Chapter Fourteen
No Return
"Oh, I was reckless,
Once was breathless,
Running from the day that I snapped.
But I've got a feeling
and keep believing
I'm never gonna give this back."
—"Burning," Maggie Rogers
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, you must go in. Your father is expecting you."
Amdiris tugged Lothí's hands away from her face and squeezed. That single touch brought her plummeting back into herself. She shot Amdiris a thankful smile—weak though it was—and entered the room. In the end, it was just a door and not a towering giant.
Five faces turned towards the princess as she stepped into the room. The chatter she'd heard from the hall dried up at her appearance like water evaporating from a stone baking in the summer sun. It was wholly uncomfortable.
Her father stood with the two witnesses while a pair of healers whispered off to the side. Imrahil was stone-faced, his back ramrod straight as his youngest child pressed herself against the door. On either side of him were Wermund, the man practically vibrating with glee, while Gamling looked at her with pity. His hunched shoulders and deep frown lines screamed of his discomfort.
A table covered with a sheet and a pillow atop it sat in the middle of the room, dominating the space. Lothí felt her stomach churn again as she stared at it. It was not a reassuring sight.
Tologon, the Warden of the Healing Houses, and Ioreth, the matronly healer and midwife, shared some quiet words. The woman's medical know-how was only rivaled by her verbosity, and Lothí could only hope she wouldn't be expected to hold a conversation. She didn't know if she'd be able to respond, or if she'd simply vomit again.
"We all know why we're here," the midwife began. Her reedy voice carried through the cozy room. She gestured to the table then, drawing the men's gazes to it. No one saw the princess fight back the bile pushing at her throat. "This test will be administered to confirm or deny the lady's chastity, and is the first to occur in… well, years. Since before the war, certainly. Tologon, do you know of any recorded more recently? Well, it's no matter," she said, ignoring the open-mouthed Warden. "Have you tried other methods to test her virginity?"
"No, this is the first," Imrahil rumbled. His face was pointedly neutral. The studious indifference would have stung Lothí if she could bring herself to care. At this point, any shadow of concern would shock her more than his apathy.
"Have you tried simply asking the girl?" Ioreth asked caustically, her white brows arched in a silent judgment.
"Her word matters not," Wermund blustered, waving the healer's words away with a dismissive hand. "There are credible rumors against her—and everyone knows that a scinnlæ can weave a tale in her favor and bewitch a man into believing it."
Ioreth smacked his hand away, her glare forcing him back a step while Gamling quietly chastised him in their own tongue. The hateful man still glowered defiantly, clearly not ashamed of himself in the slightest. Her numbness shielded her from the hateful sear of his gaze.
His counterpart turned to Lothí then, pulling focus back to her, and sketched a bow. "I apologize for my countryman's slight, feacwēn, just as I regret the entirety of this proceeding. You must know that I was not privy to this plan, nor do I agree with any of it."
All she could do was nod silently and pray for the door to open up and swallow her whole. Or open to admit someone with the power to end this proceeding. At this point, she would even take a dragon to derail it. Anything to save her from the table at the heart of the room.
"Let's have it from the girl, then." The Warden rounded on her then, his gray robes fluttering about as he approached with a foreboding frown. The princess pressed harder against the door as he neared. "Have you ever quieted swarms of bees with only your presence? Tamed a wild animal without uttering a word? Can you hold running water in your hands?"
She stared at him in bewilderment at the ridiculous list of powers virgins were rumored to have. "No. I'm only a woman, not an elf."
"What color is your urine? Is it crystal clear, or do you not pass water at all?" he continued. One gnarled hand latched onto her shoulder, dragging her further into the room with a surprising amount of strength. Lothí immediately missed the door and its sturdy, solid support.
"Leave her alone, Tologon," Ioreth commanded, knocking his hand away from the princess's shoulder. A gentle arm replaced the Warden's painful grip as she was led to the table. "There's as much sense in those superstitions as there is a chance pigs will sprout wings and fly."
Tologon sputtered in indignation. "These are tried and true tests, Ioreth, and far less invasive than poking and prodding about a girl's… her… intimates."
"The human body doesn't lie; superstitious old fools do," Ioreth parried back. "I don't know how many good women have been ruined because they couldn't stop water running through a sieve. What complete tripe. Surely something only a fool man could come up with, I daresay."
The last wrung a wan smile from Lothí, though it came out as more of a grimace.
"You cannot simply spit on the old ways, Ioreth!" the Warden exclaimed. His eyes nearly popped out of his head at her easy dismissal of using bees as a measure of chastity. "You, of all people, should know the value of the ancient lore! It was you that fetched King Elessar the athelas and proclaimed that the hands of a king are the hands of a healer. You cannot simply cherry pick—"
"Aye! And what a day that was—him bent over the White Lady, like a man praying over a sleeping beauty! It was truly a sight to see," she waxed on, eyes glassy as she recalled the day. After a pregnant pause, the midwife shook herself back to the present and frowned at the Warden. "But that's no matter, Tologon. Such prophecies—they are gifts, signs to be vigilant for. Besides, I was right, wasn't I? And with proof of his birthright to boot! I don't see you citing hard evidence of your irrational beliefs."
Tologon opened his mouth to shoot back at her, but Imrahil released an impatient noise that had the old man's jaw snapping shut.
"Bees and sieves have no place here," the prince sneered. "Is my daughter a virgin or not?"
Ioreth nodded, cowed into silence for the first time since Lothí had entered the room, and ushered the girl to lay on the table. She quickly arranged the princess so that her buttocks rested on the edge of the table and shoved the pillow under her head. It was a lumpy, musty thing, smelling of dust and old age. It offered little comfort. A chair was positioned at the end of the table, and Ioreth arrayed herself there.
