Dear readers,
Lothíriel continues to be on hiatus, but I wanted to give you something. Thank you, Carawyn, for beta-ing for me all those months ago. More notes and an explanation will be at the end of the chapter.
Foolish Preparation
Along the jagged coastline of Dol Amroth, sheltered beneath the cliffs, there was a single stretch of sandy beach connected to the palace via a set of overgrown steps from the gardens. Crawling around the rocks like a peach yellow snake, it was about a quarter of a mile long and so thin that during the high tides of the storm season it would often be completely swallowed by the sea. It was no good for swimming, because the bay here was plagued with jellyfish, but it was a fine place for sunbathing, and dipping one's toes in the water on a hot day. This early in the morning the sand was cold under Lothíriel's feet, and the rocks cast strange long shadows on the water.
Ever since she had returned to Dol Amroth, Lothíriel had come here at the break of dawn three times a week to meet Hinnor for her lessons. And here, far away from curious eyes, amidst the perfect calm of the morning waves, before even the first fishing boats took to the water, Lothíriel was taught how to escape the grip of an assailant, to wield a knife and where to kick to do the most damage. As if the very notion of a Princess of Dol Amroth learning how to defend herself was scandalous. As if the foundations of Belfalas would crumble if anyone found out she could fight back. Well, fight back a little, thought Lothíriel, as Hinnor once again managed to trip her and she fell to the sand with a dull thud. Her left knee, still scraped from two days ago, throbbed painfully at the impact. She rolled over as quickly as she could, but before she could scramble to her feet, she felt his large hand close around her wrist and she was dragged to the ground once more.
He loomed over her now: a broad chest and slim hips, a smile like a wolf, and keen black eyes. He had said not to hold back, and so she did not. She used the momentum the fall had given her to aim a kick to the back of his left knee. Her foot made contact, and for a moment he faltered, and Lothíriel reached for the knife she had dropped earlier when Hinnor had twisted her wrist. Not fast enough. Hinnor had already recovered and kicked the knife well out of her reach. With a triumphant gleam he bore down on her, and Lothíriel realised she was running out of options. She dug into the sand and flung a handful into his face.
It was never hard to imagine Hinnor as a malicious attacker. Even though she had known him all her life and he was a high-ranking member of her father's household, he had shown little interest in the family's domestic life, and even less interest in Lothíriel herself. He took his meals alone, and spent his nights at inns and taverns, talking softly over cups of cheap and watered wine. Indeed, Lothíriel suspected that her father would not appear half so all knowing if it were not for Hinnor's wanderings.
Lothíriel continued to hurl scoops of sand at him, the taste of damp and salt now heavy on the air. Hinnor used one arm to shield his face, but otherwise seemed barely slowed down. With his other hand he grabbed both her wrists and dragged them behind her head.
"I can do anything to disable you now. A kick to the stomach. A blow to the head. Or this." He yanked at her arms and dragged her across the sand and then the knife was in his hands and dangling over her eyes. "And what can you do?"
If she would try to get away now, she would break her own arms. "Insult your ancestors?"
"Nothing. You can do nothing."
A lot of Hinnor's training consisted not so much of practicing moves and kicks, but of instilling awareness: where was the danger, what could she use as a weapon, how could she turn the situation to her advantage. Lothíriel, who had always imagined she would be great at fighting if she could be bothered to try - and this was not groundless, for she was fast, agile and strong - was quite disappointed that Hinnor did not even think it worth trying to teach her how to wield a sword or win through strength of arms.
He had announced that today would be their last lesson. "Your wedding is less than two weeks away now, and you will want to look well. No scrapes anywhere. No bruises."
The speech had made her flush, to her private annoyance. She took pride in being unruffled about her wedding night, but the closer the day came, the more she felt she might well turn into a trembling bundle of nerves like any other insipid maiden before the end.
"Very well," had said Lothíriel, drawing a smirk from deep within. "What will we do?"
