Chapter Thirteen
A Boy & a Girl
"When there's nothing but the long way 'round,
I will be beside you.
In my simplified world, we're a boy and a girl.
In my house on the hill, there is room for you still…"
—"Beside You," Phildel
Imrahil didn't speak to his daughter after arriving at their townhouse. That silence persisted for the remainder of the day. Instead of seeking her father's forgiveness, Lothíriel rushed to organize the dinner for the following evening. She spent the afternoon making lists for the kitchen and the steward, penning invitations, and working with the housekeeper to plan linens, seating arrangements, and flowers. It would be a fairly intimate affair due to space constraints, but she strove to ensure the right people were on the list. It had to be an event her father would approve of.
She'd never been so out of sorts with her father. He'd never been overly fond of his daughter, but never had it reached the point that he only acknowledged her to glower. She passed the final directive off to a manservant and collapsed against the stiff backing of her chair. Plans were set and finalized, but Lothí felt no better. No matter how well the announcement went, it wouldn't normalize things with her father.
His approval used to mean the world to her, but it was always unattainable. She'd studied the feminine arts, worked to master languages and politics, accepted the betrothal he'd arranged, and kept the city standing during the war. Sometimes Lothí thought she'd have done better for herself as a younger son because these accomplishments were never enough. She was never enough.
Something broke inside of her with the realization that she never would be. A torrent of righteous anger flooded through her, hot and coursing. The sound of breaking glass startled her from her thoughts.
A teacup lay shattered on the stone floor.
"How apt," Lothí muttered, kneeling to clean the mess. A hiss escaped her lips when a shard of porcelain pricked her finger. Scarlet droplets collected on her fingertip before she shoved the offending digit into her mouth to stem the blood flow.
"Muinthel?" Erchirion called from the doorway. His footsteps padded against the stone tiles and, the next thing she knew, he'd collected her in an embrace. "Oh, muinthel, why do you cry?"
She swiped at her cheeks, surprised when her hand came away wet. "I didn't realize I was," she said with a watery laugh. "How silly of me."
"Talk to me, Lothí," he pressed, his brow twisted with concern as he led his sister away from the mess. He called a servant to clean it up before ushering her out of the study. "Tell me what troubles you. Is it adar?"
A sniffle escaped the princess as they walked, the tears continuing of their own accord. A weight had settled in her chest and wouldn't be dislodged. It was all-consuming and bled into her heart like the spilled tea seeped into the rug.
"Why does he dislike me so?" she asked, desperate for an answer. "What have I done to so consistently be dismissed and disliked?"
"Nothing, Lothí. Adar loves you." Erchirion tried to console her, but his words rang hollow. They both knew their father simply tolerated her—she was only good to plan parties or to barter for an alliance.
"Liar," Lothí scoffed. The hard edge in her voice was blunted by the tears still clogging her throat. She pulled him to sit on the stairs leading up to the living quarters, tucked out of sight and out of earshot of the servants. It was where she'd hidden as a girl to spy on the dazzling parties her parents used to host in this house. "Is it because I'm a daughter? Was I terrible as a child? I don't understand it, Erchi."
"You didn't do anything wrong, Lothí." He ran a hand over his face, gaze distant and lips pursed tight. "I think… I think he doesn't know what to do with you—adar has always been harder on you, and you're a force to be reckoned with."
"I hardly think that's true," she sniffled with a roll of her watery eyes.
Erchirion simply shook his head at her. "After naneth died, he knew what to do with all of us except you. He sent Elphir, Roth, and I off to whack things with our swords, or sail. But you… he couldn't send you to the training fields, so he sent you away."
Lothíriel frowned at that. Everything around that time was a blur of unending tears and numbing loneliness. She could vaguely recall not eating for days no matter how Ilhan coaxed and begged. She remembered the housekeeper wrapping her arms about the young princess, enveloping her in the smell of flour and fresh herbs. The jolting carriage ride into the mountains, arriving in Lossarnach in a hazy dawn where she spent years with her aunt. Letters to her father all went unanswered until she eventually stopped writing, though he wrote regularly to Ivriniel for updates on his daughter's lessons. Never once did Imrahil offer her any comfort.
"But what does any of that have to do with now?" she asked, wiping away the tears from her cheeks. The princess trembled under her brother's arm from the toll her sadness had taken.
"Adar is a clever man, and generous to a fault," Erchi started with a sigh. "But I think, for all his cleverness, he couldn't set his own grief aside to console us. And you look so much like her…" He smiled wanly at his sister as he took her in. "Except your eyes. Those you got from adar. I think it hurts him to see so much of naneth in you. It's a painful reminder, especially as he tries to move on with the duchess."
That sent a cold wave down Lothí's spine. Goose pimples rose on her arms at that, some instinct telling her that he was right in his assessment. "You think he pushes me away because seeing me is a painful reminder?"
The prince simply nodded.