Lothí stared at the ceiling, her head spinning and heart racing, while she prayed for something, anything to put a stop to this. A fire, a sudden invasion, anything. She squeezed her thighs tight while the midwife settled in the chair.
With surprising strength from someone her age, Ioreth pried her legs apart and forced them up and open. Her skirts were the only thing shielding her from the prying eyes of the Warden and Wermund. They gathered behind the healer, staring at the princess splayed before them. Only her father and Gamling did not join them.
The princess ground her teeth at the vulnerable position she was in, trying desperately to keep control of the sobs and pitiful noises she wanted to release. Tears welled in her eyes as humiliation panged anew in her breast. This was it. She was about to be exposed and opened before the too-eager councilor and the crotchety Warden. How could she ever meet their eyes again after this?
Ioreth was about to fold back her skirts when the door burst open, crashing against the wall so hard that Lothí thought it might splinter. Her legs snapped together and she flew upright to see the intruder. Gratitude and hope welled within her—maybe she was delivered after all.
An irate Éomer filled the doorway, his eyes blazing and nostrils flaring as he glowered about the room. Every hair seemed to bristle with his rage as he growled, "Don't you dare lay a finger on her."
A choked sob escaped Lothí's tight throat and she flew off the accursed table. It was a miracle she made it to his side on legs wobblier than jelly. The heat of his hand on the small of her back was a balm to her frayed nerves.
"Éomer, you shouldn't be here—" Imrahil started. His face was stony and he drew himself up to his full height, unfazed by the young king's simmering temper.
"And you shouldn't treat your only daughter like a mare at auction," the king bit out, turning the full force of his glare on the prince. "But here we are."
"It brings me no pleasure, but your actions forced my hand," her father argued. He suddenly looked tired, the lines on his face seemed to increase tenfold and were more pronounced. "These rumors that you've lain together need to be dispelled."
"Or invalidated," Éomer argued, holding Lothí close. "Did you never once think that disregarding them, denying them, and simply carrying on as normal would let them die? No, instead you seek to violate and publicly humiliate your daughter and lend credence to the gossips."
"Thank you for your input, Éomer, but this is not your decision. She is still my daughter and it is my right as her father to order the examination be performed." Imrahil turned his steely stare to his daughter, his expression never flickering at her tearstained face. "Get back on the table, Lothíriel."
Éomer pulled her closer, and she just shook her head. "No."
"Lothíriel—"
"I can't, adar," she murmured, voice tight with suppressed tears. "I can't."
"You will be examined, and this matter laid to rest once and for all," Imrahil growled. His mounting frustration was apparent to everyone in the room. "I will not hear another word about it."
"Actually, you will." The king pulled something from a pocket discretely hidden inside his jerkin and handed it to his future father-in-law. "That is a letter from Aragorn, an edict, if you will, that these barbaric examinations are hereby outlawed. You'll find that both of their majesties have signed it."
Imrahil pored over the letter with a frown. The room fell silent as his frown deepened. Ioreth chose that moment to come forward. The white-haired woman barely stood taller than the prince's shoulder, but she commanded the room with all the confidence and authority of a seasoned general. She spoke before Imrahil had a chance, leaving him open-mouthed and steaming.
"Do you ride, girl?" the midwife asked brusquely. At Lothí's nod, she continued, "Astride or side saddle?"
"Astride," the princess croaked out. "I tried side saddle as a girl but couldn't handle jumps—I began riding astride after I broke my wrist in a fall."
"How old were you then?" Ioreth pressed on.
"Maybe nine or ten."
The older woman nodded sagely then, turning to address the prince and the other witnesses. "Then the test would be useless anyway. It would likely be impossible to determine her purity—hymens rupture all the time in ladies taught to ride astride from an early age. In fact," she continued with a sour glare at Tologon, "it is not unusual for a woman to be born without a fully present hymen. I've known many women who went to bed with a man for the first time and reported no pain, blood, or tearing."
"Then she could have entertained any number of men," Wermund crowed triumphantly, grinning to reveal all of his teeth in what looked more like a snarl. "She may very well be a bepæcestre!"
Whore.
He fully believed her to be a whore.
Poison dripped from his tongue, lashing out at anyone standing in his way. Right now, she was that person. Lothí had to hold tight to Éomer, the only thing standing between his fist and the advisor's face.
"Princess, have you entertained 'any number of men?'" Ioreth asked caustically. Her dark eyes rolled before she barreled on, heedless of Lothíriel's response. "It's unlikely that a woman of her breeding and upbringing would act so. I don't know how you do things in Rohan—"
"Ioreth, stop your inane chatter." An exasperated sigh escaped the Warden as he scrubbed a hand over his bald head. "It's common knowledge that virgins are hermetically sealed for their husband's pleasure and bleed upon the initial penetration, just as it's known that truly virtuous women can calm swarms of bees."
"Bees?" Éomer asked, looking at the old man like he'd lost his mind. "Béma, you people…"
"Pah!" Ioreth spat, waving the Warden away. It was a strange sight to behold. The graying healer easily dismissed these men, all towering over her for answers in line with their beliefs, however misguided. "Even when I was but a girl-child, no bees calmed for me. It's simple anatomy—muscle tightness, discomfort, and a lack of moisture are truer indications than sieves and bees. And the blood?"
Tologon's mouth snapped shut at her cackling laugh, his face slowly turning beet red as she discredited every grain of folk wisdom he held dear. The woman spoke with a bluntness that shamed all the men into flushed silence.
"We can chalk the blood up to you brutes being exactly that: brutes. You could have simply taken her highness at her word, but no. Instead you demand she submit to this barbaric examination and seem to take a sadistic pleasure in her discomfort." She threw a nasty look at Wermund and earned a scowl in return. "Why would she lie?"