A lesson in humiliation, apparently.
"You made a mistake. What was it?"
"I let you disarm me."
"No."
"I let you disarm me twice."
"That was not smart. But before."
Lothíriel reversed her moves in her head. "I should have side-stepped left when you grabbed my arm."
"Wrong again."
"What then?"
"You attacked me."
"Was my balance off?"
"The attack was the mistake."
"What? But you told me to attack you."
"It was foolish to try. You should have run."
"That's the lesson?"
"That's it."
Lothíriel rolled her eyes skywards. Hinnor reached out his hand, and she took it and pulled herself to her feet.
"I thought you were maybe going to teach me something really neat," she complained while brushing the sand off her leggings. "Like how to deliver a swift, quiet and clean death."
"Do you want to learn how to kill, Lothíriel?"
The question sent a shiver down her spine. It took a few moments to formulate her response. "Knowing a clean and easy way to dispose of enemies seems a valuable accomplishment to add to one's repertoire. And the people say you know how to do it."
"People say a lot, but they are wrong. Death can never be all those things. There is no way to kill that is noiseless, fast and clean. Noiseless will be messy. Clean takes skill and strength. And the quickest of murders requires a physical precision and mental fortitude you cannot imagine. No, such lessons are not for you, Lothíriel. Better you run while you can, and leave the kill to that king of yours."
"You are making me feel very helpless."
"Not helpless. You have strengths of your own, and one of them is that you are fast on your feet. But while killing is hard, dying is easy. Great ladies from great houses are as mortal as anyone else, remember that."
"Very well. Thank you for the reminder, and the beating," said Lothíriel, still shaking the sand out of her curls. "Very educational."
"You are welcome."
"Although if this is the conclusion of our lessons, I have to wonder what we have been doing all this time."
He grinned again, showing a row of pointed, yellow teeth. "Do not worry. I do not like to waste my time." He offered her a flask of strong smelling liquid, which she refused as politely as she could. He shrugged and sat down, taking a few swigs and letting the surf tickle his bare feet. "I have trained many boys with less promise than you. You are quick, and better still, you are barely slowed down by pain. This is a rare gift, you know; you get that from your father. It may save your life someday. But bear this in mind: after our lessons, you may hold your own against one assailant, provided he is slow and stupid, and on a lucky day you might escape two. Yet the world today is full of men who have lived through very dark times, who know nothing but war games, and have scraped for survival every day from before you were born. That leaves a shadow and a cruelty that cannot be erased even by overthrowing the lord of Mordor. You are no match for that." He gestured, and she sat down next to him. Then he placed a hand on her shoulder so that she was forced to look him straight in the eye. "If ever you need to kill, the best advice I can give you is to strike true. But far better you stay where you are protected. Far better, when the time comes, to run."
It was the longest speech she had ever heard out of him by far. "I - thank you. I will remember."
He released her and Lothíriel drew a breath of relief. "You did well, my lady. Another might have gone crying to her father a few times."
She smiled ruefully, rubbing one throbbing ankle and then the other. "I did consider it, but I didn't think it would do any good. After all, it was he who asked you to teach me."
"Yes, well, I think he would have preferred it if I had set you some reading, and maybe taught you how to string a bow, or toss a knife or two."
That did sound more like him. Lothíriel wondered all of the sudden for whose benefit the secrecy and early lessons had really been. "I appreciate that you did not leave it at that. Thank you for all your time and advice."
"Thank me by staying out of trouble, my lady."
"Don't worry, I intend to. In fact I am rather good at staying out of trouble. We have just been through the war of wars and I never saw a single goblin."
oOo
Once again Lothíriel was engaged in battle against one of her wayward curls. While the rest of them had this morning consented to curl outward at the ends, framing her face just the way she liked it, this one had twisted and tangled its way around her ear and now would not be pulled down no matter how she tugged at it. It was very frustrating.
