For now, believing that Beren and Felagund were prisoners beyond hope of aid, they purposed to let the King perish, and to keep Lúthien, and force Thingol to give her the mightiest of princes of the Noldor.
- Of Beren and Lúthien
Chapter 9
The uproar over what had happened at the end of the visit of horselords died out eventually. Though it was quite a scandal and brought some highly unwanted attention to Lothíriel, it was also news that soon got old. Had the situation in the realm been more peaceful and calm, perhaps the society would have spent more time dissecting the events of that fateful night. However, the shadows grew ever longer and a word of war was of a far greater consequence than court scandals.
Galdegir did not make any public appearances for an entire month, and when he did he couldn't quite hide the fact his nose had been broken... perhaps it was but her imagination, but the few times she saw him in the Citadel it seemed he was giving her some very venomous looks. She expected to receive something similar from his father, but surprisingly – and unnervingly – the glint in the eyes of Lord Ocharnil was best described as calculating.
As a result, and hearing of the man's dark ways, Lothíriel finally revealed the weakness in the wall that circled her father's house. She might lose her freedom but now she deemed it was a small price for the safety of her family.
Though she knew her interference had not made the two men love her, there were more important things happening in the realm. Being daughter to the Prince Imrahil she saw and heard many worrisome things, and daily she watched how his burdens grew and how troubled he looked when he came home. Same went for her cousins: Faramir barely came to the city anymore, as he was so busy with his Rangers, and Boromir too was increasingly often away... until the day came he rode away towards west. No one told her what it was about, but she saw the grave looks on the faces of her kinsmen when Boromir was set on his way. He was happy to deliver her letter to Éomer at least, as he was hoping to meet the Marshal in Rohan. From the talks Lothíriel could tell the land of the horselords was not Boromir's ultimate destination, but where he'd go from there she couldn't imagine, and she couldn't even persuade Father to tell her what it was about.
Nonetheless, the day she watched her cousin ride away, Lothíriel felt the dark touch of foreboding.
The orcs had come at night, attacking the small settlement without a warning. Very few had escaped and they had made way towards Aldburg; at once upon hearing the news, Éomer and his men had ridden out with fury.
They were able to reach the band of orcs before those creatures passed from the realm, and destroyed all of them. Yet even as the carcasses burned and there was knowledge the orcs had paid for what they had done, the people they had killed would not come alive... the homes burned would not be mended by the spilling of black orcish blood.
Unfortunately, this was an increasingly familiar setting.
In the realm of the Mark, it seemed to Éomer, the light was waning. Fight he could as much as there was strength in him, but what was there to do when Uncle wouldn't listen to his suggestions and pleads? How should he protect people who were spread out on an area too large for his men to cover and should long have been evacuated to safer reaches?
Even knowing of Wormtongue's scheming ways, he wondered if it had anything to do with the fiasco that had been the visit to Gondor. Truly Uncle had been angry for how he had behaved, but behind his back the Marshal was met with many approving nods – some even said they wished they could have been there to watch him beat up the man who had so offended the noble lady. But the diplomatic matters were apparently more important, and once Uncle was done reproaching him Éomer was sent back to Aldburg like a misbehaving child. He was bristling when he did go, but he was not a man to defy his king.
The year fell into autumn, and though a letter came from Lothíriel and brought him brief comfort, delivered by none other than Captain Boromir on his way North, Éomer felt like losing hope.
Still he fought on.
More of the nobility was starting to send away their wives and children these days, and Father tried to convince Lothíriel to leave too.
"You would be safer in Dol Amroth, dear child", he kept telling her.
"And leave you here all alone, to brood away your nights when all of your family is gone? No, Father. I'm not going to leave the city, not even if the army of the enemy were howling before the gates", she told him firmly.
"Soon it may come into that, Lothíriel", he said darkly and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Dear child, I can't bear the idea of you in the middle of horrors of war. I would have you safe, and away from here."
He frowned and looked at her very seriously, "Not to mention leaving the city would put some distance between you and the family of Lord Ocharnil. Though he has yet to make any move, I'm certain he did not take well your interference."
"What can he do to me in my own home, Father? I swear I'll be more careful from now on – I won't even go for rides anymore, if you think it's too dangerous. Just... don't send me away", she pleaded.
Father looked at her, his eyes sorrowing and troubled. Then he hugged her and held her close for a long time.
He did let her stay, but Lothíriel could never tell if it were because she had convinced him or if he just didn't want to see her gone.
Many days, he felt exhausted.
