Chapter 25

Dol Amroth, October the 1st, 3020

Holdwyn cautiously pushed open the door and sneaked her head inside: a couple of maids were busy chopping vegetables while a few young boys were piling small barrels of wine against the wall. She silently stepped inside and walked around, looking for Colhel's familiar features, but the only face she could recognize was the one of the girl at the table, pretending to be too busy chopping pickles to have noticed her.

Long dark brown hair, doe's eyes, a corner of her mouth constantly lifted, like she was mocking the whole world: Saerdir.

If she had to name one positive thing about Walda being back in Edoras and awfully far from her, was that at least he was far from the little viper as well. Not that she didn't trust him, but the woman's subtle approaches and veiled advances had been more than enough to earn her a place in the category tramps I'd rather see at the furthest distance from my future husband.

She had no mood to speak to her, but it did not seem like she had many other choices.

Luckily for her however, Prince Imrahil unexpected entrance into the kitchen saved her the trouble: "Good morning, Holdwyn".

"My Lord".

The three of them eyed each other. Saerdir probably wondering what was the Prince doing in the kitchen. The Prince presumably trying to estimate the odds that the two of them would jump at each other's throat, given their rather notorious reciprocal disdain. Herself, wondering if it was inappropriate to inquire the Prince about his cook's whereabouts.

Ah, well.

"My Lord, I was wondering if you have seen Colhel around?".

He arched an eyebrow: "I believe she is on her way to the market. Why, is something amiss?".

Damn, I'm too late!

Her shoulders slumped as she shook her head: "No. It's just…I wanted to ask her if she could cook something special for today's dinner…".

"Meaning?".

"Well, I remember Lothíriel once told me about this kind of fish. She spoke a whole afternoon about it, saying it was her favourite food and the one she would miss the most in Rohan. So, since this is our last evening here in Dol Amroth, I was wondering if maybe Colhel could cook it for her. Who knows", she said, sighing deeply, "might even lift her spirit, even if just for a while".

Might even bring back our old Lothíriel, she thought for herself. Yes, for it had been almost three weeks since they had arrived in Dol Amroth and, at the moment, she couldn't even recall the last time she had spoken with her. With Lothíriel, the real Lothíriel.

One could not say things had gone smooth in Harad, and yet she had not given up then. But ever since their fateful ride on the Pelennor Fields, the girl she had come to know as simply Lothíriel , had vanished into thin air. Of that formidable young woman whom she had been eagerly awaiting to call my Queen, that little tornado who had taken Meduseld by storm, conquering their hearts one after the other with her enthusiasm, her intelligence, her sensitiveness, her fighting spirit, there was nothing left.

A scrawny shell, that's what she resembled more and more, for each day that passed.

The Prince gently squeezed her shoulder and offered her his arm: "Come, Holdwyn. Walk with me".

Their footsteps echoed in the sunny portico, the soothing sound of the fountain filled the air, disturbed here and there by the calls of the seagulls flying over the palace.

Dol Amroth was easily the most beautiful city she had ever seen. Edoras would always held her heart, sure. And Minas Tirith was impressive, of course. But Dol Amroth had something special about it.

It wasn't nearly as messy as the capital of Gondor, and yet its shores were lively and vibrant, colourful and perky. And the sea…the first time she had set foot on a boat, she had thought there could not possibly be anything more awful than that. How wrong she was. Seen at due distance, that vast expanse of water had something almost magical, mystical. One day it could be calm and quiet, the sound of its waves breaking along the shores filling her with a sense of peace and melancholy at the same time. The next it could be angry and tumultuous, reminding them how little and insignificant they were when confronted with his majestic strength.

"So, what's the fish you had in mind?".

"I'm not sure it's a fish, actually. As far as I understood, it's more like a crab…a big crab?".

"Ah, yes. Lothíriel has always loved lobster. Children rarely like it, but she has always been fond of it, for as long as I can remember. And stubborn as she is, she has always pretended to open it on her own, or at least to try. I've lost count of how many gowns she has ruined in the process...". The Prince stopped, a smile on his face as he dived into old memories: "I remember once, she found a lobster's tail among the leftovers of the previous dinner. She stole it and started running around the palace with this tail in her hand, stealing a bite here and there before Elphir could catch her".