"Do you want to be a widow before you are a bride?" came her Aunt Ivriniel's voice. She was still tapping at the paper in front of her, on which Lothíriel in her neatest hand had written the schedule and budget for King Éomer's visit. "You know the cloud forests are insupportably hot this time of year. Your northern king may well burn to a crisp."
"No, he won't." He would be grumpy, but many things made Éomer grumpy. It never lasted long, though, and those lands and estates offered some of the most beautiful sights of Belfalas. More importantly, they were hers, bestowed on her at birth, a part of her dowry.
"It is a dreadful and inconsiderate plan," said Ivriniel. "And uncongenial besides. You cannot just leave for two full days while so many guests have come to Dol Amroth to see you."
"That is one of the best parts. It will be very pleasant to not have all these crowds around for a few days."
"No," said Aunt Ivriniel simply. "What else?"
Every morning after breakfast, Lothíriel came to Aunt Ivriniel's solar to go over the tasks for the day, and to discuss the preparations for Éomer's arrival. And every morning, Lothíriel went into these meetings with a greater sense of dread. "The schedule is in front of you, Aunt."
"What, this is all? You have planned barely anything. You insisted on doing this yourself, Lothíriel, and I decided to trust you, and this is all you have managed to do?"
"I did not want a packed schedule. I thought we could improvise."
"Improvise? What, are you planning to entertain a king with blindman's bluff and bowls?"
"No, of course not." Although blindman's bluff was an interesting idea. Lothíriel had only played it once, with some of Amrothos's friends in Minas Tirith. It was just a little scandalous, and therefore extremely enjoyable. Perhaps there might be an opportunity.
"So what then?"
Lothíriel reviewed her list of ideas for something innocuous. "I asked Amrothos to take us for supper at the harbour." Although she had not been able to squeeze a promise out of her brother. Not yet, anyway.
"And?"
"We should certainly go for a ride along the cliffs. Otherwise, I thought we could stay at home, mostly. As you said, there are a lot of guests for me to look after. I won't have a lot of time for excursions."
"But Éomer does. You think he is happy just spending all that time loitering after you?"
"I should hope so. He is going to marry me."
"Yes. So he will have you and your mindless chatter around for the rest of his life. But he may never come to Dol Amroth again."
"Of course we will come to Dol Amroth again. Dol Amroth is my home."
"Not anymore. And he is king of his lands, and if ever he has time for visits of leisure, he has a sister in Ithilien. Your place is by his side, and to keep his home while he is away. In fact, I think it is unlikely either of you shall be here again before your father dies."
It was too harsh a truth so early in the day. Numbness swept through her from a brief clench of her throat to a tingling in her fingers. The rest of Aunt Ivriniel's lecture faded to a faint drone in the back of her head. Lothíriel felt her eyes flutter shut, and she forced them open, forced them to roll in disinterest while she studied her nails. She did not want to betray any emotion and hand her aunt any more weapons.
It was difficult, though. Her aunt had always been rather strict, but before the reprimands had always served a purpose - or at least they had been well deserved (although of course, she never did feel that way at the time.) But there was a vicious edge to her aunt's words now that had never been there before, and no suppressed smiles or offhand affection. And Lothíriel could not figure out why, nor how to please. She had tried being meek, and she had tried being proud and defiant. She had tried styling her hair in a more conservative manner, and wearing elaborate gowns even to informal suppers, but Ivriniel seemed to be the only person in the world to think less of her the more time she spent on her looks - which was pretty confounding considering how she used to scold her niece for her unfortunate features and unkempt appearance.
Aunt Ivriniel seemed done talking at last, and Lothíriel took one halting breath, then pushed it away. "So what do you suggest?"
"There should be a boar-hunt. Perhaps the day before the wedding."
"Ada would never let me go on a boar-hunt."
"Indeed he will not. Besides, what would you do on a hunt? You never learned to shoot."
"Boar are hunted with spears."
"I am pleased you know that much. Anyway, the men would find it an excellent diversion, and Borphen says they are becoming a plague. They destroyed a whole field of crops near Grascove."
