Chapter 10

The next day found Lothíriel mired in the account books of Dol Amroth and her father's castle. While her brothers and father had been away at war, she had been in control of the comings and goings of their house and city. Though she had had no formal training in bookkeeping other than her lessons in figures as a lass, she found she caught on quickly, and it was rather satisfying to make the numbers work for her, especially if they were more positive than negative.

That had not been the case during the War of the Ring, but now that they were again at peace, her father's granaries and smoke houses were again being filled to weather the next storm.

Usually, the work involved her sitting alone amidst a stack of receipts, counting off what had been received, who had done the payments, and what had been shipped off. Today, however, she was joined in the large study near the Great Hall by Éowyn, who had brought her own stack of parchment to do her duty to Ithilien.

"How goes the copper counting?" she greeted Lothíriel as she set down her books and a cup of ale. This was not one of Éowyn's favorite chores, and she liked to strike up conversation to distract herself. Luckily, Lothíriel found that talking did not affect her ability to manipulate figures.

"Well," she answered, re-dipping her quill. "The grain from our country sides are beginning to come in, and the shipments have been more than expected. I suspect we will have a good harvest. You?"

The Rohir made a face. "I will let you know when I do," she said, opening her ledger and picking up the first page from her stack.

The two sat in silence for some time, calculating, and Lothíriel found that due to the relative ease with which she could add and subtract the numbers before her, her mind had started to wander.

She thought back to the night before, to Belegorn's ridiculous notion that he could have her at his beck and call simply because he thought her father had consented to an engagement. Then back to Éothain's rude comment about herself and his king. How was it his business at all?

This thought brought her back to the mood that she had been in last night, and she again resented being treated as an object of admiration or of marriage. She was a person, Eru damn it, and she would not be treated as less.

"Éowyn, have you ever wished you were born a man?" she asked suddenly.

The other woman blinked at her from over her books, her expression slightly astonished. "Well, of course," she said. "All through my girlhood and until this past year. I still wish it at times, and I am sure I will wish it again when this one comes into the world." She indicated her belly, which was barely protruding. "Why do you ask?"

"Because…" Lothíriel paused, the words failing her. No. She knew exactly what she wanted to say, but she was not sure Éowyn would understand. "Because men are people."

At this, the other woman's look could only be described as perplexed.

Lothíriel grasped for more words. "Men are measured for what they can do. The clever ones become scholars. The strong ones become knights. The ones that have particular gifts for wood working on short notice become palace carpenters." Éowyn smiled at the last reference to all the furniture that had been re-ordered when everything even remotely heavy had been used as part of the barricade during the War and as firewood directly after. "But us. We are merely wives to these men, and we are the lucky ones because we are noble born. We get titles such as 'lady' and 'princess,' but in the end, we are destined to be no more than wives."

Anger was entering her tone now, but she did not care. "What of the women with particular gifts? We still are remembered as 'and wife' on our tombstones," she added. "I… I want more."

She looked back at Éowyn only to find a pitying expression on the other woman's face. "Our world does not work that way," she sighed, putting a hand on Lothíriel's shoulder from across the table. "Glory and fame are not for us to have. We must carve out the small pieces of happiness we can have."

The princess stared long and hard at her friend. "But 'Wyn, you are one of the few of use who has had that privilege. You defeated the Witch King! Your line in the history books has been set in ink. You will not merely be remembered as Éomer's sister or Faramir's wife, but Éowyn, Shieldmaiden of Rohan!"

Her friend looked to the ground before meeting her eyes once more. "But at what cost, Lothíriel? I broke my brother's heart. I followed a silly dream of a little girl, and now I am grown and see my folly."

Lothíriel wanted to take Éowyn by the shoulders and shake her. Surely, her strong-willed, bull-headed friend could not see her greatest moment –nay, perhaps the greatest moment for all women – as something to be ashamed of? "You did what no man could," she argued. "You proved yourself as worthy as any of them in battle!"

Éowyn smiled again. "I did. It was all that I had ever wanted, and still, I was not happy." She bent down again and looked at her work. "Strange that for a shieldmaiden of Rohan, I have found happiness in being a wife and soon-to-be-mother."

The other woman sighed loudly. "So is that it? You are saying that as women, our greatest happiness is not in glory but in being what we are told to be?"

The Rohir furrowed her brow. "Not at all, Lothíriel," she said. "On the contrary. We will never be happy doing only what we are told. I was not as a girl, for I was told I was to be nothing but second best to my brother. I had to come to a conclusion on my own. I had the opportunity that was given to men, but I found that my happiness was in being a wife." She paused. "You, however, seem quite unhappy with what has been laid out for you."