Hot anger blossomed anew like flames licking her belly. Her father had a reputation for being a just man, a kind man. That he blamed his only daughter for his unhappiness or considered her a cruel reminder of the past ran contrary to that reputation. She couldn't help looking like her dead mother. Pushing her away at every turn for something unreasonable and out of her control, even going so far as to arrange a foreign marriage just to see her gone, wouldn't solve the underlying problem.
'But that's the crux of it,' she thought, sobering just as quickly as her temper came on. 'Grief is a cruel and senseless mistress.'
However much it hurt Lothíriel to lose both of her parents when her mother died, it must have hurt Imrahil that much more. He'd lost his wife and was cruelly reminded of that lost love every time he looked at his daughter. Had he ever perked up, thinking she was her mother only to have that hope dashed? Did he ever glimpse her from the corner of his eye and see naneth, only for her to be not quite right?
Her heart twisted with pity at that thought. Her poor father. It all made so much sense—everything from her quick departure to Lossarnach to his brusque treatment of her, even his refusal to attend her official introduction into Gondorian society. His heart simply couldn't bear it. That did nothing to change the fact that she'd only been a child when he began rejecting her at every turn, but it did make it understandable.
"I still don't know if I can ever forgive it, Erchi." She rested her head on her brother's shoulder. "He's a grown man, and I was only a child. He could have handled it differently. I deserved better."
"I know, muinthel." Erchirion pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "But now it's time we get pretty for the feast. Come."
Lothí rose with a sigh. The last thing she wanted to do was attend another society event and smile prettily for hours on end, but she had little choice. After returning to her room, she ran a wet cloth over her face and chest in a bid to undo the damage crying had wrought. Shortly thereafter, Amdiris arrived to arrange her hair in a cascade of curls and placed a delicately wrought diadem—once her mother's—on her brow.
While the maid worked, Lothí lightly applied cosmetics. The ritual helped to center her and prepare her for the night to come. She would smile and make light conversation as required, applaud the many speeches she was sure would come, and generally play her part. It was tedious work, but what choice did she have? She had to be there to welcome Éowyn into the family and support Faramir's marriage. It wouldn't do to shirk this event simply because she was sad. Princesses and queens rarely had the luxury of acting on their emotions.
She barely noticed stepping into her petticoats or Amdiris lacing her into the deep sapphire gown, the silver embroidery and belt completing the picture of a princess from Dol Amroth. Lothí was simply going through the motions, her exhaustion depriving her of the joy she usually took in preening and dressing.
"You look lovely, milady," the young woman said softly, putting the finishing touches on her lady's hair.
"Thank you, Amdiris." Lothí watched her thoughtfully. With the betrothal announcement imminent, it was time she started laying the groundwork for her move to the Mark. The maid was adept at her duties, and Ilhan said the girl had no penchant for gossip. "It's more formal than what I tend to wear…"
"Maybe, but it's not every day you dine with kings and queens," Amdiris replied with a sunny smile.
"That's true enough," she chuckled. The girl's easy manner was one of the reasons Lothí liked having her about. She smiled back, feeling her usual good mood return after the bout of melancholy. "Amdiris, I have something I'd like to ask you."
"Milady?" she asked. The maid moved to face the princess with a furrowed brow.
"It's still a secret for a bit longer, but I'm to wed the King of Rohan after the new year," Lothí told her gently. Her stomach flipped with nervousness as she watched the other woman gape in surprise. "I would like for you to accompany me to the Mark as a lady's maid. The choice is entirely yours, and I'll respect whatever decision you make."
Hazel eyes nearly popped out of the maid's head at the request. "Me, your highness? As lady's maid to a queen?"
"As a lady's maid to me." Lothí couldn't stop herself from smiling as she watched the emotions flicker of the girl's face. "I trust you to keep my secrets, Amdiris, and… well, it would be nice to have a friendly face there. We know each other and how we work, Ilhan has assured me of your discretion, and I enjoy your company. I'd make sure you had an appropriate wardrobe and were compensated fairly for the change in your station. I'd also help you with the language."
"This—this… it's a surprise, highness," Amdiris sputtered. She shook her head as she took it all in. "And an honor. But… but my nan is here and in poor health. I'd like to talk with her first, and I—I need time to think."
"Of course. I know it's a lot to ask, and it would be a big change. Take all the time you need." Lothí's heart ached, knowing all too well what the maid was thinking and feeling at the request. She was being asked to leave her home, family, and friends behind for the unknown. How could Lothí be anything but understanding? Let the girl have what Lothí hadn't: time and a choice.
Amdiris shot her a relieved smile and quietly excused herself, the princess's discarded day dress slung over her arm.
Lothí gave herself a final once-over before moving to join her family. Her hands smoothed over her skirts as she settled into the carriage, watching the city lights pass them by. She was not looking forward to the feast at all. Between the nasty rumors flying and her father's dour mood, it would be a miracle if she managed to enjoy herself at all. There wasn't even to be dancing, so there was no chance of a close, private moment with Éomer. It also meant the men would speechify and stupefy the hall into oblivion. It was sure to be a dull night, and she'd have to be on her best behavior for all of it.
Her predictions for the evening proved true. It all started with King Elessar's eloquent speech about healing, unity, and brotherhood. Then Éomer spoke briefly about camaraderie, honor, and forging bonds—complete with a cheeky wink sent to Lothí before he took his seat. She fought the urge to giggle like a debutante, knowing full well that it would only earn a reproving frown from her father. Even her quiet blush had him staring sternly at her. The moment of levity was ruined, and her buoying mood sank with it.
Before much longer, men further down the social ladder rose to speak. Their words were more slurred than anything and people began to circulate, completely ignoring the ongoing oratories. Lothí stayed seated, like a dutiful wallflower, and nursed her one glass of wine. Whether Imrahil noticed her perfectly proper behavior didn't matter—while it would make her life easier, it was more important that his peers noted her demure manners. She doubted her father would see it anyway; he'd risen at the first opportunity to join the Duchess Seril and their friends on the other side of the hall. Erchirion had swiftly followed suit, eagerly seeking out the company of a certain lady from Harondor.
The Merethrond quickly filled with echoing chatter and laughter echoed off the high ceilings as the nobility circulated. The speechmakers quickly gave up, unable to speak over the din. Stone walls amplified the noise while keeping the room surprisingly cool. The stark black and white stone was a harsh contrast against the colorful raiment of the guests.
Despite her self-imposed solitude, Lothíriel couldn't help but watch her betrothed as he fell into easy conversation with his newly arrived comrades. Her brooding king smiled easily at his eclectic gathering of friends; his fellow ruler sat beside him, deep in conversation with a golden elf and a stout, ruddy dwarf. She knew them to be two members of the legendary Fellowship from her brothers' descriptions. Faramir sat among them, his cheeks rosy and smile brighter than she'd seen in years. Everything in her swelled with joy to see two of the men dearest to her heart so at peace and ease among friends. It had been a long, hard-won battle for Faramir to reach this point, and she knew Éomer's journey hadn't been any easier.
"They look content," a bright feminine voice interrupted her thoughts as the seat beside the princess was unexpectedly filled. "I'd put money on Gimli starting a drinking game."
"My lady, you startled me!" Lothí gasped. She nearly strained her neck in startlement while she whipped towards the woman settling in beside her. She was standing, the princess realized, ready to bolt from the surprise.
"Don't hurt yourself," the White Lady laughed. The sound was rich and bright—far more honest than the practiced courtly laughter of Minas Tirith. "And don't 'my lady' me. I'm Éowyn."
"Of course. Sorry." Her heartbeat slowly returned to a normal rhythm as she talked. The wry, teasing tone was a balm to her nerves. Lothí sat again, smoothing her skirts in an effort to center herself. "Please, call me Lothíriel. Or Lothí—my name is ridiculous. Does Master Gimli often partake in drinking games?"
Éowyn rolled her eyes, head shaking in amused exasperation. "Oh yes, and he always loses when Legolas plays. No one can win against the elf."
"That's… unsurprising, actually," she laughed in reply. A dainty sip of her wine fully calmed her down, and her attention slipped back to the gaggle of legends further down the table. Several pints had been arrayed before her cousin, the dwarf, and the elf.
"Béma, that fool man," Éowyn griped, clearly seeing the impending scene at the same time. She began to rise, ready to put a stop to the game.
"No, stay," Lothí said. She shook her head and gently tugged the lady back down. "Let Faramir lose tonight so that you can teach him a lesson tomorrow."
Her blue eyes narrowed, and she slowly lowered herself back down. The idea seemed to intrigue her. "What do you have in mind?"
"Let's see," the princess said, grinning devilishly. "I've woken my brothers from their hangovers by beating pots and pans over their beds, bringing them breakfasts of pickled eggs and stinky cheese, sending in maids who sing off-key, pouring icy water over them… Just be careful he doesn't throw anything—Faramir has deadly aim."
Éowyn's laughter rang out again, so free and unrepentant that some courtiers turned to stare. "My brother said I'd like you, and he was right."
"That's kind of you to say." Lothí tried to hide her pleasure by sipping her wine.
"It's the simple truth," she shrugged, absently swirling her own drink. "I was convinced I'd find no female friends in this country, but Fara and my brother both urged me to give you a chance."
"I'd certainly like to try being your friend," the princess offered. She sent the other woman a friendly grin. "You are marrying my favorite cousin, after all. What good are cousins if they don't help you settle in?"
Éowyn nodded as if that decided everything. "Then we'll spend time together; you'll tell me of Gondorian customs, and I'll tell you of the Mark's. Now tell me, has my brother been an absolute brute?"