"She must have been a handful…".

"A handful?! Ah, you have no idea, Holdwyn. Between her and Amrothos, there is more than enough to explain all these white hair!".

She laughed softly as they walked for a while longer, until they eventually circled the portico and got back to where they had started their stroll. The Prince stirred her towards the garden and, soon enough, the warm rays of the autumnal sun were shining over them. Compared to her first visit to Dol Amroth, back in spring, there were way less flowers painting the sides of the cobbles' paths. But the garden was just as beautiful, if not more.

"I'm glad you've decided to stay with her until next spring".

"It's nothing, my Lord…".

"Don't diminish what you are doing for her, Holdwyn. I know you two became very close and the knowledge that you will be at her side over the next months, is more than a little comfort".

"I could not leave her, my Lord. Not after…". Not after my King completely lost his mind.

The Prince pensively raised his head towards the blue sky above them: "Do you think it's a good idea, to let her go to my sister?".

"I…I hope so, my Lord. Maybe the change will do her good".

"Maybe".

They continued in silence until they reached the terrace at the far end of the garden. As usual on the morning, a soft breeze blew from the awakening city and towards the sea. A few ships were sailing away and the market looked already busy and loud.

"My Lord?".

"Yes, Holdwyn".

"Will there be consequences? For Rohan, I mean…".

"No, my Rohirrim girl: you had luck. Were Amrothos to be in charge of Dol Amroth, he would already be sieging Edoras and asking for your King's head. But Elphir is way too diplomatic for that and Aragorn…well, he considers him like a brother, despite everything".

"And what of you, my Lord?".

"As a Prince, I respect him and recognize him his merits. As a father, I'd rather not see him, ever again".

She could not blame him, really. Herself, she felt so torn.

On the one side, Éomer King: the man who had spent his life fighting for Rohan, who had inherited the throne after seeing their previous King, a man whom he considered like a father, perishing on the stage of one of the biggest and cruellest battles of their time. The man who had guided them through harsh times and towards a new renaissance.

And on the other, a man who had proved unable to cope with what had happened in that cursed Southern war. Who had selfishly thrown all the faults on the one person who had been trying for the longest time to warn them all, on the one person he owed his life to. Shuttering her feelings, destroying her confidence, making a shadow out of the woman he had professed to love for the rest of his days.

Rohirrim would always love him. For he was, indeed, a great King. But herself, she wasn't sure if she would ever be able to forgive him, if she would ever be able to look at him without seeing Lothíriel's blank eyes as Erchirion dragged her out of the King's carriage.

She deserved more. Lothíriel deserved more but, at that point, she wasn't sure whether she would ever wish to have more, to be more.

"Holdwyn?".

"Yes, my Lord".

"I will send somebody after Colhel, so that she may buy what she needs. And I'd like you to join us for dinner, later today. Who knows, you might even come to like the big crab".

Lothíriel sighed and rested her head back on the door as it finally closed, the silence and darkness of the room enveloping her.

How she wished they would let go. Sometimes, she felt like one more word or recommendation, and she would fall into hysteria.

Holdwyn's persistence that she should eat more. Lamhel's proposal to visit a seamstress to have her gowns refitted. Her aunt's insistence to have her doing stuff, whatever that was. The healer's reluctance at replenishing her sleeping potion's stash.

Why didn't they just let her be?

The shoulder strap of her gown slipped down for what felt like the thousandth time that day, almost as if willing to remark the legitimacy of Holdwyn and Lamhel's advises. Frustrated, she frantically unfastened the laces of her dress and let it fall on the ground, hurrying to the bed without even caring about wearing her nightgown. She chugged down the content of the cup on her nightstand and sunk into the bed, pulling the blanket all the way up to her chin as shivers already shook her body. She curled up, hugging her knees to her chest, and forced her eyes closed: the best part of the day was always preceded by the worse.

All her life, she had never drunk sleeping potions. The only exception had been that cold night in Edoras when, in the attempt of taking her life, a whole trail of blood had been left behind her. And yet, she had failed to understand, to intuit that she was getting into something way bigger than her, something she should have never got involved with in the first place.

She snuggled deeper under the blanket, her teeth chattering: how could she feel so tired, so exhausted, to the point of being barely able to walk and keep her eyes open, and yet so bloody awake once in bed, she would never understand. She covered her ears with her hands and squeezed tighter her eyes: in those long, endless minutes until the potion would finally start to kick in, her head was a tumultuous whirlwind of thoughts and memories, of sounds and regrets.

You are addicted to that concoction, her aunt had thundered only a few days earlier.

And right she was: just, what she could not understand, was that right then that concoction was the only thing that kept her going, the only thing that could grant her a few hours of break from her misery and her guilt. She had tried to stop taking it, but all she had achieved was to spend hours tossing in her bed and, when she had eventually fallen asleep, nightmares had gripped her mind to the point of startling her awake, screaming and crying.

She could not even start to imagine what her aunt would say, were she to discover that she had smuggled more than a bit of the herb from Dol Amroth, so that she could strengthen the healer's brew without anybody noticing.

And that wasn't nearly all. Just a few days earlier, everybody had seemed beyond relief when she had declared that she wanted to go for a walk to the nearby market. They hadn't even insisted too hard on going with her, choosing instead to be content that she would have taken a couple of guards with her. She could feel them: the hopeful glances her aunt, Holdwyn and Lamhel had thrown at each other. In reality, she simply desperately needed to get more of the blessed brew, because ever since she had started to sip it at day as well, her stocks had started to diminish at an alarming pace. It had taken her some thought to find a way to ensure that the guards wouldn't see nor report anything suspicious to her aunt, but when it came to that, her motivation was unparalleled.

The only thing she was struggling more and more with, was to keep herself from drinking too much of it: were she to spend entire days in bed, it would only be a matter of time before somebody would realize what was going on. The key was to drink enough to dull her senses and her perception of reality, enough to blur her mind, without impairing her ability to keep awake and pretend to be somewhat lucid.

But, for each day that passed, it felt harder and harder. For each day that passed, she needed to drink more of it in order to get the same result.

I was here, but I wasn't at the same time. I wasn't able to envisage that I would ever be feeling cheerful again, nor I was expecting to be.

She could see it: Edoras' library, a lively fire burning in the hearth, Éomer standing a few feet from her, battling his own demons and trying to explain her how he felt. She could still taste his lips, feel his strong arms lifting her off the ground…

Suddenly gasping for air, she snapped up and kneeled next to the bed, squeezing her hand under the mattress. She probed with her fingers but all she could feel was a soft, fluffy texture.

No, no, no!

She slipped another hand in, stretching her arms in front of her and spanning them around, already starting to panic, to sob uncontrollably. Relief flooded through her veins as she finally caught touch of the familiar rugged cotton, pulled it out and open on the cold floor. The simple idea of preparing an infusion seemed utterly unbearable in that moment. Instead, she stuffed her mouth with a few of the dried leaves and, trying to ignore their bitter taste, chewed them at length before eventually swallowing them with some water.

Coming morning, she would regret it. She already knew, she knew that eating the herb was dangerous, that she would be left for a whole day with a terrible stomach ache, that she would have to find an excuse to explain it to her aunt. But, right then, it could not be helped. Chewing on the leaves might have been a risk, a disgusting risk, but that way their effect would come sooner, the numbness would take her away easier.

She carefully folded the remaining herbs back into their package and put it back under the mattress, mindful that it was far enough from the edge that the maids wouldn't notice it when making her bed. Her eyelids were getting heavier, thinking was already starting to get difficult, but there was one last foresight she needed to have in order to prevent her aunt and Holdwyn to suspect anything: she probed her teeth with her tongue to ensure there weren't leaves' pieces stuck into them and checked carefully that no trace was left on the ground. Once satisfied, she barely had the energy to climb back on the bed before the world around her and, most of all, inside her, started to disappear.

Two weeks. It had been only two weeks since a small group of Swan Knights had escorted Lothíriel 's carriage into the courtyard of her Lebennin's residence. And from the very first moment, there had been no doubt the severity of the situation.

Her trustful maid had helped her out, almost upholding her as they climbed the few stairs leading up to the Hall. She had barely mumbled her a greeting before excusing herself, saying that the trip had tired her and that she wanted to retire earlier.

It had been barely noon.