Lothíriel grit her teeth. "Perhaps I have become bold after stepping into your shoes for a change," she said simply.

Éowyn smiled. "Then fight for what you want, Lothi," she said. "I will support you even if no one else will. I know what it was like to be the one that was different." She paused once as if thinking. "But know that it will not be easy. There will be many in your path who want to stop you. You will have to persevere and even break one of the many rules that keep you prisoned."

The other woman turned back to her scratchings, thinking over what her friend had just said. In her mind, she was forming a plan.

After updating the books and seeing that they were in order, Lothíriel went to check in with her father. Imrahil liked knowing the happenings of the city, and her findings would please him. Dol Amroth was finally getting back to its prosperity from before the War. At this time, he would be holding court in place of King Elessar; many issues that the smaller courts of the city could not solve would be brought before him, but not those so big that they required the attention of the King.

Still, Minas Tirith was beginning to prosper once more, and Lothíriel knew that soon, her family would be able to go back home to Dol Amroth. While King Elessar was a good king, he was still new to his station, and that was why her father had had to stay in Minas Tirith for so long.

Knowing the proceedings of court, she knew she would have to dodge between those angered about taxes and complaining of the continued influx of refugees. Every day, more and more people found their way into the city, even though it was nearly a year since the War of the Ring. It seemed that despite the achievement of peace, there was still unrest with periodic Orc raids in the country side.

Many farmers had found their lands destroyed upon return to their homes, and so, they sought refuge and new livelihoods in the city of Minas Tirith.

It was not easy, for despite all being from the same country, Gondorians had many different customs and traditions depending on where they were from. There were even men and women who wished to enter from South Gondor. Though their lords had become allies with Mordor, the common people there were just as desolate and poor as those in the areas surrounding Minas Tirith after their lands were raided.

These men and women, Lothíriel had seen, were the most hated and feared, for it was apparent their differences from their looks. With darker skin and eyes, they were easily identified, and many shops had placed signs on their windows with the words, "No Southerlings Allowed."

King Elessar and her father had tried to be fair.

There had probably been twenty laws passed in just the last month regarding the prohibition of discriminatory actions toward these people.

"All men and women of Gondor shall be allowed to use the rivers and seas of the land without impedance, given that they are acting in accordance with the law, regardless of beliefs, customs, or place of origin," was one such law that she remembered her father penning just a few weeks ago. It had come about after a group of men had tried to ban a group of women and children seeking refuge from South Gondor from stepping off their boat to enter Osgiliath.

She made her way to the Great Hall from a back entrance, still carrying the large ledger book and left it with one of her father's counsellors when she saw the amount of people gathered. She had no desire to be seen at the moment; public appearances always exhausted her.

As she had finished earlier than she had planned, she had a few free hours before she was due to work once more at the Houses of Healing. It was not enough time to enact her plan and too much time to speak with anyone else about it, so she decided to wile away the few hours in one of her favorite places: the libraries of Minas Tirith.

As a child, she would run through the shelves of scrolls, often irritating the librarians until they realized they could quiet her with a particularly good book. She knew what she needed now, and when she reached the libraries, she went directly for the oldest histories.

The libraries were located on the seventh pinnacle, close to the Houses of Healing, and she merely smiled at the guard at the entrance to be let in. Unlike many of the other buildings on the seventh pinnacle, the library was rather unassuming. Though it appeared a drab, grayish building from the front, the inside was where the treasure lay.

Lothíriel was hit with the familiar scent of paper upon entering, and she moved with practiced ease through the stacks. There were shelves upon shelves of books and scrolls that seemed to have no order to them whatsoever, but she had been here enough times to know the secret system that the librarians kept. Each book and scroll had its own place, and to misplace a book or scroll was to bring the wrath of the head librarian, Iaurdis.

Now was not the time for the great love story of Beren and Lúthien – of course, she had always loved that story, but she did not want romance or love right now.

"Ah, here we are," she said to herself under her breath as she pulled out the aged tome from the shelf. The book would have to be copied over soon, she realized. It was raggedy around some of the pages, and the binding was coming loos. Some of the ink was barely legible on the cover. However, the pile of dust on its eaves told her that no one had read the book in a very long time.

Despite the musty smell that assaulted her when she opened the book, Lothíriel settled herself in one of the large, lumpy seats that had probably been cleaned some time in the last century. Slowly, she lost herself in the history and began to forget the troubles around her.

And... that's it for today! I know some of you were hoping just for a fluffy romance between Lothi and Eomer, but I have to add some political calculation into this story. After all, this is a story about Lothiriel and her coming of age. So hold onto your britches!