"Well, he…" She searched for a polite way to say it but quickly gave up. "I'll be candid, I thought him a complete ass at first." Lothí thought back over their first meeting and the surprise on his face when he'd learned who she was. She couldn't help but marvel at how far they'd come; she'd written the man off as a lout, and he'd somehow won her heart in a matter of weeks.
"What, exactly, is happening between you and my brother?" she asked all too shrewdly. The lady's brows rose expectantly as she rested her chin on her fist. Keen eyes watched the younger woman fail to hide her blush.
"Forgive me," Lothí spluttered, taken aback by the blunt question. "I should have known you'd be as straightforward as Éomer-King."
"Yes, yes, the Rohirrim are blunt; Gondorians are not. Let's move along." She waved the other woman's words away impatiently as if that were the oldest news in the world.
"What would you like to know?" Lothí's voice quivered slightly with nerves at the anticipation of an interrogation. The White Lady was a living legend however slight she looked. The woman had a palpable presence even without her reputation. All combined, it was like being questioned by Lady Haleth or Tar-Ancalimë.
"Do you love him?" Éowyn cut right to the heart of it.
"Yes, though I just recently realized it for myself. I haven't told him yet," she answered honestly. Lothí swallowed convulsively at the admission. She hadn't said it aloud yet, and it was strange to admit it. It was like a weight lifted from her shoulders. Fingers worriedly plucked at a nail, seeking out any imperfection to tug on and tear away in an effort to avoid the lady's knowing gaze.
"Good, you're honest," the lady said at length after watching Lothí squirm. "My brother is a good man—one of the best, really—and deserves every happiness. Can you make him happy?"
Lothíriel met her eyes briefly before turning towards the man in question as if he were a flame and she were nothing more than a moth. The man was almost magnetic, his smile over the rim of his tankard making her heart pound frantically. The dwarf waved his arms animatedly, the stack of mugs before him only growing, making the king laugh. It was a simple scene, but everything about it screamed of companionship, familiarity, and ease. There was almost a glow about them, warm like honey or fresh milk, and watching him filled Lothí with that same warmth. Their eyes met briefly, and he flashed her an infectious grin that she couldn't help but return. He left her giddy even across a crowded feast hall.
A pointed cough had Lothí dragging her focus back to her companion. "I can only try, but I do believe I can offer him contentment, at the very least."
"He's led a hard life, a warrior's life. I doubt he ever expected to live through the war, much less outlive our uncle and cousin," Éowyn confided, her gaze firmly locked on the rowdy bunch of men. "He rode to war because he knew naught else."
Lothí hummed quietly, hanging onto her every word. Each one revealed something more of the man she was to marry, and what a noble specimen he was. The White Lady continued speaking. Her voice was low, nearly drowned out by the raucous merrymaking filling the hall.
"He tried to tell me, you know, that war had nothing to do with glory and valor. I refused to listen… or maybe I just didn't understand. Éomer learned the hard way that war is waged to protect those unable to protect themselves." She shook herself from her rumination, features sharpening again as she carefully tucked away that reflective state that all who'd seen too much were familiar with. "He's the best protector I could have had, even when I didn't want it."
"Oh, yes," Lothíriel chuckled in a bid to lighten the mood as the lady clearly wished. "My brothers can be overbearing too."
"So you know exactly what I mean," she laughed, relaxing now that they were back on safe, neutral ground.
"Every brother's sister does," the princess teased.
"What prigs," Éowyn said fondly, a gentle smile curling her lips. "Is it true that you weren't consulted on the betrothal?"
"It is," Lothí replied, suppressing a heavy sigh at the sorry state of Gondorian marriage laws. "I only found out a few weeks ago at Éomer's insistence; he's taken every care to include me in the process."
Her future sister-in-law released an indelicate snort, earning a few startled frowns from the dowagers seated nearby. Unfazed, the shieldmaiden sneered at the men milling about in varying states of drunken bliss.
"It's sickening how your people barter and haggle away your women like chattel. I plan to petition Aragorn to change that as soon as I'm wed." Éowyn sipped deeply from her wine, carefully watching the curious light that overtook the princess's bright eyes.
"I'd get Arwen's support first, and then ask him to overhaul the coverture laws as a wedding present to you," Lothí suggested. However much it sounded like a joke, she truly meant it. "I'll be glad to help you with this project for the rest of my time in the White City."
Éowyn leaned in then, her flaxen hair turned molten in the torchlight. "You should convince your father to let you stay here longer. Tell him… I don't know, tell him I've requested your help acclimatizing to this new society."
"I can try, but… Well, my sister-in-law needs my help back home. She's with child and it's taking a toll on her," Lothí hedged. She spied her father laughing with a few other men, including Lord Duinhir, and her blood ran cold at the sight. "And adar doesn't trust me to behave appropriately if I'm left alone."
The shieldmaiden shook her head, jaw clenched and eyes bright with a righteous fire. "This place makes no sense."
