Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings. All rights reserved to Tolkien enterprise.
Title: The Lady Doth Protest Too Much
Summary: Lírien did not wish to move to Rohan, and the Rohirrim certainly didn't wish to have her. But it seems now that the one man who embodies everything she hates may be the one to make her love it.
Genre: Romance, drama, some comedy
Rating: T for strong language, allusions to violence, and sexual situations.
Other Warnings: OC-centric, NOT a Mary Sue. OC/Minor canon character.
Notes: Thank you for the reviews!
The Lady Doth Protest Too Much
Chapter Two
The Truth of Matters
Contrary to what she told the rider, Lírien did not return to the picnic. Lothíriel would be upset with her, but she did not care. She simply asked a handmaiden to inform the Queen that she was not feeling entirely alright and then stayed in her room, leaving only once to request a loaf of bread and butter which she took in her room.
She pondered for a long time. Before being interrupted by a horse, she had considered begging to return home, to the stone walls and sandy shores of Dol Amroth. She could always ask Amrothos to marry her; she knew he would agree, as his father was threatening a wedding to Lady Barien of Lebennin if he did not settle down, and it was better to be married to a friend than to a monster.
What good came of her being in Rohan? Lothíriel did not need her here, like she had claimed before moving. No, the queen was content with her new Rohirric friends, and disapproved of everything Lírien did. No, there was no longer any reason for her to stay here; were she to return, none here would miss her and she was certain she could arrange for a husband.
She was about to sit down and write out her letter when someone rapped at her door.
"Come in," she called.
The door opened and standing there, looking very much upset, was Lothíriel. Her hair was parted down the middle, as was the fashion of Rohan, and no loner held the wave from the sea air that was the marker of Dol Amroth's women. Her dress was green and gold and looked heavy, and a circlet sat on her head, small knots carved into it.
"I gave you a moment to repose, not to run off and hide!" she exclaimed when she closed the door.
"I am not hiding. I am simply not going to return." Lírien had argued with Lothíriel many times over the years; more so in the last few weeks than ever before, true, but she still knew how to handle the situation. She just had to make the Queen mad enough to say something she would regret.
"And why not?! You are not improving things for yourself, Lírien!"
"Pardon me for not wanting to be paraded as the court jester for all to laugh at, Lothíriel. It is not my fault if these people you have befriended think it amusing to dislike me!"
"They would not think it so were you not pouring oil into the blaze! They would try if only you would!" her voice was pleading, her gray eyes wide like those of a doe, and Lírien felt a stab of guilt in her stomach. But the only way to win an argument in which you were wrong was to twist your opponent's emotions around your fingers and pull, and so she did.
"So the fault is on my shoulders alone?" she was beginning to see the flickers of real anger in her friends eyes, and so she pushed further, "Only I am to blame for this mess? I did not realize it was my fault I do not respond well to a culture like this, or to a city where dung is left on the streets to rot in the noonday sun! Perhaps I should just-"
"I am merely saying it would help if you would not act like quite such a bitch!"
The room fell silent. It was good all other resident's of Medusled were out of the city, for they would have heard otherwise. Both girls were staring at each other, and it was impossible to tell who was more alarmed; Lírien, who had not expected her words and her sentiments to become quite so entwined, or Lothíriel, whose hand covered her mouth and who looked as if she had stabbed a child.
"Lírien, I am sorry, there is not excuse-"
"If the queen says I am being a bitch, then I must be the inexcusable one, no? Forgive me, highness, I did not realize that your request I come here with you included a clause to force me into happiness. I did not realize that the Queen ordered a smile as I parted from everything I know and love and come to this- the place- for which I have no affection and even less care. I must beg for pardon, I suppose, for not being cheerful to simply serve you. Forgive me, my Queen, expressing my true emotions will not be a problem to you again."
She turned to the window to hide her face. The venom in her mouth was threatening to spill from her eyes as tears; she had not meant to be neither so cruel nor so truthful.
"I am sorry. You know I did not mean that, you must know I did not." Lothíriel sunk onto the bed, her eyes devastated. "I do not want you to be unhappy, of course I do not. I do not want you to force or feign happiness on my count, you know that."
"I know that, Thiri, but I do not see it." Lírien sat beside her, and the Queen grabbed her hand.
"I know it does not seem as such, but I love you and want you to remain here. I understand that makes me selfish, I am sorry. I am not being a very good friend now, I know, but what would I do were I alone here?"
"You never will be," Lírien promised her, though she was thinking not of herself but of Éomer and Eadwine and Wyverun who would be pillars by the queen.
The two women hugged, and the Lothíriel stood.
"I must be going back. Will you be fine?"
"Yes, of course."
And so the Queen left, and Lírien walked to her mirror and let her hair down. It parted to the left, falling in smooth waves and curls, framing her face well. It's slight darkness was a contrast to the pallor of her skin, which the cold Rohan sun had not altered. With her hair down, heavy around her face, he eyes seemed brighter and her lashes fuller, her lips more plump and a softer pink, her cheeks higher and her nose a straighter line.
In no country was she beautiful; but at least in Gondor she was passable as such; here her features were to soft and pointed to be considered truly attractive.
She pulled her hair back again, securing it with a brooch in the shape of swans. An heirloom from her late betrothed, Boromir. There had been no great love between them; his mind was with the war and her's with the sea, and both years and miles stood between them. But a friendship has formed and Lírien knew she would not be unhappy married to him. He would always bring her little things when they visited, or send them in letters.
Lírien was overwhelmed by a desire to write to him. She used to do so monthly, putting in ink her concerns and her hopes and her life and the mistakes she knew she made. And he would write back chastising her for doing something petty and silly and then comforting her with knowledge that she could make up for her faults. She wrote once about the way she won arguments; he told her he found it deplorable, but it would serve her well in the court.
His disappointment, however far removed it was, still made her flush with shame. She had torn her friends heart out so that she could twist it to her own will, and was as angry and upset with herself as she knew Boromir would have been. But what could she do? She could not turn back the flow of time and make it so that she had not said the things she did.
She sat at her mirror for some time, trying to justify her actions to herself while knowing she could not. She did not notice anything beyond her own reflection, and even that image seemed altered somehow. So when she stood and turned back to the waking world, she was surprised to see a wreath on her window sill, beside the one which had been eaten.
It was not an elegant one, simply a few field flowers and twigs, thin and somewhat pathetic. But a a gift, however small, gen to one who does not deserve it can bring a smile to that person's face, and so Lírien resolved to go down to the stables the following morning.
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Please, please review! Especially if you added this story to your alerts/favorites. I also know many of you may not be to fond of Lírien following this; keep in mind one of my goals is to avoid Mary Sues. Lírien has flaws, and they aren't tiny inconsequential ones