"For a crown, for power, wealth—" the councilor spat, advancing on the wiry woman in his rotund, blustering rage.
"The princess is a good, honest woman, Wermund, a woman who had no knowledge of the betrothal until recently," Gamling started, stepping forward to defend her. "She's done naught but help us, so stop your unwarranted attacks and pull your head from your ass."
"I love your king and treasure the integrity of his position as I care for my own integrity." The words were careful, devoid of any emotion. It was a shock to realize she was speaking. Lothíriel blinked in surprise and studiously avoided the king's gaze before continuing. "I know these rumors concern you, but they are nothing more than vicious lies. I wouldn't risk Éomer's happiness or my own reputation so foolishly."
"More lies," Wermund chuckled, watching her with a cold gleam in his bright eyes. "It's no surprise you're still spewing this tripe; you deserve a sound beating to remind you of your place. You'd best bleed, half-breed—"
"She is to be your queen, Wermund, and I will not have her so disrespected," Éomer snapped. The sharp crack of his voice made the advisor jump as the king glowered at him.
"Enough." Imrahil's voice was cold when he cut the advisor off. "Lothíriel, leave."
"Fine by me." She didn't need to be told twice. With such a clear dismissal, she wasn't going to risk him changing his mind.
Lothíriel strode out, niceties be damned. She wasn't going to curtsy before anyone complicit in or actively encouraging her humiliation. Once the door clicked shut behind her, she hitched up her skirts and ran for the gardens. The house was too stuffy, too constricting. She needed to feel the sun on her skin and breathe the fresh air after that close call.
If Éomer hadn't arrived when he did, the exam would have gone on uninterrupted. She'd have been shamed beyond belief. The early afternoon sunshine left the back garden bright and cheery as she made her way towards the swing hanging from an old tree.
Lothí tilted her head back and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her face. It was a stark difference from the cheerless study. The smell of flowers danced with the scent of the herb garden tucked near the kitchen. Rosemary and mint hung heavy in the air, the sharp aromas relaxing her as she rocked on the swing. The rope was rough on her hands and the sting grounded her. It was a pleasant reminder that she was free from the study, free of the scrutiny of disgruntled old men. She felt her shoulders begin to unknot as distant sounds of the city and trilling birdsong blended together in the background.
It had been so uncomfortable in that room with all those eyes on her, cold and judgmental. That her father had so easily agreed to allow the test to occur hurt her in a way she hadn't thought possible. He'd never cared for her, but this simply proved he was willing to do whatever it took to preserve his reputation, no matter the cost. She was simply a sacrificial lamb on the altar of his ambition.
Gravel crunched nearby as someone interrupted her solitude. She stubbornly kept her eyes closed and face turned up towards the sun. Let them work for her attention; she'd given enough of herself that day.
"I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner, swete," Éomer sighed as he drew near.
Her eyes fluttered open then, muscles weakening with relief that it was him. "You got my note."
"Right as I was going into a meeting with Aragorn," he nodded, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. "I showed it to him—I've never seen him lose his composure before. He called a halt to our meeting, summoned the queen, and scribbled that decree. I got here as fast as I could—it was almost too late."
She shook her head and pressed a kiss to his palm. "You made it in time. That's all that matters."
"Are you alright, swete?" he asked, staring intently into her eyes. Strong hands held the swing in place, drawing her closer to him. Lothí's knees opened on instinct, allowing him to stand between her legs.
"I… don't know," she admitted, dropping her chin to stare at her lap. "Adar sprung it on me with an hour's notice, but it was clearly planned—the Warden of the Healing Houses can't be summoned on a whim. And he called Gamling and Wermund to witness it, though I doubt Gamling knew what it was about. He was going to let three other men watch…"
Éomer gathered her close, his arms squeezing tight about her. He didn't say anything. He just held her tight, both of them finding comfort in the embrace. It had been a dramatic afternoon full of unnecessary strife and turmoil.
She shuddered again, feeling as if a handful of worms had been dunked down the back of her dress. "What are we going to do?"
"That depends entirely on you, swete." His voice rumbled through her, soothing and familiar after the earlier ordeal. "I'd be more than happy to throw you over my saddle and abduct you back to the Mark."
"Or we could wait and prove them wrong, allow things to play out according to plan." Lothí pulled back enough to look at him fully. His face was studiously neutral, though the quick wetting of his lips let her know exactly where his mind was at.
"The contract is fully signed," he said, brushing loose hairs from her face. "There's no way to dispute it. But I'll wait if you wish."
She paused for a moment, staring at a nearby flowerbed where marigolds bobbed their merry heads in the breeze. Guilt twisted in her stomach at the idea of so blatantly defying her father, even after everything. It was one thing to have a private rebellion that would remain undiscovered, but this was something else. This would be announcing to her father and the world that she'd wed without a proper ceremony, that she'd flouted her family and station. This was admitting guilt, confirming the rumors despite their falseness. She would be admitting that she wasn't the well-bred princess her parents, aunt, and society had tried to mold. And worse, it would start her tenure as queen on even rockier terrain.
But it would get her away from her father's control, away from the frosty looks and his easy dismissal of her very existence. Who was to say he wouldn't simply ignore the new edict and force her to undergo the exam once the Rohirrim left? There would be no one to shield her then. She hadn't lain with Éomer, but she had willingly explored the physical side of their relationship. It was the worst sort of defiance, the kind that could tarnish a family name for generations to come, and the best kind of freedom she'd ever known.
Gonwen and Alphros came to the forefront of her mind then. Her little nephew was still so young and his sibling unborn—she couldn't imagine hurting their chances. Her rebellion would have far-reaching effects that would infiltrate the lives of even the youngest members of her family. And Gonwen needed her. She'd promised her help in managing the household for the rest of her sister-in-law's pregnancy and confinement. How could she think to abandon her?
And marrying without her brothers and Gonwen there, without Glîrion or Faramir—the thought broke her heart. Weddings were meant to be happy occasions for families to celebrate. How could she forego that? Maybe it was selfish but Lothí wanted their wedding to be a day of good tidings, not an act of rebellion.
"I think I want to wait," she admitted. She was scared to meet his eyes, to see annoyance or frustration there, but meet them she did.
"As you wish." Éomer smiled down at her, his expression serene if a little disappointed. That quickly melted away, though, into a smirk. "I heard something interesting today."
"Oh?" Lothí asked, still distracted by the day's events. "What's that?"
"A certain lady declared her love for me today." His tone was teasing and face relaxed into an easy smile when she whipped to face him.
"Who? You are adored by many." She responded in kind, though it wasn't easy to keep a lid on the nervousness that reared its head. He had noticed her little confession after all. A part of her had hoped it would simply remain unremarked upon, lost in the earlier drama.
"Maybe, but none rise to her level." Éomer pulled them to a stop in a secluded corner of the yard, carefully shielded from the house by a tall oak and the moss and vines hanging from its branches. "She is singular in all ways."
Her heart fluttered against her breast like a bird would beat its wings against a cage. "And how did you take her declaration?"
"With the happiest of hearts." He caught her chin and forced the princess to look at him. Earnest amber eyes met hers, the fine lines at their corners deepening as he smiled. "Because I love her too."
Lothíriel needed no other prompting to fly up on her toes and capture his mouth with hers. Her heart was light for the first time since she'd woken, unfettered by worry or care. All that mattered was that her bold king, her future husband and lover, loved her. He loved her. They were young and in love, arranged to be wed before the year's end—her father and the gossips aside, it was almost like one of the grand romances she'd read about as a girl. She almost couldn't believe her good fortune.
"Say it again," she demanded when they parted.
Éomer flashed her a bright, wolfish grin and tightened his arms about her waist. "I love you."
She nearly purred at those most perfect words. "You have no idea how much I like hearing that."
"I think I have some idea," he chuckled, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.
They stayed in the garden for a little longer, making the most out of this stolen moment to simply rejoice in one another. When they arrived back at the townhouse, it was in a giddy haze of dreamy smiles and affectionate touches. Lothí walked him to the front door where his men awaited in the small courtyard. They parted with a chaste kiss and glances full of unspoken promises.
The weight of her situation returned full force only when the door clicked shut behind the king. It was nearly time for the feast—a sobering thought. That meant facing her father once more. She didn't know how she was going to look him in the eye, much less smile prettily and pretend he hadn't wanted her violated before witnesses.
With that thought, she scurried back to her room to wash and hide away for the rest of the day. She couldn't face anyone just yet. A bath was run and lavender-scented steam filled the small chamber. It was one of the luxuries she liked best about the townhouse—there were pipes that ran water from the natural springs beneath the mountain, negating the need for an army of servants to heat bathwater and lug it upstairs by the bucketful. The princess drew her own bath and allowed the steaming water to relax her tired muscles.
Lothí spent the afternoon reading poetry while drying her hair by an open window, the summer breeze toying with her dark hair until it was curling and bouncy once more. So much had happened in the last day that she hadn't had a chance to fully wrap her mind around it all. She couldn't seem to focus on the words, her attention constantly drifting out the window to the sun hanging low in the sky. Every inch it dipped moved her closer to facing down her father and the people who believed her a loose woman.
That evening, the princess and her maid put the finishing touches on her attire for the evening. Scarlet brocade left ivory shoulders exposed. Gold leaves sewn along the daring neckline made her skin seem to glow. Lothí ran a hand over her unadorned throat, otherwise satisfied with her appearance. She felt ready to be named a future queen.
"Just a moment, my lady," Amdiris said, her eyes sparkling as she scurried to the door.
The maid disappeared for a moment, leaving Lothí to wait in confusion. When she returned, it was to place a thin leather box before her. "What is this?"
"It's a gift from his majesty." Her cheeks flushed red as her smile widened. "The young man who delivered it—Bertric—said that the king hoped you'd be pleased."
Lothí ran her fingers over the buttery, claret leather before opening the box. She felt her jaw drop at what lay before her. A delicate gold chain linked a series of opalescent white stones, lovingly carved in the shape of flowers. A matching bracelet lay beneath, framed by glittering earrings of matching opal blooms. In the middle sat a gold filigree comb to complete the set.
"He said they're mountain avens," Amdiris supplied helpfully, situating the comb in the princess's coifed hair. It was a stark contrast to her raven locks. "What do you think?"
She clasped the necklace in place, enjoying the cool metal against her skin and slid the earrings in. Maybe it was pure vanity, but Lothí couldn't help admiring her reflection. The gold of the jewelry warmed her skin, and she couldn't help feeling beautiful with Éomer's gift. It seemed like more than empty baubles and silly appeasements coming from him—he loved her and wanted to show the world she was his in terms it would understand.
"They're perfect, Amdiris. If Bertric is still here, would you mind taking him some dinner?"
The maid curtsied obligingly and swept off with her lady's day clothes while the princess put the finishing touches on her appearance. Lothí wasn't sure she needed to do so, but she wasn't ready to face her father yet. She doubted she'd ever be ready. After donning the bracelet and her slippers, she realized there was nothing more she could do to put off the inevitable. There was nothing to do but face the music.
Voices drifted up from the foyer as she carefully maneuvered the stairs in her full skirts. She could hear her father's rumble and Erchirion's sighs mixed with a female voice and hurried her steps. It would be unforgivably rude if she were late to greet her own guests.
"Ah, Lothíriel!" Imrahil called. "You'll need to find room for one more at the table; your aunt has just arrived for the banquet."