That was not a surprise. As the year grew older, more of Éomer's time was spent on patrols, chasing orcs, and trying to keep secure the increasingly dangerous borderlands. Plead as he may he wouldn't get more riders or a permission to recruit any from the lands surrounding Aldburg. At least with some intrigue he was able to evacuate the lands beyond River Entwash and bring the farmers and herdsmen into areas more easily defended.
Yet it filled him with helpless anger, to know so many dark things were walking the lands freely. More men ought to be out there fighting them and showing the Enemy that Rohan had not yet succumbed, and would not do so as long as there was one man left standing.
But as the year grew older so grew Théoden King more distant, and it was hard to keep alive his faith that perhaps there was some light beyond these dark days. And no more words came from Gondor: read as he might Lothíriel's letter, it didn't bring her any closer to him, and hours and space between them were long.
Who knew what was happening in Gondor?
And nightmares were many: Rohan burning, the home he knew and loved destroyed, and all the good things dying... Gondor too giving in for the flames of war and Lothíriel dead...
All he could was to trust Prince Imrahil to protect her, even if there were times when he wondered if it would just have been better to steal her that very night he had left Minas Tirith.
But then, what safety would there have been for her even in Rohan?
For all of Father's duties in Minas Tirith, they did travel to Dol Amroth for Yuletide. After all, rest of the family was there and it would have been quite lonely to stay in the White City, especially knowing others expected them to join the celebrations by the sea.
It was good to see Amrothos, and Erchirion too for once in a while had some time to speak of other things than war-waging. Elphir and Cuileth were completely oblivious for the most parts, as they had been ever since their son Alphros had been born. And Lothíriel couldn't blame them, seeing what a sweet child those two had. In the quiet of her thoughts she envied them, wishing she too could have had such an escape from the ever-present shadow. In the clear, innocent eyes of Alphros, future seemed bright.
The time of Yule was precious and also a welcome change for all the brooding and darkness that had fallen on the realm. For a brief moment, one could almost believe there might be some better end beyond all this.
Seeing the faces of her family also had Lothíriel thinking of a man she loved: how was he faring up in north? Was he taking care of himself, and did he remember to take a breath every now and then? Or was he pushing himself too much... was he perhaps dead, slain in some battle in the far away land of Rohan?
There was no telling what was happening to Éomer. And the uncertainty, the not knowing if in the courtyard they had shared their last goodbye, was the worst thing.
Even with all the evil taking place in the realm, Éomer at least still had one ally he could count on. His cousin Théodred was just as determined to fight and to find a new morrow rising in the free kingdoms. Though there had been some serious disagreements between them since the visit to Gondor, in this the two always remained allies. Rohan and the survival of their people was what they never disagreed about.
In this, they could always count on each other... and sometimes, the Marshal felt the two of them were the last men in Rohan strong enough to fight – to lead.
Perhaps, in the end, he trusted too much their alliance. Perhaps he saw Théodred as too everlasting. For in the end, nothing could really prepare him for the death of his cousin. In many ways, the loss of the Crown Prince was the last straw.
Now darkness was spreading even from west, and Théodred was slain in a battle; the strength of Men was failing. Rohan itself was caught between a rock and a hard place. The hammer of war was falling hard on the land of the horselords, and most days Éomer did not think he would look upon the face of Lothíriel again.
He certainly did not feel so the day they arrested him and put him behind bars for warmongering and for attacking Wormtongue... but then, what was he supposed to do?
What does a man driven to the very end of his endurance and patience do?
That night he spent in prison was the longest one of his life. There he sat behind bars, looking out and watching stars... and wondering if he should soon join his cousin... wondering how much longer the simple pleasure of watching the night sky was still there for the Children of Men.
Min Nihtegale...
Afterwards, it seemed miraculous and strange and he had not expected it. One moment, he sat in the prison waiting for what fate Wormtongue had in mind for him, and next the door of his cage was opened and he was told the King had ordered to set him free.
The arrival of Wizard Gandalf had turned things upside down... or, rather, turned things how they should be. For Uncle was restored, and justness had returned to the land.
But the path of justness was also that of war, and soon they were on the road for west of the kingdom and Helm's Deep.
The way there was arduous but also offered a long-awaited chance for the King and his nephew to speak of all things that had remained lately unsaid.
"My lord", he said as they rode side by side, "I am sorry for what happened to Théodred. I should have -"
His uncle wouldn't let him finish the sentence, however. Théoden lifted a hand and gave him a stark glance.
"It was not your fault, sister-son. You have done all that you can, and even more. No, the blame is elsewhere. I alone can bear the guilt, for if I had not fallen under Wormtongue's manipulations I would have understood what danger lurked in the land... I would have done something about it before it was too late", he said briskly. Then his eyes softened, "I wouldn't have you call me your lord, Éomer. You never did before these accursed times. I am your uncle, after all... and you're my heir."
Théoden's heir. Somehow, even if he in theory understood the meaning of that, it still seemed unreal and somehow wrong. It was Théodred's by right... but Théodred was dead.
"Of course... uncle", he said carefully, which brought a smile to the aged face of the King.
"Now, I don't know precisely what dangers await us ahead, but all that Gandalf has told me makes it very clear the road is long still and there will be battles and strife. I will not hold you back, because I know you must fight, and that is precisely what I need you to do. However, I would also have you be as careful as you can", Théoden said then, speaking softly and very solemnly. "Like I said, you are my heir. And you need to live. You need to live to carry on our line."
The younger man lowered his eyes at that, unsure of how to respond. He was not used to putting his own life before others, but he knew he could not say no either. So he just nodded.
"Don't be troubled, sister-son. I have faith that you will survive", Théoden said, more gentle this time. When Éomer looked at him, he was smiling fondly, "Are you still thinking of that Princess you met in Gondor?"
"... I never stopped, Uncle", he answered awkwardly.
"Of course. It seems I owe you my apology, for what I did under Wormtongue's influence... it was ill of me, to seek her hand in marriage for Théodred instead", said the King, and the mention of his son's name brought back the look of grief in his eyes.
"It's no matter now", Éomer answered and shook his head. But the troubled weight on his heart did not ease, and he continued, "Uncle, if and when a situation comes we have to ride for Gondor... well, you know I was permanently banished. Am I then to stay behind?"
"Not at all! Sister-son, if we are to fulfil again Eorl's Oath, then I would have you by my side. You're one of my best men and I need you fighting beside me. And if the Steward thinks some banishment is more important than our alliance, and the very survival of our realms, then he is either stupid or insane", Théoden said calmly. He gave his nephew a comforting look, "Worry not, Éomer. When we ride for Gondor, each man will be welcomed... and I will personally speak with the Steward about this matter of banishment. You will be king one day, after all, so I do not believe even the Lord Denethor can deny you the entrance to Mundburg... and if Lord Aragorn our friend decides to pursue his fate, then I believe he at least should agree this banishment of yours has no bearing whatsoever."
That did console the Marshal, and he was able to give his uncle a smile. Théoden answered it gently. Then the look of concern found its way back to his features and the lines on his face deepened. In his eyes, there was something tired.
"But first we should concentrate on surviving this next battle. I fear many that we know will not see the end of it..."
The days were falling into ruin very quickly now.
If nothing else were certain, the war was. Each day saw more people leaving the city, once so proud and brimming with life, and Lothíriel watched the endless caravans of evacuees leaving this settlement. And each day, she'd see her father returning from the counsels looking more and more concerned. There was no smile or laughter on his brow now, and all she could do for him was to try and secure he at least had a moment of release when he came home. She did her best to tell him amusing tales she had read in her books or prepare a delicious meal, but nothing she could do would truly lift that burden from the shoulders of her father.
And she couldn't help but wonder if her dear Marshal were met with similar concerns back in his own land... oh, if only she could have been there too, to offer what comfort she could!
But then a day came in March of the year 3019 of Third Age, when the Great Darkness was spreading from the east, that Father told Lothíriel: "You must leave the city."
She told him the same thing as every time before now: "I will not leave you here all alone, Father!"
This time, however, there was not that softening in the eyes of her dear father. Instead, its place was taken by something desperate and even somehow furious.
"Don't you see, Lothíriel? The war is almost here! It's only a matter of days now, and I can assure you it will be sooner than later. You must leave. I will not have you die here in the city, not if there is still a chance of saving your life!" he ranted in something that resembled anger but was not really that because he was talking with her.
"But the Rohirrim will come, won't they? I've heard talk. Everyone says Eorl's sons won't abandon us now, like they didn't abandon us before", Lothíriel tried. She had indeed heard talks on the markets, and it seemed that the Rohirrim answering the call of Gondor was the chief hope of Minas Tirith now. And in that, she invested her own private hope. Éomer was, after all, an important war leader... and if it truly came to the situation where all of the Rohirrim were needed, surely some silly banishment would mean very little when considered against all the lives he could save otherwise?
"It is irrelevant. Maybe they will come, maybe they won't. Who knows?" said her father, shaking his head in tired desperation. When he looked at her, his eyes were full of things dark and troubled, and it scared her. He spoke, "Please, daughter. You must go. It is far easier to me to do my duty if you're not here – if I can only concentrate on war instead of worrying whether you are all right."
At that, Lothíriel finally realised there was really nothing she could do to turn the mind of her father. And so she relented, hard as that was.
"Father..." she said quietly. How should she speak all the things in her mind, and all that worried her?
"Father, what if I don't see you again?" she asked, and her voice was scared and small. He pulled her close and held her tight to himself. By his trembling she knew he was trying hard not to cry.
"Have faith, my child", he whispered into her hair, though the very tone of his voice revealed he did not reserve much faith for himself.
That afternoon, she packed her bags.
Father had sent with her two guards from his own household, and they would accompany her to Dol Amroth. Also two guards of the city had come along, but they'd escort her only as far as the harbour of Harlond. After all, every man that could be spared would be needed in the city.
Judging by their garb, they were men recruited in these desperate days, and Lothíriel wondered if Father would ever have trusted them with her life if he had not been so burdened. No, the man she knew from the more peaceful days would not have done that. But her poor father, having so many concerns and so many lives depending on him, did not quite have time for his usual scrutiny... and her own eyes had been so full of tears that when she had left the house of her father she had paid little heed to those escorting her.
Lothíriel was, as far as she knew, among the last to leave the city. She didn't want to go but there had been little she had been able to tell her father, and anyway he had been absolutely unrelenting at the face of all her pleads. He was determined: Lothíriel ought to get out of the city while it was still possible.
Yet if she could have chosen otherwise, she would have stayed, no matter what was the fate that awaited the city.
In the east, the shadow hung dark and heavy, and she knew why many were scared. She couldn't tell why she didn't feel it quite as acutely. Perhaps it was just her concern for her dear father, and the hope her beloved Rohir had told her to uphold. Lothíriel knew doom was nigh, and yet she failed to feel the proper foreboding.
As they made way towards Harlond from where her ship would depart to Dol Amroth she thought of many things. She thought of father of course, but also of her dear cousin Boromir, who reportedly was dead. She thought of how she had cried upon hearing the news, and how she had mourned knowing he had died all alone and far away from his family. Worse yet, now Faramir's life was hanging on a balance too, for he had taken injury in a battle, and he was very weak. Of Father's determination to have her away spoke how he wouldn't even let her stay with her cousin, although she had insisted she could look after Faramir.
She also thought of her dear father bearing all those burdens, though Mithrandir was now in the city and some said his presence brought hope.
And she thought of Éomer, riding with his king... hopefully speeding towards Minas Tirith, as the answer of the Rohirrim now was the only thing they could place their hopes on. In such a situation, no banishment had any meaning. If he came and survived, he'd be welcomed as a helper in great need.
They had got as far as the second level when one of the city guards said his horse was acting funnily.
"It doesn't feel right. Something's wrong", he announced.
The older of the two men from Father's household frowned.
"We need to keep going. The ship isn't going to wait forever", he answered.
But the city guard did not pay any heed to those words. Instead, he lead his steed to a smaller side street, out of the main road, on which troops of men were marching back and forth: evidently Mithrandir was fast at work in organising the defences of the city. It was said that the injuries of Faramir had rendered Lord Denethor incapable of leading the men, and she couldn't but wonder in what kind of trouble they would have been if her father and the Wizard Gandalf had not been here.
"Did you hear what I said? We can't tarry here!" said the guard Father had sent with her.
"Mind taking a look on his feet? I think he has hurt them", said the other one, still not taking to account the Swan Knight's demands. In frustration the man from Father's household dismounted and went along to see what it was about.
In the moments that followed several things took place, but it was all such a chaos Lothíriel barely comprehended what happened before she was already pulled down from the saddle. Indeed, in a flurry of events the Swan Knight who had gone to see the horse's feet was killed: the city guard moved fast as a snake and slit the throat of the unsuspecting man. His friend had dismounted as well without her noticing, and before she could react he was already pulling her to ground.
The last remaining guard only had time for unsheathing his sword and growling in anger before he found a throwing knife in his own neck. She tried to shriek but a hand came cover her mouth, and roughly she was dragged away from the scene.
In panic Lothíriel struggled against the grip of the man who had pulled her down. What on earth was happening? Had the war already found its way into the city?