"Fine. If Éomer and my brothers want to wrestle angry pigs, they can do so. It does not need planning."
"And we talked of an archery tournament."
"No."
"Lothíriel…"
"Archery tournaments are a bore."
"You should not think only of what would divert you. You should think of your lord husband's entertainment first and foremost. He is our guest after all. He might well enjoy an archery tournament."
"Archery tournaments are the most mind-numbingly dull affairs in the world to watch. And he is king, so that is all he could do."
"A demonstration of skill is very pleasing to a practiced eye."
"No, it isn't."
"He will like it."
The most irksome part was that Lothíriel suspected her aunt might be quite right. Éomer would enjoy an archery tournament. He could watch the Ithilien Rangers for over an hour without seeming bored in the least, and that was not even a contest with real stakes. But she would be bored out of her mind, sitting on the dais surrounded by ladies complaining of the sun, the wind, and their poor eyesight. "Oh very well. But then we will definitely go to the interior."
"I thought that discussion was closed."
"If he gets to do something he likes, I get to do something I like."
"You are behaving like a child. No one will thank you for it, assuming you do survive the heat and the wildlife."
"We'll bring ice, to serve with the cider."
"And did you add that expense to your budgets?"
Lothíriel had not. "I don't think we should be stingy." Ice was dear in Dol Amroth, for it had to be transported from far away mountains under a hot sun, and then kept deep in the caves in great clay containers where the humidity and the heat would not be able to reach it.
Aunt Ivriniel stared at her, eyebrows raised in displeasure. "How much, Lothíriel?"
"Well, the total will be a little higher than I put there then. Oh, and we would need a few additional carts. But it will be fun."
"The least a man may expect of a wife is that she can balance his books."
"I can balance the books."
"It is no good knowing how to do the sums if you forget to note half the expenses. Wealth is not infinite, Lothíriel."
"Is this about yesterday's supper again?" This morning, at breakfast, she had received a bouquet of wildflowers from the children at the orphanage in front of all her family. Amrothos had laughed at her, and Elphir - unbearably condescending as he sometimes got when he was stressed - had seen fit to chide her again about the expense. (Which Lothíriel thought pretty heartless considering how much the children had apparently appreciated it.) "Anyway, who knows better than I that wealth isn't infinite? I am constantly out of pocket money."
"I wonder if you can hear yourself sometimes."
"Of course. It is how I know what I am thinking."
"I can see you're very amusing this morning. Let's round this off quickly, shall we? And then we will finish inventory while your sister takes the boys for their fittings."
"Yes, aunt." She folded her hands demurely into her lap.
"You may go to Tawar-in-Anor provided you find a suitable escort and redo the budget. You will regret it, but you may go if you must. And you will discuss the archery tournament with your father. He already had some ideas for it. That's all, Lothíriel. Shall we go?"
"Father's rooms need fresh flowers, and I thought I would see to the hall as well."
"You may do that first, and then join me in the pantry."
"Yes, aunt."
"And do not forget about tea with Lady Eglanil and her daughter this afternoon."
"Oh, blast, those two. Can I bring my mending?"
"The sheets? You were to do that yesterday."
"I ran out of time."
"No, Lothíriel, I will not have you sitting there with a pile of old linen at your feet. You must do it tonight after supper."
"But that's when… Oh well, perhaps Maeneth can do the sheets."
"Maeneth has plenty of tasks."
"But…"
"Are you ill or infirm? No? Then there is no reason to pass it off to someone else."
Which meant she'd either be sitting in her room alone tonight - too dull to consider - or she'd have to take her mending along to the drawing room for their nightly drinks and games, where Amrothos would undoubtedly tease her for her domestic efforts, for trying to please their aunt, and for her crooked stitches. In truth, Lothíriel was finding her brother hard to deal with at the moment. He had always plagued and teased her, but her ability to endure it and shrug it off had somehow decided to abandon her in these weeks before her wedding.