Lothí fought back a scowl at his cheery tone. It was so like him to spring this on her with no warning. She forced on a pleasant mask despite wanting nothing more than to snap at the man. If his foiled attempt to have her examined weren't already common knowledge, it wouldn't do to cause gossip of a rift in the family. It was a better use of her energy to figure out how to rearrange the table at the last minute.
A polished ebony cane clicked on the floor then as Ivriniel rounded her brother. She barely stood to Imrahil's shoulder, but still commanded the room with a single inclination of her stubborn chin. Deep blue eyes fell on the princess then, a black lace cap covering the tight chignon Lothí knew her steely hair was coiled in.
"Aunt," she greeted, dropping into her best curtsy.
The princess could feel the older woman scrutinizing her. Her back remembered the sharp bite of the cane if so much as a finger was out of place. Eyes downcast, Lothíriel held the pose without a wobble as Ivriniel circled her. She only rose when her aunt spoke.
"I'm glad to see you haven't forgotten my lessons." Ivriniel's lips pursed the slightest bit when she took in her niece's red and gold ensemble. "You always did wear red well, though your house colors would have been more appropriate. I never did approve of unmarried women wearing such rich hues."
"Thank you, aunt. It seemed appropriate to wear the colors of my betrothed's house tonight." She nodded gratefully, still stunned to see the woman in Minas Tirith. Ivriniel hated leaving her manor house and sprawling lands in Lossarnach. "I must say I'm surprised to see you here—pleased, but surprised."
"I wouldn't have missed this, dear girl. It's not every day my niece is announced a future queen." The old woman prodded Lothí's leg with her cane before turning to her brother. "It's hard to believe this is the same hoyden you sent me eight years ago."
"Yes, she's changed quite a bit since then," Imrahil said stiffly. Steely eyes stared at his daughter with a frown. "Is that new jewelry?"
Lothí touched the necklace, warmth settling around her heart and bringing a smile to her face. "Yes, Éomer sent these as gifts."
His eyes fell on her hand then—or, more specifically, the ring that now resided there. "And is that another gift?"
"Yes." She met his gaze boldly, her chin tilting in defiance. "He gave it to me before the loëndë ball, when I agreed to marry him for more than duty."
"He should have asked for my approval before giving you such extravagant things," he grumbled, the lines of his face deepening as he frowned harder. "You're much too spoiled."
Erchirion stepped in then as he watched his sister shutter her earlier happiness. "Come now, adar, you know Éomer's people don't stand on formality—you used to like that about him."
"That was before his every move affected my family."
"And whose idea was it to unite our family with his?" Lothí asked. A surge of protectiveness rose within her at her father's stubbornness. She wouldn't hear him blame Éomer for cultivating a relationship with his betrothed, just as she wouldn't let him bully her into feeling ashamed for wearing symbols of that relationship. "You wanted this alliance, adar, and you have it. Now I'd work on keeping Éomer-King's respect if you want any leverage in the future."
Ivriniel rapped her brother's ankle with her cane then, the ebony wood flying from the folds of her lilac skirts with all the accuracy of a striking snake. "Let the girl be, muindor. I remember how you were when you were betrothed. 'An open heart leads to an open womb,' after all."
Erchirion disguised his snort at her words as a violent cough, and the young princess roughly smacked his back to help. "Aunt is right, muinthel. You'd better stay in love long enough to pop out a son."
She wanted nothing more than to throttle her brother as her face heated. Lothí prayed there wouldn't be too much talk of heirs tonight—it was the last thing she needed to think about over this meal. There was pressure enough with the impending announcement without worrying about future offspring.
A manservant materialized to whisper in Imrahil's ear before leading the way into the parlor. Lothí hung back to whisper a few instructions to the young man about where to seat her aunt before following.
The windows were open to allow in the cool breeze and the sounds of singing toads harmonizing with the strain of crickets. The wind gently rustled the flowerbeds lining the front of the house. Rich orange faded into lavender as the sun began to set over the White City. Their guests would begin arriving any minute, and the family arrayed themselves about the room.
Ivriniel gestured for her niece to join her on the settee. "I've heard that king of yours is fearsome. Is it true?"
"Only when he's angered," Lothí laughed lightly, smoothing her skirts. "I find him quite endearing the rest of the time."
"I'm sure he'd love to hear that, muinthel," Erchirion chimed in from where he elegantly sprawled in an armchair. He put on a high falsetto to continue, "'I only like my betrothed when he's happy.'"
"Is that supposed to be my voice?" she gaped, offended at the squeaky soprano her brother put on. "I do not sound like a mouse."
"Stop your bickering," Imrahil barked as hoofbeats sounded from the courtyard. "We've guests approaching and I won't have you circling each other like dogs."
The siblings shared a long-suffering look as room fell into a tense silence at the command while they listened to the approaching guests. The King and Queen of Gondor were shown into the room with all the pomp their steward could manage. Close on their heels were Éomer and his sister, and Faramir. Lord Erkenbrand and his family were the next in, and greetings filled the cozy room. Lothí was introducing her aunt to Elessar and Arwen when her betrothed made his way towards her in a beeline.
He was stunningly handsome in his dark green garb with intricate scrollwork in cream and gold along the seams. A wide smile split his face, and Lothí felt herself give an answering grin. She wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms, but that would never do.
Instead, she extended her hand to him and suppressed a delighted shiver when his neatly trimmed beard tickled her skin. Lothí didn't miss the mischievous twinkle in his eye when he pressed a kiss to her palm. That one intimate touch set a flock of seagulls loose in her stomach.
"Are you alright?" he murmured, stepping closer. The faint scent of lavender clung to her hair, making his heart skip a beat.
