firm believer that the girl wouldn't very much mind. Now he wasn't so sure and neither, he knew, was his father. Erchirion had agreed with Amrothos and they had both managed to convince Imrahil that they should give Lothiriel time to know Eomer before the allegiance was suggested to either of them. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he continued. "Father, I am sure, would like to see the letter and talk to you about this request before you did anything rash."

Lothiriel grinned at him. "Why do you think I've spent the entire day cooped up in my room? Writing to a queen is serious business. I had to consult my books about ten times just to get her titles right!" She lowered her eyelashes and fluttered them at him. "You know you are my favorite brother Amrothos." Traitor! She mentally smacked the confident smirk off his face. "Will you not speak to father? Tell him about my wish? I promise to behave and meet Eomer King tomorrow if you will only speak to him on my behalf."

Amrothos knew his father would never agree to her request. He felt a bit sheepish as he picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles. "I will, I promise Lori." He paused and sent her a piercing look. "You will stop this nonsense about pretending to be ill and come down tomorrow?"

I will be long gone tomorrow. Lothiriel looked back at him guilelessly and stood on tip toes to peck his cheek. "I promise brother with as much sincerity as you have." Miscreant!

It made sense. Lothiriel had alluded to a long-standing tension between herself and Elphir's wife as the reason why she had chosen to act so out of place on this day. It makes sense, Amrothos thought morosely, but why do I feel like the rug is about to be pulled away from under my feet? He kissed his sister's forehead and decided to let her be for the moment. He would talk to father about their conversation early tomorrow morning; he would know what to do.

Later that night, Lothiriel pulled out a heavy rucksack from under her bed. She had donned on a simple dress she'd stolen from the laundry room. She was sure it belonged to a particularly long-limbed chambermaid that she'd eye as having a build similar to her own. Earlier that week, she'd told one of the merchants bringing the wine for the feast that she would like to send her maidservant, Beren, along with him back to Minas Tirith. The girl had heard that her father was too elderly to care for himself and would like to go home. The merchant had agreed to have Beren accompany his caravan back to the city. With tresses shorn ruthlessly by a sharp knife and with a long thread-bare cloak to help her, Lothiriel was sure no one could suspect Beren was really Her Highness, the Princess of Dol Amroth.

Serves them all right, she sniffed as she gazed out her window one last time, scheming to pledge my troth to a scoundrel.

Lothiriel's cheeks tinged as she reached a hand to grip the letter she'd placed on a pocket sown to her cloak. She knew what the elegant spidery hand had written.

Dear Lothiriel,

I hope this letter finds you well. I know no one else to trust with my secret. There is no way to painlessly write what has happened to me so I will just say it. I could not visit you earlier this year when mother went to visit your aunts because I was with child. The father is a Rohir warrior I met last year when his people came to keep their promise of old. We wanted to wed, but his king would not allow it. He threatened violence against me and to remove Eothain as a captain of his eored if he did not go back to Rohan with everyone else. I am now living within the walls of the Houses of Healing. My family will offer no succor. I am alone. The Warden has said I must leave and I do not know what to do. Dear friend, will you not help me? Will you not speak to the Queen on my behalf? I know not what to do-

The letter continued for many pages and Lothiriel's eyes blinked back tears. Ellethne had been a dear childhood friend, but when Lothiriel's mother had passed away long ago, Ellethne had become like a sister to the young Princess. What would her father say if he knew the truth? That the King of Rohan was a home-breaker? An oath breaker when it comes to women! Ellethne had said Eothain had wanted to marry her, had sworn he would, but Eomer had argued that he had sworn to serve him as King before he'd made that promise. And his King demanded that he return to Rohan.

She knew she should have gone to her father immediately upon receiving the letter. But Imrahil had always made it perfectly clear he thought Eomer King a man of honor and integrity. And finally, on that fateful day she'd eavesdropped on his conversation with her brothers about his plans to offer her as wife and queen to Rohan, she'd understood approaching her father would be a mistake. She would have to plead Ellethne's case directly to the Queen. Women did not speak of such things in public; much less write condemning evidence to paper and send it to one's sovereign. She'd written Ellethne and told her she would arrive at Minas Tirith within two months. She had two weeks left, enough time to travel with a slow moving caravan of merchants.

Lothiriel heard the merchants loading the wagons. They would leave the castle grounds and camp at the outskirts of the city in order to leave as soon as the gates were opened at dawn. She hurried down the deserted hallways to the kitchens.

To think I once dreamt of meeting and falling in love with this Eomer. Foolishness! Men may be honorable and brave towards each other, but what about in their dealings with women? She bit her lip till it bled, I wonder how many bastards the king has already fathered himself in Minas Tirith!

Shrouded in darkness and darker thoughts the young princess of Dol Amroth walked purposely out of the castle's empty kitchens to the courtyard and her escort to Minas Tirith.

…. TBC

Thank you all for reading. Please review! This is my first story and I'm very excited to hear what you think of it! (: