Note: Thank you so much for everyone who has reviewed, favourite and followed this fic! Your support is an inspiration! Also please give a big thanks to my beta Hybris, who has been just fabulous as I tried to get this chapter out. Shoutout to my friend Roobi for historical clothing description help!
Chapter 2: To Whims and Folly
The days blurred by as her Uncle deemed her unfit to rejoin the rest of society, demanding that she take a break. The information she had learned from the blade must have been valuable enough to have earned her this break, as he seemed to get excited at her words. His gruff comments that she was no use to him, nor Gondor, by being so worked up with her own hysteria, aside.
Like always, her father didn't visit her, even though she had seen him pass by the house frequently. Placing her hand to heart, Lothíriel let out a long breath, feeling her shoulders and the warmth of the room fade from her body. Silence seems to echo as she took in the grey, almost bare-looking room. The only signs of use were a lyre laying by her trunk, with a few embroidery supplies on the small table close by. Her heart twinged as Lothíriel gently trailed her gloved fingers over the headboard, letting her mind wander for a bit longer before pulling herself back in.
'You'd never guess this was my room for years. All I have to speak of my existence is these few things.'
Turning back to her embroidery set laying on the table, Lothíriel gripped her hands in determination as she tried to work on decorating a pair of new gloves. Taking off her everyday ones, she extended a trembling hand towards the needle. She found herself, once again, just stopping a breath before the item. Lothíriel grit her teeth in frustration, as she couldn't make herself touch the needle and thread; no matter how benign they looked, she knew what was waiting if she touched them.
'This clearly isn't working,' She thought with a sigh, giving up entirely and putting her gloves back on, turning to her window, her eyes traced the dirty edges of the white columns. The White City seemed to look more like a dove gray in the faint sunlight, the cracks on the rectangular buildings noticeable to the naked eye. The stains of black soot and dirt blotched many of the mosaics, while whole sections of the beautiful artwork were destroyed completely in the lower levels. The most disturbing thing of all was the lack of sounds of life. It was nearly midday, and no other noise could be heard but that of the horses and carriages on the street. No children laughing or playing, no one talking or singing. There was barely anyone on the streets, making the noises jarring and stark against that damned silence.
A knock on her door broke her thoughts, as a maid came in to announce the arrival of her Aunt Ivriniel. Gathering a deep breath for composure, she followed the young woman to the sitting room, where her aunt already sat, impatiently waiting and making herself comfortable. She was ordering the servants about so that everything was just right for her visit, clearly having no shame about doing so in another person's home.
"Aunt Ivriniel." She curtseyed politely, ignoring the slight pain in her arms and legs as she held the position before rising. It seemed she hadn't recovered as completely as she thought from touching that cursed blade.
"Lothíriel. You look terrible. Have you been getting fatter?" Ignoring the remark, Lothíriel gave a small smile before sitting closer to her infamous aunt. She was the first woman in their family who never used her gift in any way, instead, she suppressed it till no one remembers what her gift was.
'I wish I could also…' Smiling wider, Lothíriel discreetly nodded at a maid to leave the tea set there. "It's wonderful to see you too." Keeping her tone light and even, Lothíriel focused on her controlled breaths. She couldn't afford to show weaknesses in front of her aunt.
'Like she says; Noticeable reactions are easy pickings for the vultures and snakes of the Court. If I can't handle my aunt, how can I hope to survive the other nobles?' Lothíriel already had too many noticeable differences to the other women in Minas Tirith. No sense in offering anymore.
"What were you thinking, pinning your hair back so tightly? Also, why is your neckline so high? You look like a frumpy old maid from the last age." She said tartly. Her Aunt was widely known for never conforming to Minas Tirith standards of fashion, too proud of her Amroth heritage; no matter that her age should have had her see the wisdom in not ruffling feathers at first sight.
Her hair was beautifully arranged in a half-updo, with a pearl hair net to hold it back from her face, and her dress was gorgeously dyed in deep blues and purples; all of which were imported from Dol Amroth, no doubt. The neckline of her gown was cut much lower than Lothíriel's, the tightly-laced deep purple bodice valiantly supporting her breasts. A fine, delicately embroidered, nearly transparent partlet worn over it all drew the gaze to her age-spotted décolletage.