"Trust me, it only gets more confusing the harder you try to make heads or tails of it." Lothí swirled the dregs of her wine, watching the sediment coat the bottom of her chalice. "What are—?"
"Sweostor, I hope you're enjoying the feast."
Both women turned towards the interruption, smiles splitting their faces at Éomer's approach. One warm hand rested on Lothí's bare shoulder, and shocks danced through her at his touch. All of her senses were heightened just by his proximity. A rough thumb traced lazy circles over her collarbone and she nearly purred with the pleasure of it.
"I certainly am, though this party has nothing on a true Rohirric gebeorscipe," Éowyn replied with a saucy wink. "I certainly hope your wedding is more festive."
The king boomed out a laugh, his hand tightening on Lothí's slim shoulder. "Éowyn, do try not to scare Lothí off just yet—things are different here."
"You're ridiculous if you think the idea of a party scares me." The princess rolled her eyes with a fond smile up at him. "Éowyn, you'll have to tell me all about proper Rohirric weddings."
The shieldmaiden's eyes gleamed with excitement as she smiled conspiratorially at the other woman. "I will, and I'll tell you all about the improper ones too. Those are much more fun."
"Éowyn!" the king choked, looking between the two women in horror. "What have you been talking about?"
"All manner of salacious things," was Lothí's ready reply. She looked up at him through her lashes, pulse quickening with the dark hunger that filled his gaze. She couldn't stop a pleased smirk from curling her lips. "I'm not sure your delicate ears could handle it."
Éowyn chuckled then, nudging the princess with her foot. "Don't tell Fara; he can be so sensitive about these things."
"Remind me, Éowyn, what you said was best for a wedding night? Silk, lace, or nothing?" the younger woman asked in mock-confusion. A delicate finger tapped her bottom lip as she mulled over the quandary.
"That's it," the king bit out. A hand like an iron vice wrapped around Lothí's arm, hauling her to stand beside him. "Her highness owes me a private conversation in the gardens."
"Not on your life," Éowyn laughed, also rising to her feet. "I'm not letting you off so easily after the way you behaved during my courtship. You can stay right here and mind your manners."
"She's right—we can't risk the blow back or worsening the rumors." She sent the shieldmaiden a grateful smile as the trio strolled along the perimeter of the room. "What do you have planned for the week?"
"A fitting for my new wardrobe in a few days, finalizing wedding plans, and, of course, your dinner," she said, frowning as she listed everything off. "I haven't the first idea what to order for a Gondorian wardrobe."
"I could go with you to help, if you'd like," Lothí offered, all too aware of the stringent rules of dress that soaked into the very fabric of their society. They could be difficult to navigate at the best of times, and she could understand how they'd be confusing to newcomers.
"I think that's a fine idea, swete." Éomer's hand settled on the small of her back, broad and strong in an intimate touch meant just for her.
His sister smiled warmly at the pair, her sharp eyes missing nothing. "I'd like that very much. Now… should we interrupt the drinking game or find some other entertainment?"
It was then that some of the Rohirrim, led by Erkenbrand and Éothain, roared with laughter. Their heads all turned towards the commotion though only the tow-headed siblings seemed to understand what they were watching.
"Hnefatafl," they said in unison, exchanging impish grins.
"What's that?" Lothíriel asked, brow furrowing in confusion.
"A Rohirric game," Éomer started.
"The goal is to capture the king at the center of the board," his sister took over, her bright eyes glittering in the flickering light. "Four attackers surround him, and he must be caged by two pieces to be taken. If he makes it to the edge of the board, he wins."
"Éowyn and I cannot play it together anymore," the king chuckled. His smile turned sharp, almost vicious, with the memory of competition.
Her frown deepened at that as wariness warred with amusement. "Why?"
"Our board did not survive the last game, and our uncle banned us from ever playing together again." Éowyn's shoulders bobbed in a nonchalant shrug.
She didn't elaborate beyond that, leaving Lothíriel's imagination to run wild. It wasn't hard to picture the siblings getting competitive, but this took mere competition to a different level.
"I'm going to go watch the game," the flaxen-haired woman continued. "Éomer, behave yourself or I'll set Imrahil and Faramir on you."
She shooed the pair away, proudly striding across the hall towards her countrymen with all the purpose and grace of a legend. The crowd parted and heads turned as she passed, swiveling to track her every move. It was a sight to behold as the lithe woman donned the mantle of a fabled warrior like someone would don a cloak.
Lothí watched her go and leaned into the king. His familiar warmth relaxed her, inviting a familiarity that wasn't entirely becoming of an unmarried woman. She became hyperaware of herself then, as if the whole world were watching her and waiting for something scandalous. Her skin prickled and her hair stood on end. She needed to put some space between them, act the part of a perfectly proper princess.
His lips turned down as she withdrew but he didn't try to stop her. Éomer was sensitive to the pressure she faced, and keenly cognizant of the protocols and expectations that required such a tight control of her every instinct. That didn't mean he had to like it.