She had stared at her back, as she slowly disappeared down the corridor, Holdwyn diligently following her. Imrahil had written her, had told her what was going on, had tried to prepare her. But how could have she possibly be prepared for that?

Her nephew, her precious, beloved nephew.

She loved Elhpir, and Erchirion, and Amrothos, and Boromir, and Faramir. But Lothíriel. Lothíriel had always been special. She had been there the day she had come into this world and the moment those perky, lively eyes had opened and looked up at her, she knew she would have loved her like no other.

She had always been there for her: for her first trembling steps on the beach of Dol Amroth, to hold her and sooth her after the death of her mother, to stem her brother's attempts at curbing her sparkling personality and making a perfect Gondorian princess out of her. For she was so much more than that. So much, that she knew she would always feel out of place in the strict society they were living in, for people were not ready for somebody like her, a young woman with an important name, who wanted to play her own game and autonomously decide the road she wished to walk on, without letting stereotypes and prejudices influencing her.

That was why, when Lothíriel had written her that she was to marry the King of Rohan, she had been happy for her.

She remembered him from the celebrations in Minas Tirith: a fine young man and a fish out of water. She had spent a whole evening observing him as he turned down one father -and daughter, of course- after the other, his expression varying from deep furrow to extreme surprise, depending what he was confronted with. He had stirred her curiosity, this young King. And so, on the next occasion, she had approached him.

For all the rumours about their barbarian northern allies, she had been pleasantly surprised to find a mannerly, courtly man. One who did not indulge in smiles and who enjoyed plain speaking way too much to ever feel at ease in the jungle of the Gondorian nobility.

She had never given too much thought about which type of man could have suited Lothíriel, but after receiving the announcement of their betrothal she had found herself agreeing that he was most probably a fine match. Valorous and brave like her father and brothers. King of a land with far less restrictions than Gondor when it came to women. Smart and with a quick wit, just like her. And if at times he was a bit too serious, Lothíriel's sunny personality would easily compensate.

Ashes. Ashes was all that was left of that dream.

Sometimes, she couldn't help but thinking that it would have been better if he had never awoken, if he had died in that tent in Harad. Lothíriel would have mourned him, grieved for him, but she would have eventually moved on with her life. The memory of the man he was, of the love they had shared, the awareness that he would have wanted her to be happy, would have comforted her.

But this. This was way worse.

Lothíriel had never spoken about what he had told her. In fact, she had barely spoken at all. But Holdwyn had reluctantly given her a rather detailed account of what had happened that day. Not even once had her eyes risen from the ground as she recounted of his madness, of his foolish accusations, as if the shame of her King was her shame too.

For a man like him, finding himself suddenly unable to even stand up from the bed must have been a heavy blow. But nothing could justify his reaction, nothing could justify his words, nothing could explain his anger towards Lothíriel. She wasn't the hand behind his poisoning, she had risked her life just to give him a chance at surviving, she had been ready to give up her life as a Princess to follow him to Rohan, to be his wife regardless of his condition. Instead, he had chosen to push her aside, not even considering her worth enough to give her an explanation. Valar knows for how long the bloody coward had been feeding on his resentment, blaming her for having entered his life, for having started Lord Arondir's deranged retaliation. As if it was her fault, as if he didn't know how hard she had been on herself already after the death of Gamling and Andes.

Lothíriel had written her many letters during her stay in Edoras, expressing the guilt she felt for everything that had come to pass, the fear that she might have acted out of her place and caused all those deaths. She had been insecure, fragile. She had doubted her own actions, her own skills. But a fighter she had always been, and fought she did.

But now, that insecurity, that fragility, seemed to have won, her spirit crushed under the weight of Éomer's words.

She had tried, she had tried it all. Over the past two weeks, herself, Holdwyn and Lamhel had put on a collective effort at trying to bring her back. But nothing had worked, nothing had even got a response out of her. And for each day that passed, the concerns for her mental well-being were inexorably being surpassed by those for her physical health. No matter the delicacies she would ask her cook to prepare, Lothíriel would rarely eat more than a bite, indulging all too often in generous goblets of red wine. And while the healer had assured her that the amount of sleeping potion he was giving her was not enough to cause any side-effect, the fact that she could not sleep without it worried her.