"Aunt...It is not appropriate for young women of marriageable age to let their hair down. Also, Uncle insists that I cause too much trouble when I wear any of the 'wilder' fashions. He gave me a sermon after the last time I followed your advice and wore a 'fashionable' style of dress." The look of rage and disgust on his face the one time she dared to be fashionable at Court…For one heart-stopping moment, Lothíriel actually believed he would raise his hand against her.
"Plus, Seamstress Alagiel has been instructed to only follow his orders ever since that little endeavour," Lothíriel said as she sat down to pour some tea, noting her aunt shuffling to the adjustment had her angling her body as if she meant to face her better when in reality she created more distance between them. Continuing as if she had never paused, Lothíriel tried to hide her exhaustion at the blatant aversion to even the smallest chance of contact.
Some frustration escaped her control as she tersely snipped; "You were there when he scolded me for hours. Have you been having problems with your memory lately?"
"Don't be cheeky with me, niece. You are a Princess of Dol Amroth, be proud of your heritage! What does that old, grouchy, sour grape of a man know about women's fashion?" Her Aunt waved a biscuit about as she used it to emphasize her point before taking a bite of it.
"Our people are known for the richness the ports give us. So what if you currently live in this blasted mausoleum of a city? It's not as if you could ever fit in when your skin is more than three times darker than any of the people living here." Lothíriel was keenly aware of the distance growing between them as every wave of her Aunt's arms had her inching away from her. Even though her Aunt was encouraging her, she still stayed out of reaching distance, no matter how close Lothíriel sat by her.
"You make it sound like my mother was from Harad. Last I checked, Pelargir was still a part of Gondor." Another sore point hit mercilessly, how like Ivriniel. Hiding a wince, Lothíriel cast her eyes down to her cup, as her Aunt glared at her for the remark.
"Your mother was dusky-skinned and so are you. Facts are facts." Twitching at the flat tone in her voice, Lothíriel got the message. She had been too pointed in her reply; she had shown weakness again.
"Play to your strengths. Deep colours would look gorgeous on you, not these shades and pathetic excuses for colours that have somehow become a trend. It will be a short one if I have anything to say about it." Her dry tone caught Lothíriel's attention as she looked at the wryly smirk her aunt gave a pale-faced looking maid in the corner.
"Aunt Ivriniel, please don't bother my staff." The light tap of her teacup against the saucer echoed as Lothíriel stared at her aunt straight in the eyes. Silence reigned for a few minutes, though it felt like hours to her before it was broken by the maid escaping the room to fetch more tea.
"They have no backbone. You need new ones. And more than the pathetic excuse of a group you dare to call a staff." Keeping her face devoid of emotion, Lothíriel nodded to her aunt's little flick of her cup. She accepted her not-apology, as she backed down from the topic. For now.
'Though, Uncle Denethor is going to rage at the thought of wasting more money on a frivolous expense should Aunt Ivriniel bother him with such things.' Sighing internally Lothíriel wondered if she would ever hear the end of their complaints about each other.
"Now, back to the matter of your wardrobe... I will have my personal seamstress have your new dresses made up immediately. You'll have to visit me of course, and come to me before an event so the Steward won't have your pretty dresses destroyed." A smug smile crossed Aunt Ivriniel's face, as she seemed to relish the thought of getting one over Lothíriel's uncle.
"Aunt-" Her hand waved about in Lothíriel's direction as she was interrupted and dismissed in equal measure.
"Now don't thank me, my dear. Valar knows someone has to make sure you know how to dress properly. What you're wearing may be suitable for his court right now, but just you wait!" She seemed to get fired up as she began to list the different fabrics she would buy and the designs she would insist on being tailored for Lothíriel.
"Please, I-" Once more Lothíriel was dismissed as the maid returned with a new teapot full of fresh tea. Placing it by Lothíriel's side, the young woman gave her a pitying look as she stepped away and back to her corner to wait for further instruction.
"Enough about the fashions, we can fix that later. Let's talk about your weight." Lothíriel couldn't help flinching again as Aunt Ivriniel looked her over, scrunching her eyes as she critically assessed her.
"Clearly he's trying to plump you up enough to bear your future husband's sons in a healthy manner, which for once he isn't wrong about. Honestly, what are these women thinking? Starving themselves into sticks, and for what? Their health won't thank them, and neither will their starving baby!" Lothíriel winced again as she shied away from her aunt's waving hands; clearly this had been irritating her for a while. Her tone even rose a few octaves as she aggressively continued to verbally destroy the habits of 'lesser women', and somehow managed to find the time to target Lothíriel's weight during the lengthy rant.
"Aunt Ivriniel-"
"More walking is what you need. I myself am an avid walker. I have never been considered too plump in my life and am the envy of all the women at my age." Hiding a huff at the understatement of such a remark, Lothíriel silently remarked that not many women could be 71 summers and yet still look like they were in their late 50s.
"You will walk every morning, I will make sure to get that old, sour grape to not interfere this time, so don't think you can get out of it my dear. We will have you looking less like a stuffed roll in no time. Mark my words!" Watching her aunt gleefully scheme about ambushing her uncle later that day, Lothíriel wondered if their relationship had always been this bad or if it was because of Lothíriel's presence that it seemed worse.
"You're exaggerating, I'm not-"
"I suppose there are some men that like a thicker girl. You have been blest with nice breasts at least. Your legs aren't too bad either, though you are a bit taller than usual for women...We'll have to make sure you wear less heeled shoes. Can't be towering over the men. Remember there is nothing more fragile than a man's ego." Nodding at the dark look on her aunt's face, Lothíriel prayed that this conversation would just end.
"Aunt Ivriniel, please, I am very happy with my weight and my height. Elphir says I look a lot like mother and she-"
"He's absolutely right." Cut off once more, Lothíriel bit her tongue as her aunt began to critic her mother, "Bless your mother's soul, she was a darling woman who turned my brother's head faster than a capsizing ship. She was just a little too plump for my liking... Even though she was an appropriate height for a woman, she had too many curves, not to mention the thick shoulders that you, unfortunately, have inherited." Staring at her aunt's arched eyebrow as she gestured to all of Lothíriel, Lady Ivriniel continued to talk on as if she hadn't been trying to provoke her.
"At least she knew how to make it look glamorous...Hmmm. I think I've figured it out."
Swallowing harshly, Lothíriel prayed for patience, "Yes Aunt?"
"Don't act so obtuse niece, it's not attractive. I've figured out your problem! ...It's the cut of the neckline on that dress. Clearly that's what it is. It diminishes your beauty and makes you look worse than you actually are!"
Reaching the end of her patience, Lothíriel poured herself another cup of tea as she took a moment to regain control of this spiralling situation.
"Aunt Ivriniel, what is this visit really about?"
"I am insulted that you think I wouldn't visit because I care for my niece." The mocking smile on her face was a stark contrast to her supposedly kind words.
"Your time is more valuable than for you to visit just for that reason...Is this because Boromir was sent away on a quest?" Not even a fortnight had passed and she ached at the thought of him so far away. His and Faramir's visits had kept her sane, providing the comfort and love she had lost from her immediate family. Boromir had left on campaigns throughout the years, but never had Lothíriel felt such dread at seeing him ride off.
"Partially, though the only person who could have changed your Uncle's mind was my sister; and unfortunately she's dead." Her aunt's cold tone snapped Lothíriel out of her reverie as the mood seemed to change.
"Aunt?" Lothíriel felt herself start to tense as her aunt dismissed all of the servants from the room. Pulling out a wrapped package from her beautifully embroidered pocket-bag, Lothíriel flinched violently at seeing the wrapped item be placed on the small table.
"Aunt?" Lady Ivriniel glared at her as Lothíriel's voice cracked slightly in repressed fear.
