Many thanks to Deandra for revising and re-revising this chapter for me.
Chapter 1
Lothíriel: The Dutiful Daughter
September 22, 3020, The Third Age
Dol Amroth, Gondor
The Home of Prince Imrahil
Lothíriel's heart caught in her throat. "What?" she cried.
Minuialîn beamed. "Is it not wonderful?" she asked, clutching Lothíriel's slippers to her chest. "Oh, you are lucky, my lady! The King of Rohan is said to be the most handsome bachelor in all the lands of men! And that is ignoring the crown he has. Why, with all those horses, he must be rich, too. Just think, my lady, you shall be his wife!"
She continued to babble, but Lothíriel had stopped listening. The blood rushing through her ears was making her deaf to anything her lady-in-waiting was saying, and she became lost in her own thoughts. The light from her window, golden from the bright autumn sun, grew dim around her. Married? her mind cried. To King Éomer of Rohan? How could her father have done such a thing behind her back?
She had met the King of Rohan before; she had had to get to know all the families of noble blood. Lothíriel's mind whirled back to that time, more than two years ago, when her family had traveled to Edoras for an audience with the former king of Rohan, Théoden. What he had gotten, however, was a mouthful of Grima Wormtongue, the king's vile advisor. Her father had been more interested in getting her in a match with Théodred or Boromir then. But Théodred and Boromir were both dead now. She shuddered at the thought, remembering how pleasant Théodred had been to her and all the times she had insisted that Boromir play with her when she had visited the White City.
In Edoras, she had been sitting next to the Crown Prince of Rohan, across the table from Éomer, only Third Marshal of the Mark at the time. She and the marshal had exchanged a few polite words during the meal, not more, for his cousin was the one who was supposed to be entertaining her. She had found it a bit awkward, wondering how her father could possibly think she would be happy, married to the son of the king, when Théodred was in his fortieth winter and she was only nineteen. It was one of the most uncomfortable dinners she had to sit through: Théodred was politely pleasant and talkative, but had treated her like a child. It seemed that he had something else on his mind during the entire dinner, though that was better than how his cousins had treated her; both Éowyn and Éomer had acted as if she did not exist. Later, she had shared a dance with Éomer after his partner had caught the eye of the prince, and Théodred had suggested they trade.
Éomer had been a good dancer, with a sure step and a steady hand, so even though Lothíriel had not known most of the Rohirric dances, she rarely missed a step. It was also true that he was handsome. His dark eyes and blonde hair were a strange combination, but it only accentuated his full lips, his straight nose, and his strong brow. But his conversation had been sparse, asking only acceptable questions about the weather, how she liked Edoras, and what she thought of the other guests. He was too polite and stiff, and there had been no attraction in their first meeting. She could not marry a man like him.
At the thought, Lothíriel knew she had to speak to her father. She hastily grabbed her slippers from her lady-in-waiting and squeezed her feet into them before dashing to her father's study.
-
Three hours later…
"Lothíriel," Prince Imrahil emphasized, "you must say yes to the King's suit." Her father was standing with legs apart, arms crossed, and face forward behind the desk in his study. Lothíriel recognized the stance as one of power, used mostly when dealing with a rebellious soldier in the field. Her three brothers were already in her father's study, arguing about how much grain to send to Rohan when she had barged in. Tempers were high before she arrived, and she had done nothing to cool them.
Despite her father's tone of voice, she was not ready to give up her argument on the subject, but Amrothos, her youngest brother, had also read his father's body language and put a hand on her shoulder, silently telling her to let the comment slide. She bit her lip hard, knowing that Amrothos was right, and she should not be getting into a verbal fight with the Prince of Dol Amroth. She drew in a tight breath and forced the stinging words down.
"For my part," Elphir, her oldest brother, intoned, "I agree with Lothíriel completely. A daughter of Gondor, especially a daughter of a prince, can find better fish in the sea." He stood to the left of the small party, leaning back against one of their father's beautiful mahogany bookshelves, his expression nonchalant.