"I will be," she whispered back. Her stomach did a strange flip when he gave her fingers a squeeze before moving back. The more appropriate distance did nothing to cool her ardor.
He released her with a final glance full of promise and turned to greet his host alongside Elessar. Both kings were regal in their simple, fine garb, but it was Arwen who drew all eyes. Her lilac gown shimmered when she moved, the sleeves parting to reveal snowy white arms when she reached out to embrace the princess.
"You're lovely, majesty," Lothí told her with a grin. "It means so much that you could be here."
"I'm always happy to celebrate a friend," she replied with a beatific smile. "There is something I'd hoped to discuss with you, if you'd have a moment?"
The princess nodded, moving to pour them both drinks. While she was occupied, Arwen nodded the White Lady over to join them. It drew curious glances from most of the other guests, though their partners worked to keep Imrahil from paying the trio too much mind. It took little effort to distract the prince from his daughter as he was easily embroiled in the affairs of state.
"I see you received my brother's gift," Éowyn said with a knowing glance. She was radiant in a soft blue gown and a similar necklace rested against her pale skin. "Those belonged to our aunt, Queen Elfhild. Théoden gifted them to her and our mother, his sister, one year."
Lothí absently reached up to touch the moonstones around her neck. "They're beautiful, even more so now that I know their history."
The shieldmaiden's smile widened at her reverent tone. "It seemed fitting you should wear a queen's jewels tonight."
"Thank you." Those simple words were laced with a gratitude she couldn't properly express. "Arwen, I'm sorry—you wanted to speak with me?"
The queen nodded, quickly swallowing her sweet white wine. "Yes, I'll just get right to it. I would like to invite you to stay on in the city until it's time to travel for your wedding."
Lothíriel blinked owlishly at her. She'd never expected such an offer, especially from her queen. Excitement blossomed before being tamped out almost immediately. She couldn't go back on her promise to Gonwen.
"That's an incredible offer, majesty, but I don't know if I can accept." Her words were heavy with regret—she doubted her father would approve it after the rumors that had spread about her. It was yet another unintended consequence of acting from the heart.
"Why not?" Éowyn asked, looking at the younger woman like she was mad.
The princess quickly explained her sister-in-law's situation and her promise to continue running the household until the newest addition arrived. She owed them that much before leaving to start a new life. It was the right thing to do despite the disappointment settling on her shoulders.
"But who will help you prepare your new wardrobe? Winters in the Mark are unlike anything you'll have seen by the sea," Éowyn argued. Her eyes were bright and mouth stubbornly set at her future sister-in-law's hesitation.
Lothí just shrugged, watching her aunt rise and make her way towards them. "I suppose we'll have to write to one another, and you can guide me that way."
"And you'll have much to learn about the people and the court—" the White Lady continued. Her strong jaw and determined stare were almost intimidating.
A lily-white hand rested on the flaxen-haired woman's arm then. Lothí turned to meet her queen's star-bright eyes as the elf-woman spoke. "I'd hoped to get to know you better and show you what it means to be a queen, though I understand about promises to family."
Ivriniel drew even with her niece, tapping the princess's leg fondly with her cane as she approached. Introductions were made with all women politely nodding or bobbing curtsies at one another.
"Now that we all know each other, what's this I overheard about promises to family?" the silver-haired woman asked.
"It's nothing, aunt, something between Gonwen and I." Lothí passed her a glass of her preferred dry red wine as she answered, eager to keep her tenacious aunt from arranging her life as she saw best.
Unimpressed blue eyes nearly had the princess biting the inside of her cheek. "Is that why you were discussing it with your friends?"
"No, I—"
"Lothíriel politely declined her majesty's offer to remain in the city and learn about ruling from her majesty," Éowyn cut her off. She smiled victoriously, sensing she'd found an ally in the dowager.
"For good reason," Arwen added gently. Her voice was soft, but still held authority. Even the headstrong shieldmaiden stopped to listen when she spoke. "A promise between sisters."
Ivriniel turned to her niece, brows raised haughtily. "What promise, Lothíriel?"
"Gonwen asked for my help running the household in the coming months, and I promised her I would." Lothíriel kept her expression pleasant while she mentally braced herself for her aunt's response. "I can't go back on it—not in her condition."
The older woman eyed her niece with the slightest smile. Her glove-clad hand cupped the princess's cheek, the lace rasping against her skin. "You're a good girl, Lothíriel. Write to Gonwen and let her know I'll step in to assist her—it is high time I paid Dol Amroth a visit."
"But, aunt—"
"Don't make a fuss, Lothíriel." Sharp blue eyes flashed her way, her low voice whipping the words at the princess. It was a tone that brooked no protest.
"Best listen to your aunt, Lothíriel," Éowyn advised with a smug grin.
"I'll write to her in the morning and explain; it will be Gonwen's choice," Lothí proposed, hoping the compromise would be enough to satisfy the two boneheaded women.
With a rustle of lilac silk, the queen moved to stand beside the raven-haired young woman. "A fair arrangement. Now, come, let us circulate."
Ivriniel wound her arm through her niece's, leading the young woman to sit with Lady Wynfled. She smoothed her skirts as they easily fell into conversation about the Mark. Lothí did her best to keep her expression from revealing her frustration. It seemed everyone around her was set on controlling her fate.
They spoke uninterrupted for a few moments before other guests trickled in. Lord Angbor of Lamedon arrived with his family in tow. Maidhriel was lovely in a sweet pink gown while Berenith drew attention in marigold. Lothí rose to greet them, meeting her father by the doorway. The men quickly fell away with more than a passing word to her, more important matters of trade, legislation, and land awaiting them.
Lady Berenith took one look at the princess and her eyebrows shot into her hairline. "You look lovely, your highness. Red is a such a… bold color."