Carefully unwrapping it, Lothíriel saw that it was a small, worn down and cracking, wooden box, no bigger than her palm, with rusted metal hinges holding it together. Her Aunt actually dared to get closer to her, to whisper something into Lothíriel's ear, as she gestured towards the thing. The last time her aunt had acted like this was when…
'No Lothíriel don't think about it. It's in the past.'
Feeling her breath against her ear as she spoke in a raspy tone, Lothíriel vaguely noted her aunt repeat her hand gesture to the box in an annoyed manner. Shaking her head in denial of what was being asked of her, Lothíriel shrank into her seat as her aunt grew vicious in her whispered critics of such cowardly behaviour. Blinking back the tears; another weakness would win her another long lecture of her many failings no doubt, she shakily began taking off her gloves. She could feel her arms ache painfully as she flexed her hands.
'I can do this. It's won't be as bad. After all, what is another horror? Just one more to the collection.' Breathing deeply, Lothíriel tried to center herself as she mentally rallied herself onwards, 'Come on Lothíriel all you have to do is...'
Reaching out with her trembling fingers, she flinched as they touched the aged, cracked wood. Closing her eyes, Lothíriel felt herself try to block the grasping visions with another, personal memory. Shaking her head as she tried to get the job done and even as the emotions and memories of the box threatened to rise up and engulf her, Lothíriel couldn't help but recall her brother at this moment. Had it really been only 4 summers since she last saw him? Losing control of her focus, Lothíriel lost herself to the past as she vaguely heard her aunt cry out in alarm.
'Brother…'
"Sculking in the corner Lothíriel? What would our dear aunt say if she saw such atrocious posture?" Flinching at being caught avoiding their aunt's tea party that was happening in the other room, Lothíriel sighed in relief when she saw who it was.
"Amrothos!" She exclaimed as he picked her up into a bear hug. Melting into his embrace, Lothíriel beamed as he kissed her hair and held her close. Sometimes she felt like she lived for his visits. Besides Amrothos, she didn't see her other brothers anymore.
'Boromir and Faramir are more involved in my life than my own family.' She couldn't help but silently complain, as she buried her face into his embrace.
"I've missed you, little sister. Did you get shorter?" His dark grey eyes seemed to twinkle in laughter as she quickly pulled away from his embrace with an insulted look on her face.
"Still as lacking in charm as ever I see. How has squiring under Lord Alagastor been?" she teased back, playfully pulling on his shoulder-length, uncontrollably curly hair in warning.
"He is definitely one of the most skilled men under father's command. I can see why he is so widely respected." He monotoned, trying to look as serious and respectful as possible. Grinning at his automatic response, she grabbed his hand and began leading him to a small sitting room nearby.
"He never lets you roam too far from his sight huh?" She laughed at the loud groan her remark garnered. Amrothos was the closest to her age and the one who could always make her laugh, no matter what. For that alone, he had her unconditional love.
"Not even for an instant... Except for this summer." He smiled, playfully pulling her into an impromptu dance about the room before twirling her into her seat by the fireplace.
"Amrothos! What on earth are you talking about?" Giggling into her hands, she beamed as her brother leaned closer to her on the sofa, mischievous glint in his eyes as he explained his plans for the upcoming summer.
"The Venerable Lady Rhaweth is hosting Lord Alagastor. Even though I am his squire, Father still wishes me to know the basics of lording." Smugly preening at the indirect praise from their father, he missed her flinch as she began to play with her gloves.
'Father…' Swallowing down her darkening emotions, Lothíriel smiled as she brought his attention back from whatever fantasies and schemes he was concocting.
"And how does the infamous Lady Rhaweth fit in?" The woman was one of the most desired and exclusive hostesses in Minas Tirith. Lothíriel had quickly learned who controlled and influenced whom in the White City's Court.
"Her husband and two older sons are in Osgiliath. As lord to a minor territory, Lord Alagastor thought - with the lord's permission of course - that it would be the perfect place for me to practice under Lady Rhaweth's watchful eye while he joins Cousin Boromir's group." Biting her lip at the mention of their cousin, Lothíriel prayed that he would come back in a better mood than he left. The last row he had with her uncle had been... Upsetting.