Lothíriel turned and glared at her brother, biting her lip again. That was not at all what she had meant: she did not wish to insult the king. "I am not saying that I am too good for the man," she said. "And I am flattered that King Éomer would offer me such a suit. I am just saying that six months is much too short a time before a wedding. We— "
She clamped her mouth shut again as her father looked angrily at her. His gaze was actually directed at both her and her brother, but he had a way of looking at people that isolated them. She swallowed and directed her eyes to the floor, pretending to study the intricate weaving in the crimson carpeting. "Remember of whom you are speaking. I call this man brother." His icy tone brought silence to the entire assembly.
Amrothos cleared his throat nervously. "Well, Father, it is only natural that a woman would want to get to know a man before she marries him. Perhaps we can—"
Imrahil rounded on his son. "Need I remind you that this suit is only tentative? He can withdraw any time if we do not take this opportunity. This is a chance for Rohan and Gondor to be forever bonded in friendship."
Lothíriel wanted to say that she doubted that Rohan and Gondor would go to war any time soon, as both countries had been ravaged by the War of the Ring. Also, Imrahil's own statement before had very well summed up the friendly relationship between the two countries. Faramir's marriage to the Lady Éowyn ultimately ensured a lasting alliance between Éomer and Elessar, Faramir being the Prince of Ithilien, and Éowyn the sister of the king. However, she knew it was wise to keep her mouth shut lest she wanted to begin the shouting competitions again.
"Éomer is not going to retract his suit any time soon," Erchirion said. Her middle brother rolled his eyes, adding, "Did you see the way he was looking at Lothíriel the last time we visited Edoras?" To lighten the atmosphere, he sat down in a chair opposite his father and winked at his sister.
Lothíriel wanted to rip out her hair and scream. Instead, she quietly balled her hands into fists at her sides, where her full gown hid them from view. However, Prince Imrahil was not fooled by her seeming calmness. He read her annoyance in the hard line her jaw took as soon as Erchirion's words were out. "Father," Lothíriel stressed the word in the same way he had stressed her name, "it is unlikely that Éomer will withdraw the proposal so soon. He would not want to seem rude—" she threw a meaningful glance over at Erchirion "—so we have some time to make decisions about this matter."
Prince Imrahil pursed his lips, and Lothíriel saw a vein throbbing in his temple. His four children were undoubtedly giving him a headache. Elphir, the one most opposed to the match other than Lothíriel herself, thankfully, did not say anything else.
The leader of Dol Amroth closed his eyes, and Lothíriel could almost see him count to three in his head before opening his eyes and facing her. "Do you like the King of Horse Lords?" he finally asked.
"I have not had enough experience with him to decide either way," Lothíriel answered diplomatically. It was a lie. She had decided the night after they had met that he was one of those men who knew nothing beyond warfare and leadership. He would probably spend their wedding night speaking to her of battle strategies if she agreed to the marriage. But, had she said an outright "no," both her father and the king would be hurt and angry.
Prince Imrahil sighed deeply and sat down heavily in his chair, drumming his fingers on the armrest. The carvings on it matched the columns around the room, where important business was usually carried out. At the same time, this was also the only room he could retreat to when he wanted nothing to bother him. Now, he dearly wished to be alone, but he knew he would not have peace of mind until he had come to an agreement with his daughter.
"Oh, Father, stop worrying. Yes, the messenger was late, but Éomer would never draw back unless you did," Amrothos said in his usual playful manner. Then, suddenly, he clamped his hand so hard across his mouth that a muffled "Ow!" could be heard.
Lothíriel whirled on her brother. "What?" she cried. "What are you saying?" The silence in the room was enough to answer her.
"You offered me!" she cried accusingly, turning again to face her father, her face filled with disgust and horror. She did not have to see the threatening look that he threw Amrothos to know that she was not supposed to know about this. "You arranged this marriage!" She threw up her hands in disgust. "He did not even propose! You offered me!"