She leaned outside of the window: there she was, sitting on a chair in the garden, sipping tea from a small cup and pretending to be reading something. Holdwyn on one side, knitting what looked to be a tiny pair of slippers. Lamhel on the other, cradling her baby and humming him a lullaby. It could have looked like a lovely picture to somebody who didn't know what was going on, if it wasn't that Lothíriel's book was clearly upside down and, from what she could tell, at the same page since the last time she had checked on them, almost an hour earlier.

Lady Lamhel sighed contently as she walked down the corridor, feeling almost excited at the prospect of having a couple of hours for herself and, at the same time, slightly guilt for it.

She remembered that day in Harad, when she had first spoken with Lothíriel. She remembered telling her that she didn't want the child growing in her womb. And she meant it, really. How could have she known, how could have she even imagined how the world would have changed the moment she had held him to her chest for the first time, the moment his tiny, little hand had clutched around her thumb, the moment those big dark eyes had looked at her.

Life was not over. Life had just begun. And with it, of course, the hurdles of motherhood.

She had always given for granted that a noblewoman like her, would be helped by nurses. That was how it had always been in her home, and in the ones of her friends. But Galdir's birth had somehow allowed her to be reborn, to have a second chance in life. And she didn't want to miss anything, she wanted to be there for each and every little conquest he would achieve in his path to adulthood, to becoming a noble, righteous, young man.

Six weeks and a half later, she was still firmly convinced about her choice. Her body, not quite so.

Galdir's demanding schedule of night feeding was starting to make its mark, leaving her permanently strained and boneless tired. And with everything that was going on, it was no surprise Lady Irviniel hadn't noticed her fatigue, hadn't offered some help: indeed, they had more important matters at hand. That was why it had been with no small amount of surprise and, at the same time, relief, that she had welcomed Holdwyn's offer to look after Galdir for a few hours that afternoon.

To be honest, she felt like Holdwyn needed a break from her daily routine nearly much as her. In the four weeks since their arrival, the girl had been Lothíriel's shadow, trailing her everywhere, trying everything that came to her mind to lift her mood and bring a smile on her face.

But it was like trying to tear down the walls of a fortress with your bare hands: the people inside it won't even notice you are there.

That's how it was with Lothíriel.

She herself had tried to help her, to no avail. The only rare moments when she seemed, if not more at peace, at least less tormented, were those she spent with Galdir. Could she be sure that she would carefully look after him, she would have proposed her to babysit him for a few hours. But sometimes, when she looked at her, she wondered how lucid she really was: spending hours looking at an upside-down book or staring into a wall, hardly spoke in her favour. And yet, some why, Galdir seemed to like her: never once had he cried when she was around him, preferring instead to look at her, to follow her every move with his frisky eyes, eventually giving her a toothless smile whenever she would look back at him.

She had thought about it. Thoroughly. And for the sake of her, she just couldn't find the sense of it.

How could Éomer King blame her for his condition? Her father, her hideous, plotting, greedy father was the only one to be blamed. Lothíriel's attempted murder, the death of her maid and her friend. Her mother's death. The war with Harad. The poisoning of King Elessar's wine. His, was the hand behind it all. Why would he think her responsible? How could he hate her? How could he have ever even loved her, if his feelings had been so quick to dissolve?

Even more: how could she believe his accusations?

It scared her. Whenever she looked at Lothíriel, all she could think of, was that it could have been her. Hadn't it been for Galdir, for the light he had brought into her life, it could have been her. He had given her a reason to move on and to look once again at the future with hope and determination instead of helplessness. But who did Lothíriel have, who could prompt such change, who could revive her and bring her back to her family, to her friends?

Her mood tampered, the smile on her face gone, she strode across the Hall and headed towards her bedchamber. But just as she rounded the corner, something caught her eye. Something that wiped the idea of having a bath completely out of her mind.

The lilting sound of the booted steps of four guards resonated in the corridor as they headed towards the stairs. Two at the front, two at the back, almost in formation. And, in the middle, a hooded figure, whose boots she would recognize everywhere, for she had stared at them every morning in Harad, a silent, accusatory reminder of all that wrong in her life.

That can't be!

