This was written for the June theme of dark/light on the ficvariations challenge community on livejournal. In short, I write seven fics based on the same theme. Enjoy )
Lothiriel twirled her fork aimlessly, earning a stern look from her father when it slipped from her grasp and clattered onto the table. She wasn't hungry; she never was anymore. The servants had learnt to only give her a small portion, scared of the blank look she gave them if they served her more than that, but Lothiriel still never finished her dinner.
"Please excuse me, father," she said quietly, and once Imrahil nodded tiredly she slipped from her seat, hurrying away to her chambers where she would spend hours looking at the portrait of her mother.
Imrahil watched her leave, his forehead creased in worry at the way his daughter held herself – her posture was slightly odd, as if she had a constant nagging stomachache. He wondered if it was time to make her see a healing woman.
Lothiriel woke early the next day as always. She paced back and forth in her room from the moment she awoke until her maid knocked on the door. Then she sprung back into bed and pretended to sleep. There was no need for anyone to know that she never sat down, that she walked and stood and danced until her feet were so sore that she couldn't stand. Then she would rub cream into the sore appendages and keep going.
Imrahil watched her push her food around her plate, cleverly disguising the way she played with it and rearranged it so it appeared she had eaten at least some of it. Lothiriel didn't know he was starting to see through her lies.
"I'm tired, father. May I be excused?" Lothiriel asked softly. Imrahil sighed and nodded, wishing he had the inner strength to make her stay and eat. He hated seeing his daughter looking so pale and tired all the time. He resolved to make her see a doctor the very next day.
It was dark. All the candles had been extinguished and the only illumination was outside, a faint sparkling from the stars which did nothing to pierce the pitch-blackness of the night. Only a few guards were awake, looking out for any sign of orcs threatening Dol Amroth.
Lothiriel was awake, too. She couldn't sleep. The incessant urge to keep pacing made her legs twitch even though she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. She couldn't see where she was pacing, couldn't see in the darkness where the furniture of her room was, but she'd paced the room so often that the exact length and number of steps was imprinted in her memory.
In the morning, the maid got no response to her knocks. She opened the door gingerly and gasped. The princess of Dol Amroth was lying in a heap on the floor, light streaming through the window and illuminating her unconscious body. She'd fallen apart.
There's a sequel to this, which I'll post tomorrow. Love ya 3