"Thank you, I thought it appropriate for a night of celebration." Lothí shot her the blandest smile she could get away with, refusing to be baited. Let the woman think her loose, let her allude to the exam. It only reflected poorly on her if a dress color was all the evidence she needed of Lothí's supposed lack of chastity. "We're delighted you could join us."
"I was glad for the invitation," Maidhriel said with a bright grin. "Your home is lovely."
"Thank you! Adar thought it only fitting that we ring in the season by hosting this little gathering." The young women shared a smile, though the girl's faltered when her mother spoke. It saddened Lothíriel to see her spirits so obviously dampened.
"I'm pleased you're joining the festivities in the city again, highness," Berenith said with a venomous simper. "It's been so long since you were last here, we quite imagined you'd forgotten how to conduct yourself."
"Naneth," Maidhriel muttered. Her cheeks flamed at her mother's swiping.
"It's alright, Maidhriel." With a quick breath, Lothí forced her guard up. If Berenith were anything to gauge by, the night would be full of vicious sniping. "There were more important things than balls and gowns to tend to these last years. I hope you haven't forgotten that we just survived a war."
Berenith gaped at the princess, a frown deepening the fine lines between her brows and at the corners of her eyes. "You—"
"You're right, highness," Maidhriel interjected. She shot her mother an exasperated look before continuing. "I'm just glad to enjoy the simple entertainments in life again."
With that, the girl dipped a polite curtsy and peeled away with her mother in tow. She flashed Lothí a small smile over her mother's shoulder, and she felt her heart melt. Maidhriel was a sweet girl. Even her mother's sour bearing couldn't bring Lothí to think badly of the daughter. She only hoped the girl was made of strong stuff to avoid sharing in her mother's bitterness.
The other guests had dispersed through the room, conversations mingling together until Lothí couldn't pick up an individual thread. She took a moment to breathe. Éomer stood with Erchirion and Lord Angbor; they blinked slowly as the older man drawled on, and she could swear Erchirion barely stifled a yawn. Arwen and her husband were deep in conversation with Ivriniel, Wynfled, and Erkenbrand, all smiles and easy laughter.
Voices swept about Lothíriel like currents around an island. She couldn't bring herself to move, uncertain. The day's events sat heavy on her chest, and she didn't know if she could smile convincingly for the rest of the night. As happy as Éomer made her, the charade took a toll. There was no escaping the role she had to play just as she couldn't avoid the expectation to smile and sparkle effortlessly.
Somehow sensing her distress, Éowyn materialized to sweep the princess away to meet the Prince of Mirkwood and Gimli, son of Gloin. She introduced them as great friends of the Mark, and Lothí couldn't help but be charmed by the pair. They'd been traversing Middle Earth in the year since the end of the war, organizing aid to repair the destruction wrought by the Dark Lord's forces and making plans for new colonies of their people. Gimli, the princess learned, was particularly chuffed to begin his new colony in the Mark.
"You've never seen anything like it, ass," he was saying, enthusiasm and unabashed awe coloring each lilting syllable. "The Glittering Caves are so much more than mere caves! That anyone—" he shot a pointed look towards Erkenbrand "—could simply use them for storage boggles the mind. There is no more beautiful sight in the natural world than twinkling gems and veins of ore, halls of marble in every shade! It's the nearest thing to a fae world I've ever seen, and Éomer—bless the lad—was kind enough to allow my people to nurture it."
"It sounds magnificent, my lord. A true wonder of the world." Lothí couldn't hide a wide smile at his genuine excitement as he waxed poetic about rock and stone.
Gimli shook his head, a smile twitching beneath his elaborately coifed beard. "You'll have to see it yourself, lass. No words can do it justice."
"Though not for lack of trying," the elven prince joked smoothly. "There is nothing my friend appreciates so much as the beauty found in the dark, forgotten places of this world."
"Wrong, Master Elf," the dwarf boomed, imperiously puffing his chest as he drew himself up to his full height. "Only the beauty of the Lady Galadriel compares."
"You have no appreciation for growing things and sunlight trickling through the leaves." Legolas was shaking his head despondently as he spoke, though the corners of his lips twitched at the clearly familiar argument.
"I would love for both of you to visit Dol Amroth," Lothí said, sharing an amused look with Éowyn as she spoke. "It's the best of both worlds—soaring cliffs and spires of stone softened by nature and growing things."
Gimli patted her arm fondly, his "gentle" touch sending tremors up through her shoulder. "I've been to Fangorn, lass. If I can survive that, I'll visit anywhere once."
Her heart skipped with excitement at that as she recalled the stories she'd heard about the forest. "Are the trees truly alive—did they really march on Isengard?"
"They didn't just march on the fortress," Gimli started, his eyes nearly popping from beneath his bushy brows.
"The Tree Herders led the assault on the wizard's vale," the golden prince added, his soft voice calming his friend's bluster. "But the Huorns marched on Helm's Deep and disposed of the remainder of Saruman's forces."
The pair launched into the tale at her stunned silence, regaling the princess with the events of those battles with a well-practiced tradeoff. Their voices faded together in a rush of sound despite her interest in these waking childhood tales when she saw the final guests arrive. Lord Duinhir swept in with Cerphedis on his arm, Lady Maegwen trailing a few steps behind. The princess stiffened at the sight of them, and not even Éomer's sudden appearance at her side could ease her tension.
Éomer's warm, steady hand steeled her nerves as the trio approached. It was nothing but polite greetings and smug smirks, but no outward japes were made. They knew about her near-miss. She could only chalk their reserve up to saving face before the living legends Lothí found herself surrounded by.