"Come," he said, extending an arm as decorum dictated. "Let's take a walk about the hall. Show everyone just how proper we can be."
His wry grin assuaged any concerns she might have harbored, and she gladly took the proffered limb. They may as well frustrate the gossips by denying them any new fodder. It was certainly a more appealing alternative to playing the part of wallflower for the rest of the evening.
Lothíriel awoke happier than she'd been in some time. The sun filtered through the window, bathing her bedroom in a golden glow as she stretched and luxuriated in the soft bed. Today was the day her betrothal was announced and made official. Today, she could live with one less concern. She loved the king and wanted nothing more than to be his and have him be hers. Tonight would bring it one step closer.
A knock on the door had her tugging the blankets higher to hide her nightgown before it swung open to admit Amdiris.
"Good morning, highness!" she chirped. "Your father wished for me to wake you—he's breaking his fast and asks that you join him."
"Very well," the princess sighed, her happiness popping like a bubble. Her good mood deflated, replaced by a weariness she couldn't really describe.
She threw her blankets back and strode over to her wardrobe and pulled out a simple mossy green gown with a modest neckline and light embroidery winking at her from the neckline and wrists. It laced in the front, so her fingers flew to secure the dress while Amdiris quickly tamed the princess's riot of curls and wove a ribbon through the thin plait holding the wild strands back from her face.
The whole process took maybe ten minutes, but Lothí still felt like she was running late. Their family typically ate late the morning after a large soiree, but her father's impatience left her unnerved. He never summoned his children to break their fast while in the White City. It was decidedly strange, but maybe he was simply continuing his efforts to punish her for the rumors. She tried to shrug it off. He could be having a sudden bout of sentimentality with his only daughter's official betrothal announcement looming, however unlikely that was.
It was a quick trip down to the private dining room that they used for family meals on visits to the city. The townhouse was modest compared to the palace in Dol Amroth, but it wasn't small by any means. The white stone blocks that comprised the walls were streaked with swirls of gray and speckled with black, lending the structure a warmth that was missing from the White Tower. Flagstone floors were covered with colorful rugs and tapestries of the city's history, ships at sea, and Dol Amroth littered the walls. Conveniently placed alcoves were filled with fresh flowers and made the house seem like a welcoming, homey place.
The private dining room was situated at the back of the house and had large doors that opened out into the back garden. Windows lining the walls offered a lovely view of the finely manicured lawn, winding rows of flowering plants, and a swing hanging from a tree rocked gently in the breeze. It was rather idyllic in the golden morning light.
The room itself was large enough to seat eight at the worn wooden table. Someone had tried to polish away the years on the piece to no avail, though the finely carved legs lent it an air of elegance. A long banquette with matching legs stood against a far wall and had food and drink arrayed atop it.
Imrahil sat at the head of the table and didn't bother looking up when Lothíriel joined him. He was poring over a stack of letters, something she knew better than to interrupt. Instead, she quietly spooned fruit and porridge into a bowl, sweetened it with honey, and took a seat. Kaffe was soon steaming in a porcelain cup before her, and she quietly tucked into her meal.
She took in the room, noting that no other place was set at the table. Lothí felt herself tense at the oddity but tried to dismiss it. Erchi had probably imbibed too much the night before, as he was wont to do in the city, and wasn't expected to make an appearance until much later in the day. Though Lothí didn't notice him drinking heavily at the feast. No, she recalled, he'd been rather caught up with Noeneth and meeting her friends. But there was no accounting for what he got up to after his sister made her way home.
"Good morning, iell," Imrahil said then, interrupting her musings. His hands worked to tidy up the correspondence as he spoke. "I trust you slept well?"
"Yes, adar, thank you for asking," she answered, forcing her smile to remain polite. She didn't want to let on about her activities last night. "Did you enjoy the feast?"
"It was well appointed, and the company was fine," he replied automatically. His sharp silver eyes pinned his daughter with a searching look. "You comported yourself adequately."
"Thank you." Fingers twisted on her spoon as she bit back the sudden flood of irritation. "I'd hate to have embarrassed you."
"Did Éomer behave himself?" His sharp gaze was trained on her, watching every thought that flickered over her face.
"Yes." The syllable was clipped, tight with repressed feeling. Lothí wanted nothing more than to spit venom at her father for his utter lack of faith in his future son-in-law. He had the nerve to arrange a marriage to a man he considered a friend, and then had the gall to question that friend's honor—it truly was appalling.
"I see." Her father scrutinized her for a long moment, his expression giving nothing away. "I must ask given the circumstances."
"I suppose," Lothí murmured. She dragged her spoon through her breakfast. It was suddenly unappealing as her stomach clenched. She noticed then that the steward wasn't in the room to fetch whatever the family might require. Imrahil was a stickler for ceremony, and this was a breach.
Something wasn't right.