"Who are you? What do you want of me, you murderers?" she demanded to know when they slowed down a bit and the hand didn't cover her mouth anymore. "Let go of me!"
"Sadly, that is not quite possible, Princess. We have orders to not let you leave the city", said her captor.
"And I give you orders to release me! Do you have any idea of what my father will do when he hears of this!" she snarled.
"When your father hears of this, there will be nothing he can do", said the fake guard, grinning as he spoke. And then, before she could do anything or even scream for help, a heavy fist fell on the side of her head, and she saw stars.
Lothíriel came around again when a bucket of water was emptied on her face. She felt disoriented and dizzy and it took a while for her eyes to adjust. She had been quite unceremoniously tossed on the floor, and above her faces loomed.
"Coming around at last, are you, little Princess?" asked a voice she had not heard in a while but recognised nevertheless. Of course only Galdegir would be so vile!
"You come here and I'll tell you about little", she mumbled, barely coherent. Oh, her poor guards, slaughtered by the side of road just like that! Both had been good men and they would be sorely missed if the truth about this would ever be made known.
"Brave she is indeed. Still talking large even now", said another voice. Lord Ocharnil! Of course.
Then hands appeared and she was roughly pulled up on her feet. Lothíriel's head swam and she nearly lost her footing, but eventually she was able to focus her eyes on the smirking faces of the two loathsome men and their cronies. They looked mostly the same as the last time she had seen them, though one couldn't really miss the broken nose of Galdegir – by the courtesy of one Marshal Éomer, bless him – which gave him a look fitting of his personality. He stood beside his father three feet away from her. The space they were in was some kind of a bare cellar and the only source of light were torches.
As soon as she had made the observation about her surroundings, she glared at the two men before her.
"I demand you explain what this insanity is supposed to be, and then I order you to release me!" she announced with the aura of someone who actually had control over the situation. However, her words just made the smile on Ocharnil's face widen.
"Oh, you will have your explanation, Princess. But I'm afraid we can't let you go, now that we have you", he said calmly, "If there's anything good about this war, at least it has your father so preoccupied that he can't watch you like a hawk anymore..."
"So you've been planning this for long? Sat in the shadows like some fat spider waiting for me to flutter in your web?" Lothíriel asked angrily.
"However unfortunate, I suppose that is not such a wrong description of what is at hand, Princess", said the lord lightly.
"And what do you precisely want of me?" she demanded to know.
"Just you, Princess. Nothing more, nothing less", Ocharnil said. He was still smiling that disgusting smile of his, and the men behind him laughed like it was somehow funny. She blinked and felt taken aback, but was still able to retain her composure. She couldn't let fear take a hold of her now.
"And why is that?" she asked in clipped tones.
Ocharnil didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked at his son, who was grinning beside him.
"You see what I mean, son? That is the kind of spirit we should want in our family. Your sons will share it, once the day comes", he told the young man.
"His sons!" Lothíriel exclaimed as a very profound feeling of disgust filled her. "If you think you can make me do that, you're seriously mistaken!"
"Dear Princess, there are many ways of bending people to one's will. I assure you, for all that you think yourself unbreakable, you will be just one in a line of many wild things we have tamed and subdued", Ocharnil said nonchalantly. Had the two men who had lifted her up not kept a tight hold of her arms, she'd probably have jumped the man right then and clawed off his eyes. But all she could was just stand there and seethe, consumed by fury and the need to commit extreme acts of violence on these two "lords", and thinking why on earth wouldn't uncle let Éomer handle these pigs of men when there was a chance?!
"My lord, for my part I can assure you that my father will not leave stone unturned when he learns I'm missing, and you're sorely mistaken for thinking he'd allow any of your schemes actually succeed. And not only that, for I would imagine he should be quite happy to call the Marshal Éomer of Rohan here, and together they will end you so completely that your forefathers to the tenth generation shall shudder in their graves!" she hissed through gritted teeth. "But that is only if I don't murder you first!"
"Lady, if you actually believe you have any chance against us, I would recommend you think of it again. As for your father, he will not dare do anything when the life of his daughter is in my hands and mine to do with as I wish. And that northern brute has no absolutely no say at all in any of this; he's but an insignificant Marshal, and the news from Rohan have reassured us that he'll be dealt with greater hands than our own", said this twisted man before her.