Galweth had confided to her one night when they were putting the children to bed that she suspected Amrothos was being more than usually obnoxious because he found it hard to see Lothíriel growing up and maturing, and was afraid of losing her. But when she had confronted Amrothos with this theory, he had laughed so long and hard that it took all her self-control not to slap him. She had not talked to him for two days after that.
"That is all, Lothíriel. See to your work."
Before her aunt could change her mind and call her back, Lothíriel leapt for the door and ran out into the hallway.
Of course, Lothíriel had planned to help with inventory, as she had promised. It was important, said her aunt, for a lady to involve herself in these matters personally. It prevented dishonesty, and showed the lady of the house was not above getting her hands dirty, without resulting in actual dirty hands. However, after she had finished decorating the hall with fresh flowers, her old friend Eradir came to find her. He was a groomsman now, and a self-satisfied one besides, for he had travelled with her father and, in his words, seen and learned many things unknown to this southern backwater. He teased their old stablemaster Fanuiben, who had no patience with the follies and arrogance of youth and their newfangled ideas, and often paid the price in thrashings and long hours sweeping dung. And although Lothíriel was sure this latest altercation was entirely Eradir's fault again, it was true that he alone had worked in Minas Tirith while the Rohirrim were there, and she had put him in charge of preparations. Thus, she went down to the stables and coaxed Fanuiben until he was ready to make the necessary adjustments, inspecting all her father's chargers and Galweth's palfrey for good measure.
By that time she figured her aunt would be done counting jars of honey, and she had remembered she had promised Galweth to help her let out some of Alphros's clothes. She was just sorting through the basket to determine which to send away, and which she could herself fix tonight, when she heard the bell ring for the midday meal. She washed her hands and face and hurried down to the hall, and only when she sat down she remembered tea. There was no sign of an angry Aunt Ivriniel, nor Lady Eglanil in the hall and Lothíriel breathed a sigh of relief. Indeed, the high table looked quite desolate.
She slid into her seat beside Amrothos and asked him where father and Elphir were.
"Mmm, Lord Mithion had a personal issue to discuss with them over dinner."
"Tell me?"
"I will, for it involves you; or rather, your future homeland. His sister has a son with a man of Rohan. The lad is eighteen months old now, and as white and gold as a lily."
"Lady Mithwen? I had not heard she married a Rohir."
"She did not."
"What – a bastard?"
"One of the many born after the war."
"But why did she not wed as soon as she found out she was with child? She would not have been the only one."
"The lady did not wish to," said Galweth. "Apparently, before they indulged in … relations, she had been given to understand that he was a nobleman. Only afterwards did she learn, to her horror, that he was a mere a shepherd from the East Emnet."
"And they say the Rohirrim never lie!" said Amrothos. "It seems there is an exception when an irrepressible bosom is on the line."
Lady Mithwen did indeed have the most impressive décolleté Lothíriel had ever seen.
"It was not so much a lie but rather a misunderstanding, or mistranslation, as I understand," said Galweth. "The man claimed to have his own herd, which Lady Mithwen took to mean his own éored. Anyway, you can imagine Lord Mithion's embarrassment. He demands compensation for his sister's loss of honour."
"Oh, Éomer will just love having to deal with that as soon as he arrives," said Lothíriel with some delight at the gossip.
"And how would the future Queen of Rohan handle this delicate issue?"
"The future Queen of Rohan is far too amused at the notion of Lady Mithwen married to a Rohirric herdsman and chasing sheep across the muddy plains to be entirely objective in this case."
Lady Mithwen, she knew however, would never marry a herdsman, no matter how entertaining Lothíriel would find such an arrangement. (Mithion was one of her father's vassals; his sister a widow of almost thirty-five. Mithwen had travelled in Harad and Anórien when she was younger, considered herself very worldly and was terribly condescending for it). And it was not right to part a child from his mother, but Lothíriel could not help but think that the boy might be happier growing up a shepherd in Rohan rather than the bastard son of a barbarian in Belfalas, which is certainly how he would be regarded by most of her countrymen.