She covered her mouth, trying to silence a gasp of surprise as she dodged behind a wall and out of sight. When somebody suddenly came up behind her, she nearly jumped out of her skin: "Ah, Lady Lamhel, here you are! Your bath is ready. Do you need some assistance at wash…oh my, Lady Lamhel are you feeling unwell? You look pale!".

You would also look pale, had you just seen a ghost!

"No, no. I'm fine. I was just on my way to my room and no: I don't need any help. In fact", she said, trying to look as calm as possible, "I'd rather have nobody disturbing me while I bath".

The young maid frowned: "Are you sure, Lady Lamhel? You don't even want me to wash your hair?".

She needed to get rid of the girl, the sooner the better: "Yes, I'm sure. Actually, I'd like you to go to the solarium and see whether Holdwyn needs anything while she cares for Galdir".

"But…".

"Now, if you don't mind".

The girl didn't seem particularly convinced, but nodded her head nonetheless and headed down the corridor, turning towards her a couple of times, a confused look on her face.

She waited until she had disappeared from view and then she quickly sneaked behind one of the columns, trying to catch a glimpse of the group of guards and their guest. No luck, but following the sound of their march up the stairs was easy enough.

She walked up, mindful to be as silent as possible, and corner after corner she followed them, until the sound of a heavy door closing suggested her they had reached their destination: Lady Irviniel's study. And a quick glance to the two guards who stood outside of it, told her she had no chance to get any closer to that door

The library! I need to get into the library!

She breathed deeply and smoothed the skirt of her gown, trying to calm down her nerves and look as normal as possible while she walked down the aisle and towards them. She wouldn't normally greet guards so she passed them without a word, but she only managed to do two steps before being stopped: "I'm sorry, my Lady, but we can't let you in the library. Orders of Lady Irviniel".

She put on her most innocent-looking expression: "Oh, I'm sorry. But I just have to retrieve a book, I shall be quick, don't worry. They won't even realize I was there from Lady Irviniel's study". She tried to pass the guard and enter the library, but the man was not easily fooled.

"I have to insist, Lady Lamhel. Nobody is to enter Lady Irviniel's study, nor the library".

She was already mentally cursing Lady Irviniel's diligent guard, when something came to her mind: the balcony!

She briskly apologized to the man and hurried back down the stairs and, from there, to the garden.

There it was!

Lady Irviniel's study was adjacent to the library and indeed a door connected the two rooms. Alike the study, which was only lightened by two high windows, the library had a beautiful balcony overlooking the garden. And just a few meters from it, a giant oak had grown over the decades, its branches lapping upon it.

She remembered that when she had first arrived there, she had wondered why had nobody got rid of the tree. It was definitely too close to the palace, its imposing shape completely shading more than one room. And all in all, it did not really seem to fit the garden.

But, as she had soon learned, Lady Irviniel loved that tree. Sometimes, she would spend hours sitting on the balcony, reading a book and entertaining herself with the diverse, colourful fauna inhabiting its strong branches. The lowest one was just as high as her chin, and conveniently sided by a bench: she had no intention of breaking her neck but really, even a blindfolded kid could climb that tree. Which meant the odds that she would also manage were somewhat higher, even though she had never done such thing in her whole life, not even as a child.

She looked around to ensure nobody was passing by and then, after having carefully hidden her shoes in a bush, she resolutely stepped on the bench. To be honest, the moment she heaved herself up the first branch, she seriously considered jumping down and go looking for Holdwyn. The girl was surely more agile than her and she had no doubt she would have been glad to help. But she had already lost so much time: for all she knew the conversation in Lady Irviniel's study could be already over!

Come on, Lamhel!

Carefully, she took a couple of steps on the branch, until she found a point from which she could get to the next one. It turned out to be easier than expected and, soon enough, her feet touched the hot surface of the library's balcony.

There, a thought flashed her mind: oh dear, I hope the window is open!

She looked back the way she had come from: there was no way she would go down the same way! She held her breath as her hand cautiously pushed the glass and…it was open! She quietly slipped inside and tiptoed towards the door connecting the library with the study.

She felt a pang of guilt as she pressed her ear on the door to eavesdrop at least a bit of what was being told in the next room: Lady Irviniel had been so good to her.