"Good, then you should also understand this." A steely edge entered his voice that had the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. "I've scheduled Ioreth to conduct your examination."
A dull roar filled her ears. Confusion, or maybe it was denial, seemed to slow time to a crawl. Distantly, Lothí heard herself ask, "Examination for what?"
"We must confirm your virginity before finalizing and announcing the betrothal."
The rushing of her pulse drowned out all other sound. Lothíriel went numb as she sat there, all too keenly aware of what he meant and still somehow distant, like she was watching this ordeal happen to someone else. Her father wanted healers to poke and prod her most private places so she could be declared fit for marriage. He wanted someone to examine her like they would examine a horse before sale.
"—will be witnesses, two of Éomer's advisors, the Warden, and myself, to represent all interested parties—" he was saying, his voice emotionless and face blank.
"How could you," she whispered. Her throat convulsed with barely contained emotion when she realized her father meant to have witnesses to her violation. He meant for it to be a public spectacle.
"How could I what, Lothíriel?" Imrahil rumbled. His face was like a thunderhead as he sneered at his youngest child. "How could I surrender to wholly reasonable requests by men who want an untainted match for their king? Who seek to ensure any children are indisputably their king's? Or do you ask how I could doubt your word in the face of credible rumors?"
"Yes," she hissed. The spoon dropped from her fingers with a clatter. "I am untouched, and you know that. The rumor mill began running amok because of one kiss, as I've told you—as Éomer has told you. I know you don't trust my word, but his is unimpeachable—"
The prince slammed his hands against the thick wooden tabletop, rattling the porcelain dishes and silverware and making his daughter jump. "You will not speak to me that way. We'll know once and for all if I have a daughter worthy of the title within the hour."
"So soon?" she breathed, surprise stealing her bravado. Lothí crumpled back into her chair. "I know you've never cared for me, adar, but this—you must truly despise me to agree to this."
"You brought this upon yourself, Lothíriel," he thundered. Imrahil seemed to grow as tall as a mountain in his rage. "No one forced you to act the part of a promiscuous fool. Stop forcing others to bear the blame for your own indiscretions. You alone compromised your honor."
"And who, exactly, decided that a woman's honor resides between her legs?" she snapped back. She was through with her father's dismissiveness, with his callous disregard of her. "It certainly wasn't women. Stop pretending you give a damn about my 'honor' and admit this is about soothing your ego."
With that, she stormed from the room, unable to stomach looking at her father any longer. She made sure the doors slammed shut behind her. The full weight of the situation settled on her shoulders as she flew upstairs. Her dress felt like it was laced too tight and her knees quivered, threatening to give out. Lothíriel didn't know how she made it to her room, only that she somehow wound up in her bed and cocooned in the blankets.
Her father wanted to check the status of her hymen hours before announcing her betrothal. She supposed it allowed him time to call it off if he wished. He wanted her laid low for nothing more than the appearance of propriety. Never mind that such a move would only lend credence to the rumors, Imrahil wouldn't dare allow his authority to be impugned as less than absolute. It always boiled down to control, and this was the coup de grâce.
Dread filled her stomach, sinking like lead the more she thought about it. Women who claimed innocence were regularly undone by these tests and accusations, even if they actually were untouched. Lothíriel couldn't remember the last time this kind of examination had taken place, but she knew the stories. Every girl did. Strict mothers and aunts made sure to drill the consequences of a libido and dismal reputations into every noble-born daughter. She would be the next cautionary tale despite her actual innocence.
Lothí's eye fell on the marriage contract sitting nearby. It was a cruel reminder of everything at stake. There was only Ioreth's examination standing between her and either utter ruination or the future she'd come to daydream about. She was certain that it was all about to be ripped away from her regardless of the truth. If only she'd begged him to make her his wife already—then at least she'd actually be guilty and there would be no way for their union to be severed. If only…
With a sudden spark of inspiration, she vaulted out of bed and anchored its corners so that it lay flat before her. A finger skimmed over the miniscule lines as she hunted for the right section. Once she found it, she had to take a calming breath. It wouldn't do to have shaky writing on the item she intended to add.
Each second ticked by too fast, the examination looming ever closer. Steeling herself, Lothí painstakingly added a new sentence to the contract before signing it with a flourish. This would have to do for the final draft. She couldn't risk having this term taken out under careful revision by the men surrounding her, and it was all too certain that it would be. With a final once over, Lothí nodded and signed it, certain to initial the new addition.
In the event any premarital relation, consummation, or intercourse occurs, the marriage will be rendered effective immediately and the governing contract binding. None but death or mutual agreement, verbally or in writing, between the signatories may nullify or void this agreement.
It was her only hope. This blending of his ancient traditions and her country's love of binding contracts was all she could rely on now. With a renewed sense of determination and knees ready to buckle, the princess made her way downstairs with the scroll in hand. She quickly passed it off to a messenger along with a note for the king begging him to sign it with all due haste and explaining the situation. A part of her prayed he'd sweep in and call a halt to the whole thing, though she knew it was unlikely.