Before too much longer, the party was seated around the large table in the formal dining room. Fine silks in a rainbow of colors flashed in the firelight while golden hair practically glittered in the sea of ebony. However unusual it may be, Éomer sneakily switched place cards to sit beside her. Lothí couldn't help but feel her muscles ease at his closeness. The man was nothing if not protective, and she had no complaints.
Small conversations broke out as hors d'oeuvres were circulated about the table. Servants moved about them all but invisible in their efficiency, starting with Imrahil and working their way through each guest. It seemed that things were going smoothly so far. She felt herself relax further when the steward was nowhere to be seen—there were no emergencies for her to tend to.
The strum of music echoed out from behind Lothí's shoulder, sweet and familiar. She was discussing the journey to the city with the woman to her right when her betrothed squeezed her hand.
"Swete, look." He jerked his head towards the music. "I didn't know Glîrion was joining us."
"What? No." She whipped her head about, all sense of manners flying out the window at his words. True enough, her friend was strumming his lyre behind them. All focus was on his task.
"Is he alright?" the king whispered, brow creasing with concern as he took in his lover's friend.
Lothíriel took him in with a frown. Dark circles lined his tired eyes and the usual twinkle of mischief was missing. "No, he's not. I'll pull it out of him."
"Tomorrow." Éomer's molten amber gaze swept over her then, sending a shiver of delight through her at the promise hidden there. "Tonight is for us alone."
As the courses progressed, a wider discourse broke out. Talk of Éowyn and Faramir's impending nuptials dominated the table—the men wanted to know about the events leading up to the big day while the women focused on the details of the event. Lothí could see the expected guests already planning their gowns around the flower colors and table linens.
The sense of normalcy was so overwhelming that Lothíriel could almost pretend there hadn't been a war. There was no talk of mustering the cavalry, no whispers of rationing supplies. Everyone felt the lightness, apparently, as laughter was abundant and smiles were quick to be shared.
The main course was soon cleared with many patting their bellies contentedly. The goose with cranberry sauce received several compliments, all of which Lothí promised to deliver to the cook. Even Cerphedis begrudgingly offered up praise.
With a signal to the servants to delay the next course, Imrahil clinked a glass as he rose. A hush fell over the table. The proud prince easily commanded the attention of everyone in attendance—a tribute to his martial training.
"I would first like to thank you all for coming," he started, a jovial smile brightening his face. He looked ten years younger when he smiled like that. "It's an honor to host such renowned guests, just as it is a relief to celebrate freely once more."
"Here, here!" a few lords called, raising their glasses in support.
"What many of you do not know is the reason for this celebration," Imrahil continued, pasting on a beaming smile to face his daughter. The expression didn't reach his eyes. "Tonight, we celebrate the friendship between two great nations and the wonder of young love."
The king and queen shared a fond smile while Éowyn and Faramir pressed their foreheads close. It was cloyingly sweet, so much so that Lothí felt her heart swell with happiness for them. Her stomach clenched with anticipation at the impending announcement. The frosty stares from Duinhir and company didn't help.
"As the bonds of love grow stronger, so do the ties between our countries. With that, it is my great pleasure to announce the betrothal of my daughter, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, Éomer, King of the Riddermark!"
Surprised gasps as those not in the know mingled with the dismayed gasps of disappointed hopefuls. Éomer saw the black scowl sent their way by the Lord of the Morthond Vale and Cerphedis's venomous glare at the same moment the princess did. He grasped her hand, drawing that moon-gray gaze back to him.
The rest of the world melted away when their eyes locked. Something like lightning crackled between them and air rushed back into Lothí's lungs. She could breathe freely now that the news was out. The engagement was official and it would be that much harder to end. It couldn't be taken back now, not without causing a major scandal that Imrahil could ill afford. Éomer was hers and there was no going back.
"To the happy couple!" the prince called. He held his wine aloft to lead the toast, the rest of the table echoing the sentiment. Polite applause followed the toast, and the Rohirrim were loudest of all.
"Kiss her!" Wynfled called. A ripple of surprised laughter followed her words.
Lothí's gaze flew to her father. She wasn't surprised to see a frown flicker over his features. His disapproval awoke something in her then, a defiance she'd only felt a handful of times before. The last time had only been the night before.
The quirk of her brow told Éomer everything he needed to know. He'd been watching her closely, noting every emotion to flit across her face at the request. He couldn't hide the growing smile at her little smirk.
"Shall we?" he asked quietly.
"Give the people what they want," was the mischievous reply.
With that, he hauled her close and caught her full lips with his. A murmur went up and was quickly stifled with applause. Even Elessar and Arwen joined in. But neither Éomer or Lothí noticed. Nothing mattered beyond their embrace.
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.
Scinnlæ: Sorceress
Calming bees/taming animals/clear pee/stopping running water: All of these were believed to be signs of a pure and virginal woman. This imagery can be seen in paintings and tales from the Chaucer's era and on. Queen Elizabeth I can be seen holding a sieve in a 1579 painting to represent her image as the Virgin Queen. The running water metaphor could take several forms, such as the loquacious Wife of Bath in The Canterbury Tales, or a woman's ability to hold in her urine indefinitely. The rationale was that if a woman easily opened one hole, she'd eagerly open them all. There's a great article on this on historyundressed dot com by Karen Harris and Lori Caskey-Sigety.
Gwanur: Cousin
Mountain avens (or dryas octopetala) are commonly found in the Scottish Highlands and have an unusual eight petals. Look them up, they're very pretty! I didn't want to put simbelmynë on Éomer's gift since that's found on graves of Rohan's kings—it seemed a little too morbid, however pretty the flowers are. A white dryas typically represents longevity, purity, and innocence.
Glittering Caves: I tried to base this (very watered down) description of the Caves on Gimli's soliloquy about the Glittering Caves and their appearance from Chapter 8 of The Two Towers, Book 1 (after the Battle of Helm's Deep).