"I'm surprised he'd let you go unsupervised." She mused, playfully punching him the arm at his arrogantly smug look.
"Apparently Lady Rhaweth is to be my handler this summer. She doesn't find fault in our 'dusky' skin nor my lack of 'lordly prowess'. I'm to remain there for a few months before rejoining Lord Alagastor in Dol Amroth." Pausing at the remark, Lothíriel gently grasped his hand comfortingly, as he looked down at their intertwined fingers. His were a sharp contrast against her white glove. It felt like the world held their breath as they sat there quietly for a few moments.
"How long are you in Minas Tirith for?" she murmured, unwilling to speak any louder.
"Just for a fortnight. Lady Rhaweth has to tie up some loose ends before we make our way to her husband's territory…" Trailing off absentmindedly, Lothíriel wondered if something had happened recently. It wouldn't be the first time someone had made a dismissive remark towards herself and her brothers.
She must have shown her worry on her face because the next moment her brother was grinning goofily as he dramatically flopped over the arm of the sofa.
"I am going to be so bored Lothíriel. Stuck with an ageing old crone all summer, no fun nor tavern nearby at all."
Rolling her eyes at his antics, she slowly pulled away from his hand as she snorted dismissively at his childish actions, "Poor brother. Stuck being an adult for a few weeks. Whatever will become of you?"
"You are too cruel sister." he mocked, peeking at her from the corner of his eyes.
"Honestly, you complain too much. Lady Rhaweth doesn't even look that old." While not being blessed with the same longevity as her family, she certainly didn't look anywhere close to her actual age.
"She's more than twice my age Lothíriel. She's old." He whined, childishly sighing as if it were some great tragedy.
"And yet, she still has many admirers at court." Annoyed by his dismissive wave, Lothíriel couldn't help but snark at him, "Some even your age Amrothos."
Cocking his head in her direction, Lothíriel smirked as she saw him try and deny any interest as he made himself more comfortable on the sofa, "Her husband must love that."
Comments like that just highlighted how long it had been since her brother had been to Court. Feeling strangely proud that she could teach him something, Lothíriel cleared her throat as she grinned at his long-suffering face.
"Flirtations are all well and good if done appropriately, and with a husband's permission. So long as they remain just words, and have a chaperone, then she is doing very little wrong." Of course, all you need is one single-minded, malicious trollop to stir up a scandal regardless of how proper you were...
"Oho? I thought a lady only had her reputation, and that one wrong move would ruin her future forever."
"Yes, but there are ways to .. bend things a little." Seeing his skeptical look, Lothíriel made herself more comfortable as she tried to explain the complexities of the court and what women could get away with.
"For example, Lady Rhaweth is the wife of a lord with very little to recommend himself in regards to lineage but has accumulated a lot of political and economic power in trade here in Minas Tirith. Many a man will try to get her husband's secrets from her; but if she's clever enough, she can get theirs instead." Espionage of any sort always caught Amrothos attention, Lothíriel hid a smile as her brother tried to hide his interest at her remarks.
"Since her husband is aware of it, and it is a somewhat common practice to see the wives maneuver other women and their husbands with wordplay - yes Amrothos, flirtatious wordplay too - then some leeway is permitted and the woman isn't shamed." She concluded, happy to see him break his act and look at her with interest.
"Huh...So, her reputation won't be ruined for hosting me, a single, 'exotic' looking Prince of Dol Amroth, without Lord Alagastor?" The mocking tone set her teeth on edge as he made to dismiss all of her words as flightful wishings of a young woman.
"Like you said, 'she is more than twice your age'; and fortunately for you Amrothos, you have very little to offer her and her family as the third son." Lothíriel wondered if she had said too much, as she thought she had heard a faint creaking noise. As if her brother had gripped the arm of the sofa too tightly. Pausing for a second, she wondered if she had just imagined that as Amrothos turned to smile teasingly at her.
"That too will protect her from the Court thinking something nefarious is happening." she weakly finished, feeling off centred at the look of his smile.