"Lothíriel, be reasonable," her father immediately said, his voice soothing and gentle. "You know that I am only trying to do what is best for you, and this marriage to the King of Rohan happens to be it." Elphir snorted.
Lothíriel, however, was beyond reason at this point. "All of you knew this!" she screamed, looking at the others in the room and grinding her teeth together. Her voice echoing in the silence told her that she was going too far. She sighed and closed her eyes. However, she could not hold back the remark that was rising in her throat. "And when were you going to tell me? After we sent the rest of the war reparations to Rohan, or the morning after I arise from the marriage bed?"
"Lothíriel, you are being unfair—" Amrothos started reasonably, but was interrupted by a very angry Elphir.
"Oh, for the Valar's sake! Just tell Éomer to keep his barbaric suit—"
His sentence was not halfway out when Erchirion, ever the diplomat, rose out of his chair to cut him off before he became too vulgar. "Father did not know you would –"
"By Eru!" Prince Imrahil's oath silenced all the other protests. He looked at his daughter, his eyes serious. "There can be no discussion, Lothíriel," her father finally said. "King Elessar has already sanctioned the marriage, and is looking forward to the wedding day. He is happy to see the union of our lands, especially through an alliance between the royal houses of Dol Amroth and Edoras."
Lothíriel's vehemence, however, could not be stopped. "And I suppose I am the one that is to pay the price for this union?" She tasted blood and realized that she had fallen back into the bad habit of biting her lip when she was agitated or annoyed.
Prince Imrahil stood at his full height, his anger terrible to see. His face had flushed red from the effort to hold back his frustration. "You are to be grateful for what Rohan has done for this country!"
She tilted her chin up defiantly. "I am grateful, Father," she said. The anger in her chest was still building. "I just do not wish to be part of the treasure chest that we send back to show our thanks." She knew that she should not be pushing this matter any further, but something told her that she had to speak now or forever hold her peace.
"We will go to Edoras in six months time," her father said, his voice dangerously even. "And once we reach there, you will marry Éomer and be his wife."
Lothíriel swallowed. It was clear that there would be no more discussion on the matter.
-
Later that evening…
Why Éomer had proposed through a letter, Lothíriel did not know. It was almost cowardly, she thought, certainly unlike the King of Rohan, whom she pictured as a brave, valiant soldier. At least, that was what her brothers had told her. They were awed by his courage and his abilities with a sword and spear, and had said that he was fiercely loyal to all those that he called his friends. It could, Lothíriel thought bitterly, have something to do with how her father had offered her, like a horse on display.
His proposal had been short. It was written on a single piece of parchment, folded behind the much larger letter on business matters that he had sent her father. It was as if it was just another transaction: Rohan's goodwill for her hand in marriage. Lothíriel was offended.
But, because he had asked in such a blunt, curt manner, she was tempted to answer in the same way. She toyed with the idea of sending a rejection with her own messengers, but she knew that that was out of the question. Her father would be infuriated, and the King of Rohan would probably never trust the word of Dol Amroth again. Realistically, she knew that she should behave as the Gondorian princess that she was and write out a full letter of acceptance and thanks. However, now came the question as to what to write.
She had never thought she would be in this situation, writing an acceptance for her marriage to a man she barely even knew. Of course she had thought about the idea of marriage; it was accepted that, as a daughter of kings, she was to be married to a man of fitting station. But, her father had indicated that he would allow her to marry someone of her own choosing, as long as he deemed him acceptable. So now, what was this? Offering her to the King of Rohan indeed!
Truthfully, she had often dreamed of not marrying. She had had enough of court life through her long years by her father's side, and she had realized the difficulty of ruling behind the scenes as a woman. Once, a few years ago, she had been exposed to the Houses of Healing at Minas Tirith. It had been the summer of her twentieth birthday, and she had been visiting her cousins in the White City. However, Boromir had already set out for Rivendell, and Faramir had taken his place as the Captain of the Guard at Osgiliath. Even her brothers, who had gone with her, were scarce to be found, as they would often accompany Faramir to defend the river against Mordor.
