Disclaimer: The characters and setting belong solely to Tolkien Enterprises. Got that Peter Jackson? It doesn't belong to you!
Summary: No one has the perfect childhood.
Author's Note: Bullies suck. Depression sucks. But beyond that, the word cygnet is the name for a baby swan. Now if we all think back to our childhood, let us remember the story of the Ugly Duckling.
1320 T.A
Mesuseld was like no building in Dol Amroth. There was no white stonewalls, nor gaping archways. Despite, or because of this the golden hall entranced her. The mingled wood and stone would glow a softly in the dawn of the pale morning but would later blaze against the fading sun in the dusk of night, the gold inlay brilliant against the pinked sun.
At times she was almost afraid of the building's brilliance, a brush of darkness among the gold of the people. Fearing she was a shadow in the building, her dark hair and eyes blending in all too well with the darkness of night.
The mirror at least gave her small comfort today. So often the looking glass would mock her appearance, whispering to her that she was too pale, too thin… too plain.
Her husband returned from Aldburg during the night and still rested peacefully in their bed. He had entered their chamber late in the night inadvertently waking her from sleep. She should have been afraid of the tall shadow that had loomed in the night but she would have known his build anywhere.
How strange that he should be so comforting, when she had first met him his stature had frightened her. Standing a head above many men, Eomer was an impressive man. Broad shouldered and authoritative he could easily command the attention of a room, and with his golden handsomeness he could easily capture the heart of any woman.
She had no need to be afraid of him. Although appearing commanding and brash among the public she quickly learned that in the chambers of their room he was anything but.
Starting thoughtfully into the mocking glass, she deftly twisted her unruly curls into a secured twist at the nape of her neck. Only yesterday she had overheard servant girls mocking her wavy locks, curls in seemed were no longer fashionable in either Rohan or Gondor. Many women now attempted to sport the straight glossy tresses of the Lady Eowyn.
She paused, leaving her hands at her sides. She shivered slightly sensing her husband at her side. She smiled as she allowed herself to be pulled into his arms.
Eomer held her for a moment before descending his lips upon hers. She barely noticed his right hand leaving her side and settling at her neck. She protested half heartedly as Eomer skilfully undid the twisted knot in her hair. He paused from kissing her and ran his fingers easily though her dark tresses, leaning in and kissing the loosen hair.
Satisfied with his accomplishment, he turned her to him and once again focused his attack on her lips. He kissed her heartedly, somehow more content with her hair down.
He then pulled away from her reluctantly, tracing her form regretfully. " There are meetings I must attend." He apologized sadly, his eyes burning into hers.
Lothiriel shrugged carelessly though her heart still danced madly in her chest. " I understand."
Eomer stilled her hand that had reached up to redo her ruined hair and murmured softly, pulling her into one last time before he left. " You are far too beautiful my queen. I fear if I part from you a well learned courtier will steal you away."
As he pulled away, Lothiriel noticed the slight redness in his face; it was not often he spoke so romantically. Though his words were spoken in jest, there was a slight tinge to his voice she couldn't place… fear?
He left too quickly for her to ask.
Beautiful? Lothiriel questioned turning once more to the looking glass. She touched the glass thoughtfully, almost wondering if her appearance with melt away leaving behind the awkward girl she once was.
1308 T.A
" Who are you?" A pale red headed girl asked her.
Lothiriel almost dropped the basket she carried, startled by the young girls voice.
" Who are you!" A red haired girl asked again, her voice was now demanding. The girl seemed to be the same age as her and was attired in a manner that Lothiriel's father had begged to dress.
Lothiriel drew her spine straight, the girl's tone was edged. " Princess Lothiriel, daughter of Prince Imrahil." She knew she did not look the part of a princess, for starters her once white dress was stained brown from her time at the cove, watching the swans glide across the water.
" Princess!" The girl exclaimed loudly, drawing attention from several girls who now stared at them with avid attention. " I though princesses were supposed to be beautiful. You're not even pretty."
Lothiriel drew back stunned, as the girl and many others began to laugh. Her brothers had told her to stand up for herself claiming they did not wish for a weak sister. Lothiriel wished she were like the bold shield maidens she read of in stories, but she wasn't.
Not for the first time she wondered if swords could hurt as much as words.
Lothiriel had heard many times that her mother had been as beautiful as her father was handsome. The only comments she heard more than that were the saddened whispers among the noble of how such beautiful people could produce such a plain daughter.
Indeed she was plain, that she made no attempt to deny. Her eyes were too wide for her face and too dark for her skin. The deep brown stood out prominently against her paleness. Her brothers and mother all had glorious blue-green eyes that were as changeable as the sea. Her hair was unmanageable and was forcibly confined to a tight braid, while many other girls wore their hair down. She was too plump for her age and as a result was often mocked by the attractive thin girls her own age.
" You'd better get thin Lothiriel, or the only man you'll marry will be a horse herder from Rohan." The girls would giggle and titter as they spoke over their embroidery.
After many comments of that nature Lothiriel choose to have her lessons alone at home. A sanctuary where she could read and work in peace.
She turned to her father for solace, desperate to know if there was any hope at all for her.
" Will I ever be beautiful father?" She had asked nearly in tears.
" Are you not?" Imrahil questioned with an easy grin on his face. Unaware of turmoil inside his daughters head.
" Father! Please!" She begged, " The truth or nothing!"
Imrahil sighed heavily, and faced his daughter. " Do you know what your mother looked like when she was young?"
Lothiriel sighed heavily, " no."
" I remember that at your age, your mother was deemed hideous. Her fair-weather friends would often call her an ogre or a troll, spreading rumours that she was a harpy."
" But mother is beautiful!" Lothiriel protested. " Everybody says so."
" As she aged, she blossomed into a very beautiful woman and captured many men's hearts. But…" Imrahil smiled, " she was wise enough to see that many of the gazes she captured were much like the false friends she had as a youth. So, she married the one person who had treated her kindly in her childhood."
" You?"
" I'm your father aren't I?"
1320 T.A
Lothiriel's nose touched the cold glass of the mirror; unknowingly she had pressed herself against the glass searching for her answer.
Was it strange that at night she could still hear the taunts of her youth, haunting her in her sleep? That she could still remember vividly the faces and names of her tormentors?
She wished she could forget her childhood and simply dwell in the present. Simply be able to reside in the strength of her husband's arms and not worry whether he would suddenly realize that she was not the woman he thought her to be. Not worry if he would he would take on a mistress, unhappy with what she provided.
There were moments, even days when these thoughts no longer circled her memory, prodding on her every thought. At times she would even go a week without turning back to her melancholy ways. Those were the times her husband was with her the most.
Slowly her saddened ways were departing from her as she settled into the protective aura of her husband's love. Did he not once whisper to her at night, among the assurances of his love for her that he too had suffered a painful childhood? Gangly and tall he had stood out among the other boys; the loss of his father too had made his youth especially difficult.
When he had told her his secrets and fully bared his soul to her, she learned then that the fears she felt were misguided. He understood and loved her far more than she could understand.
Still, every time she passed a mirror the young girl she used to be would stare back her, wide eyed and wondering.
-Finis-