Huffing a disbelieving laugh, Amrothos got up and pulled Lothíriel into another spontaneous dance as he made snide remarks on the whole affair.
"Who would want to dishonour themselves with a decrepit, old woman when there are plenty of gorgeous young women to... dance with." Dipping her low, Lothíriel couldn't help but laugh at his antics, dismissing his weird behaviour as a trick of nerves.
"Clearly you have never met her before. But, you're in luck. Uncle is hosting a small dinner this evening to talk politics with the men, so they are bringing their wives to help 'educate' me." Rolling her eyes at his loud guffaws, Lothíriel thought perhaps dinner would be bearable if her brother was with her.
"My poor little sister, having to put up with gossip. Truly you are living in unbearable circumstances." He teased, lifting her up before twirling her into a dip again.
"I don't want to hear that from the one who was complaining that he'd have to be a responsible adult for a few months!" She giggled, enjoying this moment of levity.
"So cruel. How will you ever get a husband with such a blunt way of speaking?" Lothíriel suppressed a flinch at the remark, baring her teeth in a smug grin as he continued to whine at the injustice of his summer plans being foiled by the elderly. Stomping on his toes at one too rude remark, her brother laughed as he stepped away from her righteous fury.
"Is she that wrinkly that you need to defend her? Or does she try to dress 'fashionably' like Aunt Ivriniel? Come on Lothíriel, give me some details. I need to emotionally prepare myself if I have to see wrinkly cleavage all summer." Sighing at his way of thinking, Lothíriel prayed that he wouldn't make the mistake to repeat any of this at tonight's dinner.
"You are impossible." His roguish smile at her exasperation just filled her with more dread that he would do something stupid.
"Is that any way to treat a beloved older brother?" he batted his eyelashes playfully at her unamused face.
"Yes." She deadpanned.
In the end, Lothíriel had the last laugh as she hid her smirk behind her teacup. Lady Rhaweth was an elegant older woman, whose mature looks and keen intelligence made her a magnetic sort of person. Her sparkling eyes seemed to laugh at a hidden joke as she teased and played word games with both the Lords and the Ladies alike.
Even though she had a more modest neckline compared to her aunt's daring lower cut, Lady Rhaweth's dress drew attention to the elegance of her figure. Her bodice was a deep, rich burgundy colour that brought to mind the finest wines, a dark enough colour to satisfy her uncle. The sleeves, however, were the true highlight of the dress. They were made with rich silk, embroidered with a golden thread that shimmered softly in the candlelight, and slashed at the shoulder and elbow to allow her soft white chemise to peek through. As she gestured, they highlighted the grace and elegance of her movements, keeping her audience captive as she spoke.
'Lady Rhaweth is certainly very mesmerizing to watch when she speaks.' Lothíriel thought as she poured more tea into her aunt's cup, 'Even Uncle is paying close attention.'
Lothíriel would regret being distracted as one of the wives grew too animated in her discussion with her aunt and smacked Lothíriel's teacup across the table, shattering against the floor.
"Lothíriel!"
Jolting back to awareness, Lothíriel gasped as she gripped the edges of the box. Feelings of angry desperation for no one to find it - screams echoing in her ears as a man begged for his children's lives to be spared and a woman laughing in loudly, hiding fear of discovery, under gleaming white teeth - froze her body over with a wretched sense of dread. Muttering a name under her breath Lothíriel pried her fingers from the wood, wincing at the phantom sensation of splinters under her skin. Her stomach rebelled as she bit her lips in an attempt to keep it all down.
"Are you well? Speak up girl!" barked Aunt Ivriniel; she had moved to another chair, when exactly, Lothíriel couldn't recall.
"I-I'm fine." Lothíriel took a fortifying sip from her tea, immediately regretting it as her stomach heaved again in protest.
"Good. Drink some more tea. Clearly you aren't eating properly. I'll make sure to look over your menus before I go, I-"
Cutting her off before her aunt could work herself up into another pointless rant, Lothíriel heard herself ask, "Aunt where did you get this box?"
Her aunt's stoney features stared her down, as she took another sip of her tea.