There simply wasn't time.
Footsteps echoed down the hall and Lothí flew back upstairs. She didn't know which she wanted less: to see her father or tip him off about what she was up to. Shaking, Lothí closed her bedroom door and leaned against it. Her heart was racing somewhere in the vicinity of her throat, choking and fluttering all at once. What was she going to do? Nausea roiled her stomach.
If Ioreth found no maidenhead, Lothíriel had no doubt that Éomer would take the blame (or the credit, depending on who told the story) for it and stand by her side. He was too honorable for anything else. It was his council and countrymen that she worried about.
His councilors would argue and dispute the matter until they were blue in the face, and then they'd keep at it. Especially Wermund. She had to swallow the bile that rose when she thought of the horrid things he'd inevitably accuse her of: It wasn't Éomer that plucked her flower, that she'd seduced him for her own gain, or that he was blinded with lust and seawater. Then, assuming the marriage went through against such backlash, she was completely convinced the sour man would question the paternity of any children.
She only prayed that Éomer got the message and signed the contract before any drastic decisions were made without him present. She could only pray that he would notice the revision and sign it in time.
"I don't know if I was born under bad stars or if you simply delight in tormenting me," she whispered. Her eyes were squeezed closed and her head fell back as she prayed to the Valar. "Please don't let this happen."
As per usual, she received no answer.
An eerie calm descended on her at the universe's echoing silence, more a sense of impending doom and resignation than any sort of heavenly peace. The panic abated and she pushed off the door. The moment she stood, her stomach churned treacherously and had her racing for the chamber pot. A shaky hand wiped the sick away from her lips when she finished. Nothing had happened yet, and she was drained already.
Lothíriel set about righting her appearance. Her examination was set to start soon, and she refused to show them any weakness. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if she allowed her pride to be violated alongside her body. Let her look withdrawn, cold, or even resigned. All were better than vulnerability.
Amdiris arrived not long after she smoothed her hair and splashed water on her face. She watched her lady with pity creasing her face, both seeking to delay the trip to the prince's study as long as they could. Neither said a word as the maid escorted the princess. Time seemed to slow as they trudged forward, each plodding step a beat in the dirge Lothí knew must be playing for her. She jerked to a stop outside the study where muffled voices could be heard.
Breath came in short, sharp gasps. The dark door loomed higher and higher until she felt two inches tall. Opening it seemed impossible. Her lungs were tight and painful, a stitch forming in her side. Clammy hands covered her mouth to stop any sound from escaping, not that she was capable of squeaking much less screaming in that moment.
"Highness." The voice sounded far away, like it was underwater. "Your highness, I'm so sorry—you must go in. Your father is expecting you."
She tugged Lothí's hands away from her face and squeezed. That single touch reminded her of where she was, that she needed to collect herself and stand tall. Or as tall as possible given what she was about to walk into. She shot Amdiris a thankful smile, weak though it was. In the end, it was just a door and not a towering giant.
With a deep breath, she twisted the brass knob and swung open the only thing standing between her and the examination.
Lady Haleth the Hunter: She became the chieftain of the Haladin, the second group of Men, to cross the Blue Mountains, after her father and twin brother were slain and devoured by orcs. She led her people through a week-long siege by the orcs until the Elf Lord Caranthir arrived to help. Haleth impressed him so much that he offered her a fiefdom so long as she swore allegiance to him, which she refused. She led her people west and her sheer force of will kept them going until they settled in the Forest of Brethil in Doriath, granted to them by King Thingol. They eventually established Ephel Brandir. She died unwed and with no children, so she was succeeded by her nephew.
Tar-Ancalimë: She was the seventh ruler and first ruling queen of Númenor, daughter of Tar-Aldarion ("The Mariner"). Ancalimë was raised by her mother, Erendis, in an all-female society. She eventually married out of a political necessity and had a son to secure her throne against her first cousin, Soronto. After bearing a son, Tar-Ancalimë and her husband separated. She died in S.A. 1285, ending a 205-year reign, at the age of 412.
Sweostor: Sister (Anglo-Saxon)
Gebeorscipe: Party/feast (A.S.)
Hnefatafl: Viking chess.
Iell: Daughter (Sindarin)
Virginity test, or virgo intacta: A test that was often performed on women of noble birth about to be wed. It was done to see if her hymen was still in place and is still performed in some parts of the world today. There was a controversy on this very topic in India a few years ago; universities would perform this test on female students and applicants, and their admission would depend on whether they were found to be virgins. It's an incredibly misogynistic test with little basis in medicine or female anatomy as not all women are born with a hymen, and not all hymens stretch to cover the entire vaginal canal. The hymen can also rupture without sex or penetration of any sort from a girl's participation in strenuous activities like horseback riding, dance, gymnastics, etc.