"As to what is your role in all this..." Ocharnil said then, "When we win this war, many things will be rearranged in this realm. Faramir is not likely survive and even if he does, he is not the man his father is, and men like him can be broken and beaten. Powerful, determined men will have their chance at last. Your father could be a problem, yes. That is why I need leverage on him... which is why you're here now. If I have Prince Imrahil's precious daughter in my keeping, he'll have no choice but to do exactly as I tell him."
"Not only that, but once my line is united with yours, there is really nothing we can't do in this realm. You will be the founding mother of a dynasty that will last through the Ages", he continued smugly, "Is that truly such a loathsome idea, Princess? By giving the great and mighty blood of Princes of Dol Amroth to my grandsons you will be participating in things far larger than you could ever possibly dream of as some horselord's wench..."
A/N: *dramatic music plays in the background* Oh, I just love the drama. Sure, this all is going to places I did not expect and at this point I'm not even going to pretend this hasn't got out of hand. What was supposed to be max 5-8 chapters is completely out of control. That, I believe, was doomed to happen the moment I wove Galdegir into this story... and especially his father.
So, Ocharnil definitely plans on using Lothíriel not only as a leverage to get to Imrahil but also as a key to power. Obviously he doesn't know about Aragorn - he believes he could actually have some kind of supreme power in Gondor, because all the important men are falling, and Boromir is dead and Faramir at this point is gravely injured too. Also his information about Éomer is not quite up to date, like you probably already noticed. When he says that Éomer is but an insignificant Marshal and will be dealt by "greater hands" he thinks Wormtongue has already dealt with our favourite horselord as with Théodred. But Ocharnil doesn't know what has taken place in Rohan in the meantime and that Théoden has been restored and Éomer is the heir to the throne now.
One point I didn't remember to make about the last chapter and the fight between Éomer and Galdegir. I think this is actually quite a valid idea and I should maybe have discussed it in the text itself. Anyway, the thing about duels in Gondor is that the last King - named Eärnur - before Aragorn's coronation indeed died because he answered a challenge to single combat by the Witch-king. So ended the line of Kings in Gondor, and I believe this is something that left deep scars on the Gondorian culture and mind. So I don't think single combats would be treated too well in Gondor, because that's what ended Anárion's line. I'll have to add this detail in the text if/when I come back to edit it.
Hope you liked the chapter, and thanks for reviews!
Ranger – You disregard the fact that in Denethor's mind there is absolutely no reason for a trial. As far as he knows – due to what was a convincing show from Galdegir to him – all that took place was some tasteless jokes. Nothing to warrant a trial by combat, especially when most things Éomer has so far done have been the kind to put Denethor off. All he sees is a foreign troublemaker acting way out of the line. He's not just going to let young lords go having single combats, because those are things that tend to get people killed, and if we regard this strictly from the point of view of Denethor, the highest authority in the land responsible for peace and prosperity, is that really such a good idea in these dark and troubled years when the War of the Ring is getting closer?
As for the King you refer to, that was actually King Eärnur, who was the last king before Aragorn restored the kingship in Gondor. Moreover, his decision to answer the challenge was in my opinion portrayed as a rash and downright stupid idea that stemmed from wounded pride, and his Steward did all he could to change Eärnur's mind. And considering a single combat was what ended the line of kings descended from Anarion, would you really say duels would be tolerated in Gondor? One would think that would leave something of a collective trauma on the whole society and culture. There is a reason the criminalisation of duels and civilisation process have gone hand in hand, and you'd think that considering what a developed culture Númenor had (being the basis for Gondor), they'd have similar idea about it. I really do not understand this idea that somehow Middle-earth and real world always go 100% hand in hand and what is realistic for one is realistic for the other as well.
You're judging them by face value, I deem, with no consideration for context, the possibility that people might learn to make better choices, and the very core of Tolkien's thinking. As for your quote, you use it in a way that seems to imply people are made up by only one choice, and they are defined by that one choice for the rest of their lives, without a chance of redeeming and improving themselves.
Sandy-wmd - Oh, too soon it was indeed. And I don't think Imrahil would anyway have been able to send away her. Like I've stated before, he is just too attached to his daughter, even if he is finally starting to understand that he can't keep her forever.
annafan - I'm glad you think so! :) Also it's good to hear my ideas about Ocharnil are welcomed. I mean, at least to me it seems entirely possible that this sort of thing would happen when Denethor is losing hope and the power of Gondor is failing.
Le Pleiade - He definitely has been quite the obstacle between our lovers, but essentially I think what he does is rational from his point of view.
Talia119 - Here's some more Mafiosing! :D Hope you like it. And yes, this story has gotten out of my hands quite badly...