"...A princess does not interrupt their elders. It's uncouth and undisciplined. Nor does she ask stupid questions."
"...Was it empty when you found it?" Lothíriel shuddered as she tried to shake off the feeling of ants and other wiggling things from her hands.
"Of course it was empty when I found it! Learn to ask better questions!" Lothíriel repressed a sigh as she wondered what a normal family discussion between an aunt and niece was like.
'Surely it's not as complicated as this.'
"Aunt...Where did you find something from Queen Berúthiel? She was stricken from the Book of Kings, and it is said that everything was sent back when she was cast out." At least, that's what she had heard from her tutor. For a woman so hated that history was supposed to forget her, she still seemed to live on in the hearts of many historians.
"Many things are said, child. I thought you would be smart enough to know they are not all true." And she was back to the insults. Lothíriel wondered if she continued to push, would her aunt finally give her a straight answer?
"Then let me rephrase my question: Did you find it locked and with something inside? And then at a later point in time find that it was empty and open by someone not you?" Her arms still ached, and the disgusting sensations threatened to have her stomach push back up her tea and biscuits.
"Hmph. I should have never left it out of my sight, but your uncle insisted he could guard it better. Clearly he failed." Tuning out her aunt's mutterings, Lothíriel took a few deep breaths before trying again.
"Aunt Ivriniel…"
"What was inside the box Lothíriel?" Her aunt's voice was sharp and serious, as she stared down Lothíriel's pale face.
"...Something secret. A lie. Or perhaps more of a wish." Her gift wasn't a science that worked the same way with every object. Sometimes, when they are around enough certain types of people, objects gain an intent of their own.
'Makes it difficult to read it well when that happens.' Lothíriel silently cursed as her aunt grew dismissive and bored with her.
"Vague and useless."
"The person who took it felt no strong emotion. No fear, nor rage, nor grief. If they did, it has been overshadowed by Queen Berúthiel's last feelings about it." That was all Lothíriel could confidently say with no fear of inaccuracy.
"Typical. That woman is a thorn to Gondor's side both in life and death. I'm shocked her damn cats haven't haunted us at this point."
A tense silence filled the room, as Lothíriel watched her wrap the box away. Finally feeling like she could breathe easier now that the box was gone, Lothíriel wondered if she should try and push her luck any further.
'Oh for pity's sake.' She thought, disgusted by her own lack of spine in this matter. Clearing her throat, she waited for her Aunt's eyes to meet hers before trying to speak about it.
"...I heard the news." A pregnant pause filled the space before her aunt waved her off dismissively.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Lady Luinwen is getting married again." Lothíriel didn't understand what had happened between them. They used to be so close, and Lady Luinwen had always been so kind to Lothíriel.
"A foolish thing for an old woman like her." Her aunt sneered, putting away her teacup and preparing to leave.
"It is for the economic stability of her family and children. Surely that isn't so foolish?" Lothíriel admired the strength it took to essentially sell yourself for the sake of your family and future. She didn't know if she could be as strong.
"She is giving up her last years to be tied to a man who neither respects nor loves her." Lady Ivriniel's voice seemed to catch before hiding the moment with a scoff of disgust.
"I know you two were the best of friends-" Lothíriel tried again, only to be cut off as she clearly pushed her aunt too far.
"You do not know what we were to each other! You have no idea." Pointing threateningly in Lothíriel's face, Aunt Ivriniel growled out the rest of her impassioned speech, "I am warning you right now that I will not look kindly upon those who meddle in my affairs. Now, let's focus on the continued survival of Gondor rather than an old woman's past friendships, hmm? Good. I will see you on the morrow."
Staring quietly as her aunt began to storm out the room, Lothíriel managed to reply back, "...Yes, Aunt Ivriniel."
"And Lothíriel?" Her aunt called out from the door, standing under the arch, and refusing to look back at her.
"Yes?"
"Wear something that doesn't make you look like a crow. It's a sad day when a young woman is less beautiful than an old woman. Even if it is myself."
The sound of the door slamming shut echoed in the empty room as Lothíriel sat alone in silence.
End of Chapter