She didn't know where she would be without her: ever since arriving in Minas Tirith, she had always been by her side, supporting her, pushing her, never allowing her to get down, showing her one day after the other that she had still a life worth to be lived, teaching her not to care about others, encouraging her to make her own choices.

And now there she was, sneaking behind her back, giving in to her curiosity. But it could not be helped: she needed to know what was going on. She needed to know whether it was really him. She needed to know how could he possibly be there, and why!

She owed much to Lady Irviniel. But she wasn't the only one with whom she felt in debt.

She tried to focus and slowly, her ear's sensitivity adjusted and started to pick up fragments of conversation. Further adjustments were not needed, for the tones soon grew loud and heated, enough to be probably heard back in the corridor as well.

She realized she was holding her breath and briskly stood back, staring at the door for just a moment before storming out of the library and back to the balcony.

Forgive me, Lady Irviniel, but you are wrong!

Author's notes: surprise surprise! I was so happy about receiving so many feedbacks from the previous chapter, that as soon as I found myself with some unexpected free time, I started writing the next one! And, as usual, it came out quite differently from what originally planned, though I quite like it (hopefully you do as well). As mentioned, I thought about sticking with Lothíriel's POV for a couple of chapters but, in the end, I thought it would do for a nice change to see things through the eyes of the people around her

Now: I know this chapter isn't probably what you all wished for, but I didn't want to rush things (which things, we have yet to find out!). And hopefully, Lamhel's weird encounter was enough to stir at least a bit of curiosity. ;)

heckofabecca: welcome back, I've been missing your reviews! And yes: Éomer's most definitely being an ass. No doubt about that (nor justifications, for the matter). We will see how things will evolve… (tight-lipped author).

QueenOfMyOwnWorld: thanks! I have to admit I was a bit unsure about it: at first I actually wanted to write it more explicitly, but I didn't really like what was coming out so I ended up scrapping it and went instead for something different that, to me, seemed to convey perfectly what happened and its consequences on Lothíriel.

Guest: mission accomplished! ;) Sorry for the beyond depressing chapter (and for yet another one, I guess), I will try not to keep you waiting for too long until the next update!

villaspa: happy you are liking it so far and, as already said: credit to you guys as well for this quick (at least for my standard) update!

Guest: I know, I know…tons of angst! :o

Catspector: thanks! Your mention about diplomatic relations actually convinced me about adding a Holdwyn-Imrahil dialogue, so that I could give a bit of perspective into that direction as well. I wasn't really sure how I wanted Lord Arondir to end up: I thought about having him somehow killed or simply leaving him on the run. But I felt some closure was needed and Lady Lamhel was perfect for that. We will see whether she will be able to put the past behind her or not…

Cricket22: I feel you. Whenever I see a new story from any of my favourite authors, I'm always like shall I read it or shall I better wait? But I'm glad you found my story before its end, for then I can make use of your review to further motivate me! I honestly never considered having Lothíriel staying with Aragorn and Arwen, though I have to admit that it would have been an interesting development. I decided to have her going to Dol Amroth partially because Aragorn and Arwen have had so far a marginal role and I didn't really feel like dragging them in now, but also because I thought that, as a father, Imrahil would have rather brought her home. And, if not home, among family anyway (meaning Lebennin). Also, I have to admit that I have a soft spot for Walda and Holdwyn and will definitely consider adding his POV in the future!

LittleMariechen: aww thank you! I'm afraid we have a bit of another cliffhanger here but well…let's hope next update won't take too long! ;)

Menelwen: yes, I know, and trust me that it was quite a tough chapter to write! I absolutely agree: he went from love to hate in the blink of an eye (well…almost at least…the events of chapter 24 span over a period of about a couple weeks, all distances considered) and he behaved like a gigantic coward. And just like you had foreseen, Lothíriel is quite losing her mind over it… I must say I originally planned the Lady Lamhel bit to take place in the next instalments and to dedicate this chapter fully to Lothíriel. But after all the angst, I felt like things needed to be rushed a bit. I hope it will still lead to a nice result!

Ireumimwoyeyo: sorry! :o (though I admit I'm a bit flattered! :D ). Well, let's look at the bright side: at least you didn't have to wait too long for this chapter!