"Anyway, your father would prefer to have it settled before King Éomer's arrival," said Galweth.
"I can imagine why. More than likely Éomer will tell Mithion to stuff himself if he comes to him for compensation," said Amrothos. "He'll consider a nephew with strong Rohirric blood as payment enough. The woman was no maid, nor unwilling."
"It's what he will think, but he won't say it," said Lothíriel with a vague gesture. "He values the friendship with Gondor too highly to risk a squabble over such a trifle. He will want the best solution for the child without ruffling any feathers. He's more skilled at diplomacy than you think."
Lothíriel caught Galweth's knowing smile before she discreetly hid it behind her goblet, and puffed a cheek. Ever since Galweth had gone with her to buy some new gowns in preparation for Éomer's arrival, she had decided Lothíriel was "endearingly besotted". Which was unfair. Yes, the pile of rejected cloth had been rather large, and in hindsight she probably should not have snapped at the tailor for even daring to suggest that dowdy lace, but anyway - the right gown for the right occasion was important, whether affairs of the heart were involved or not.
"Well, Elphir definitely wants to avoid ruffling any feathers. He hopes Éomer may arrange an acceptable marriage for her in Rohan. But father is determined not to pander too much to Lord Mithion's whims."
"Elphir is a fool if he thinks a nobleman of Rohan will be jumping up and down to raise a herdsman's bastard child, especially if he gets Lady Mithwen in the bargain. I think Éomer should take an interest in the child, make sure he knows there is a place for him in the Mark when the time comes, and that he is valued by his father's people. As for her, she ruined her own prospects. She should thank her lucky stars she has a brother able and willing to take her in. She can't expect more," said Lothíriel.
"Rather harsh, Lothíriel. And no words of censure for the father?"
"What censure can there be? He did not lie. And don't forget Mithwen's bosom," said Amrothos. "More experienced men have tumbled straight into that trap."
Lothíriel spoke without much thought: "Éomer will tell him it was badly done, and he'll spend the next few months curled into a tight little ball, staring into the fire, and thinking himself a terrible excuse for a man."
"And so sounded the queen's judgment," concluded Amrothos with a grin.
"Oh hush," said Lothíriel. "Will you go for a ride along the cliffs with me this afternoon?"
"No."
"Please?"
"I'm not available. I do have stuff to do on occasion, you know."
Lothíriel wondered what this "stuff" could possibly be. It seemed to her that nowadays Amrothos spent an awful lot of time in his chambers doing exactly nothing at all. "Galweth?"
"I'm afraid I can't; there is too much to do and Amros is so fussy lately. Don't you have lessons, Lothíriel?"
Yes, weaving. Which she already loathed. She gave her head an impatient shake. "Riding is more important, isn't it? I haven't been riding in weeks."
"Don't worry, dear," said Galweth, patting her hand. "You are an excellent rider, and it's not a thing one just forgets how to do."
oOo
To Lothíriel's utter and rather selfish delight, she found her weaving tutor had left her a message that said she had sadly fallen ill and could not teach today. Lothíriel spent some time herself tying random knots on the loom until it seemed like she had made an effort, and went by the kitchen to ensure Madam Cíleth was sent plenty of fresh fruit and broth. Then she retrieved her book from her chambers and wandered down to the shore. The surf was higher than this morning; there must have been a storm further out at sea and the waves rolled across the sand in rapid swells, then pulled back and disappeared into a surge of foam.
She did not get to enjoy it for long. Dull footsteps and the rustle of silks announced the arrival of Aunt Ivriniel. Black curls streaked with silver were contained in a net set with rubies, and her dress was the colour of an early sunset.
"Where were you this morning?" she said before Lothíriel could rise to greet her.
"At the stables."