One day, while walking the streets of the city, she had come across a woman who worked in the Houses of Healing. Seeing that she was carrying a burden much too heavy for her, Lothiriel decided to help her. This was how she had entered the House. That day of exposure was enough to scare her away for a lifetime. Raised as a princess, she had never seen so much blood and pain in all her life, but, with the frequent Orc attacks, many soldiers were sent to the Houses daily. However, Lothiriel realized that there she finally came in contact with the people she was ruling, and she found comfort in being treated as an equal by the women who nursed these people back to health. She spent the rest of her summer there, sometimes working late into the night, and even acquired a few skills as a healer.
If she remained unmarried, she knew that she could later get her father to agree to her service at the Houses of Healing. However, marriage to King Éomer meant she would never be a healer, and she would have to endure a lifetime at court, with the other ladies sniggering at her black hair or poisoning her reputation behind her back as she had seen many do to others in her father's court. Even worse, she realized, Éomer was handsome, and with his crown, many women would not care that he already had a wife. She did not know what kind of man Éomer was, and she just may have to live a life of humiliation, watching first one woman and then another sneak into her husband's bed.
Thinking this, she angrily threw down her quill, still unable to think of what to write. First, she tried to be polite and seem grateful.
My Lord Éomer,
I thank you for honoring me with this proposal of marriage. I have heard much from my brothers and father about your courageous actions in battle and magnanimity as king. However, I also know from the last time that I was at Edoras that you are both kind-hearted and possess a keen wit. How you made me laugh with that jest about Lady Freya's exceedingly beautiful skirt of purple and orange!
Lothíriel slowed her quill and snickered to herself. It was she that had made the sarcastic comment, not Éomer, and he had very seriously agreed with her. But it did not matter now who had said what; she just wanted to fill in the space between the date and the bottom of the page.
I am flattered that you should consider me for your wife, and I whole-heartedly and willingly accept your proposal. I look forward to many happy days with you at Edoras.
She stopped again and re-read what she had written. Then, with a sound of revulsion, she balled the piece of parchment up and threw it aside. She actually sounded like she wanted the marriage to go through!
Lothíriel picked up another piece of parchment and re-dipped her quill in ink. Her next letter was more candid. She tried to explain her inner misgivings and her thoughts about the marriage. She poured her heart out into the letter, which ran three full pages, telling Éomer about why she did not wish to marry, especially to a man that she did not know, and she apologized for it, but knew that she had to marry out of duty. She even included a bit about her dreams of becoming a healer.
She was satisfied with herself after she finished the letter, and set it out on her desk to dry. Then, with a yawn, she climbed into bed.
However, as she lay in the dark, she could not help but think of her letter and how Éomer would react to it. Would he think her too forward? Women were not supposed to speak their minds this way, especially to men they did not know. The more she thought, the more she tossed and turned, and finally, she threw back her covers and went back to her desk.
Upon rereading the letter, she realized nothing made sense. If Éomer even so much as looked at the message, he would think her an idiot, incapable of penning an intelligent letter. That might not be such a bad idea, she thought in passing. If he thinks that you are an idiot, he might retract his suit. But her father would be angry if Éomer ever mentioned anything about the letter. Even worse, what if Éomer passed on his thoughts about her to another suitor that she wished to marry later? In her anxiety, she tore the pages up, and then realized that she had nothing to show for her entire evening of work.
In the end, when her candle had burned down to nothing but a stub, she knew she could put it off for no longer. Her father had demanded the letter to be finished by morning for delivery. It was nearly dawn, and she had not had a wink of sleep. Tired and more than a bit spiteful, she hastily penned an answer that ran along the lines of,
My Lord Éomer,
I thank you for proposing marriage, and I gladly accept. May Eru smile upon the day of our meeting.
With best regards,
Lothíriel of Dol Amroth
She knew that her message sounded more like a thank-you card sent in response to an invitation, but now she was too tired to do anything else. She handed the letter to her maidservant to give to Imrahil, and then went to bed, her head pounding with the lack of sleep.