"A fishmonger arrived with thirty barrels of red snappers, and I was left looking like a fool for I knew nothing of this order. I did not even know the deal you had made with him, so I just paid what he asked - a gross overcharge." She pushed a slip of paper into Lothíriel's hands.
"It seems right," said Lothíriel, reading quickly. "That is the price I negotiated."
"It is too much."
"It's what I paid in Parth Laer, and that was further from the coast too."
"This order is ten times as large as the one you would have made there. You should have asked for a discount. And you should have been here to receive it. Like you should have been there this morning. You are ducking your responsibilities left and right."
"I was not ducking my responsibilities. As I said, I was needed at the stables to ensure everything is in order for the Rohirrim's arrival."
"That is not your job."
"Eradir asked me. Fanuiben was unsure how to house the stallions."
"There are hundreds of knights and squires here who have ridden to war with our allies from Rohan, and spent many months in the field with them. Surely you are not suggesting you know better than them based on the few afternoons you spent fooling around with Éomer-King's squire?"
"Let's not phrase it like that," mumbled Lothíriel and Aunt Ivriniel shot her a glacial glare. Lothíriel had never been serious about Aldor, who was but a boy, but she had certainly encouraged his crush, which was both fun and useful to her, and over the course of their acquaintance had allowed him a few liberties that were best not spoken of again, considering she was about to marry his king.
After an awkward moment Lothíriel spoke again: "I do not know if I know better than them, but I do know that I know, so I thought I would just… make sure." She knew that most of the Rohirrim were far more likely to worry about their horses' accommodations than their own. She also knew that Éomer had given horses to her father, whereas he had refused to even consider a trading contract with most other lords of Gondor because they failed to meet Rohan's standards. She had to make sure Dol Amroth's stables could not disappoint.
"I am sure your input was of crucial importance. And now I find you lazing about yet again. I suppose I should be thankful you are not in the nude this time."
"I am… what?" stammered Lothíriel.
"Did you think I was not aware of your little escapade yesterday?"
"I just took off my dress. I was still wearing my under garments."
"How could you do something so immodest and unthinking?"
"No one was around to see!"
"Then how did I hear of it?"
Lothíriel did not quite know how to answer that. "If they did see, it must have been from very far away."
"And were you planning to go around parading unclad when you are in Rohan?"
"Unlikely. It is quite cool even in summer."
"Lothíriel!"
"Aunt Ivriniel!" she returned in the same tone, and her aunt's eyes narrowed.
"Impossible girl. If you decide to laze around for a morning, other people will need to pick up your tasks. They do not go away just because you are sunbathing."
"It is called delegation."
"It is called indolence."
"I had no tasks."
"Lady Eglanil and her daughter have been asking for you since yesterday."
"Oh, them."
"What, ladies are not deserving of your company and graces? They are mere women; they are used to waiting?"
That chastened her. "I do not think that. You are right; I should have welcomed them, and I should not have forgotten about tea today."
Aunt Ivriniel was apparently no longer to be appeased by an apology, or simply chose to ignore her. "Another matter. A small troupe of Harad players arrived at the gates. They said they had come at your invitation."
Lothíriel clapped her hands in excitement. "They are here? Oh good! They are to join us in Tawar-in-Anor, I thought."
"I had not even given my permission for that excursion until this morning."
Lothíriel was just as good at ignoring her Aunt. "It will be so interesting for King Éomer and his men to experience some traditional music of the south."
"That is your plan?"
"Yes indeed. If that was all, Aunt, I suppose I will go and mend those sheets now. My apologies again for the misunderstandings."
"Hold on, Lothíriel. What kind of traditional music did you have in mind?"
"Oh, the usual."
"Do you mean to tell me you plan to dance?"
Lothíriel took a few reluctant steps back towards her aunt. "And what would be so bad about that?"
"Lothíriel. If you had intended to dance I can tell you now it is not happening."
"But-"
"Your father will not allow it. I will not allow it. And I can guarantee your betrothed would not allow it."
"You don't know that. You barely know him. He likes it when I dance."
"He may like to dance with you, but he will not appreciate you dancing like that."
"A demonstration of skill is very pleasing to a practiced eye," she echoed her aunt. "Dancing is a display of skill."
"I forbid it."
"But-"
"No but. Forget this childish nonsense immediately. Your prancing about will give no one any pleasure. Like you are some seven-year old schoolgirl showing off her first accomplishments."
She felt her face flush a hot red. "It is not like that."
"He is already promised to wed you. There is no need to display your wares like that."
"Display my wares? It is just a dance. Amrothos says it is fine when we are in private company."
"Your father would not say it is fine. You know this very well."
"Well, soon it will not matter what my father wants.
"You are still under your father's authority."
"Yes. As are you. Do you ask him for permission for everything? To play your melancholy tunes on the harp or the citole? Do you ask him for permission every time you come down and berate me, or set me more pointless mending just to make me miserable?"
She knew she had gone too far as soon as she had said it. She bit her lip, already imagining herself thrown into the dungeon until the very hour of her wedding. But then Aunt Ivriniel turned around, skirts swishing in the wind, and strode off without further words, leaving Lothíriel to stand on the shore alone.
For a moment, Lothíriel was unsure what to do, and wondered whether she should call after her, and make amends. Instead she tiptoed a little further into the water, and bent down to catch the rolling waves between her fingers. Everything she had done since she had returned to Dol Amroth somehow seemed to make her aunt despise her more. And that just when she had thought they might get along better now that she was grown, and soon to be a queen. Just when she had cherished a secret hope Aunt Ivriniel might be impressed with her and all she had learned. After two years at Queen Arwen's court and keeping house for her father, Lothíriel had only to look at a list of guests to see the table setting in her head and determine a menu the whole assembly would enjoy. Yes, Lothíriel knew she could still be absent-minded, but she had also found she had an excellent memory for names and faces, for remembering a man's likes and dislikes, for recalling tidbits of gossip whispered over needlework many months ago. She knew when an affair should be extravagant and deliberately complex, and when to prefer intimate and simple, and what entertainment would be suitable. She was, in fact, fairly sure she was good at this, but through Aunt Ivriniel's eyes her efforts appeared insufficient, unsophisticated or -at best- barely acceptable.
The surf played around her calves. There was a chill in the water now, and the winds blew from the north, clouds tumbling across the sky. What would Queen Arwen do? Her kindest and her best, always, no matter the adversity. She was Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, and would do no less. With a heave and a sigh, she made her way back towards the shore, her feet sinking deeper into the wet sand with every step.
Her skirts looked somewhat stained and too late Lothíriel realised the salt had ruined the fine satin, probably for good. Another blunder to add to the list. This was the problem: when Arwen was her best and kindest, she was perfect. When Lothíriel was her best and kindest, it was all crooked stitches and spoilt silks. With a groan of frustration she pulled her curls back, tied them into a messy knot, turned around once more and dove headfirst into the waves.
She resurfaced with a yelp a few counts later. The jellyfish bobbed past unhurriedly and disappeared behind a rock as Lothíriel grasped at the red lash bursting out in welts across her throat.
oOo
Author's Note:
So, what happened after my last, hopeful update on my profile page? Well, I found out I was pregnant (our first)! My husband and I are thrilled, but unfortunately the pregnancy itself has been far from easy. I had bad morning sickness all through the first trimester, which slowed me down, and then at the start of the second trimester developed some rare complications and ill-timed medical emergencies that saw me in and out of the hospital for a few months. I am home now, but on modified bed rest until the baby is ready to be born, and I may still need to have surgery shortly after.
Anyway, the story has not been abandoned (there is a first draft: the story will consist of 23 chapters, excluding the prologue and epilogue), but life can throw some twists and curveballs. I miss you, wish you all the best, and will be back with you after I have climbed this mountain. :)
