Chapter 17
The morning was fair and bright and as Imrahil did not have any pressing business for it, he presented his daughter with the idea that had occurred to him upon waking: would she like to come and ride to Osgiliath with him?
She lifted up her eyes and smiled a little as she accepted the suggestion, and so after the breakfast they met in the courtyard of the town house, where horses were ready and waiting, and made their way through the city. Imrahil could tell it was going to be a warm day, but at least there was always some wind by the river. He thought of Dol Amroth by the sea with some longing, but did not allow the idea to linger. He would stay in Minas Tirith as long as Lothíriel needed him.
He glanced at his daughter, who rode by his side. She had picked a light tunic and breeches for the trip – a sensible array for climbing up and down the rubble and stone that littered Osgiliath. At least the filth of the orcs from the siege of Gondor had been cleaned away.
Looking at his youngest, Imrahil felt some concern, as he inevitably did these days. They had been in the city for a couple of weeks now, but her mood had improved only slightly. And she was not making many friends, though they had attended court gatherings and other social events, where she could meet plenty of other young people. Lothíriel still kept to herself and to him, wandering the city alone and joining him for outings only when he asked. He tried to tell himself it was too soon to expect a change in her. She had been under her aunt's thumb for too long to feel comfortable in the noble society right away.
But at least Queen Arwen was being more than welcoming, and Faramir and Éowyn would soon be arriving in the city as well. There had already been a tentative friendship between his daughter and the White Lady, and Imrahil hoped it would truly blossom once they got a chance to spend time here, away from Ivriniel's influence. And perhaps finding her place would be easier with the help of friends.
They rode quickly over the fields of Pelennor and reached the river before sun had reached her zenith. When they reached the ruins, they left their horses behind and a couple of Swan Knights to watch over the animals. The old road from Minas Tirith to Osgiliath was now in more frequent use than the dark days before the War of the Ring. A new temporary bridge had been built over the river to make the travel easier, but it would be a while before a more permanent solution could be achieved. The old ruin did not yet have new inhabitants except for guard posts, but Aragorn was planning to first establishing a barracks as a foundation for re-settling the city.
All this Imrahil explained to his daughter, who was listening carefully to his tales and anecdotes. She asked questions here and there as they wandered over the ruins of what had once been a beautiful city. Where Minas Tirith was fully and truly a watchtower, Osgiliath had been built to please the aesthetic eye of Númenóreans who still remembered the beauty of their lost home. He showed where guards had stood during the long struggle against Mordor, and what had been the more notable spots of the city. Of the King's House only a few stones remained.
Lothíriel looked around herself with a bittersweet expression.
"Do you ever feel sad to look at it, Father?" she asked him as they strolled down what had been the main road of Osgiliath. It ran down to the river, where the temporary bridge stood. There were guards at both sides now, for no one wanted orcs or marauding Southrons come creeping and raid the unsuspecting folk living at the Pelennor fields.
"Sometimes. But I also see the potential that is here – lives that could be built in this place", said Imrahil and cast a smile at his daughter.
"Yes. Of course. But I wonder about the people who used to live here... what it felt like to leave it and know all their memories were crumbling to dust", she said thoughtfully and kicked a small loose stone.
"Well, I would think they were comforted to know that cities can be rebuilt and new memories made. It's not stone that makes a home, it's people", he said gently and touched her shoulder.
A frown twisted her features.
"But what if they too are gone?" she asked him softly. Her melancholy tone did not surprise him, though it did worry him. She was too young to be grieving all the world's sorrows.
"Why do you burden yourself with an idea so bleak, daughter?" he asked back, halting to stand beside her. "Where there is life, there is hope. It is possible to build anew. Think of your cousin Faramir and his wife. They were not left alone, though they have lost so many people they loved."
"But he is", she whispered and looked over the river.
Imrahil regarded his daughter in wonder.
"What do you mean?" he asked her, but even as he was speaking, she seemed to shake herself.
"Nothing, Father. I was just... it's nothing. Don't worry about it", she said pertly and began to move again. He followed her and though he said nothing, Imrahil's mind was not left idle.
They took a cold lunch on the rocks near the bank of the river. It had been someone's little kitchen orchard once, or so his daughter assumed; she pointed out a few herbs and plants that would be commonly found in such places and still lived here, though people were long gone. Lothíriel seemed to have forgotten whatever had saddened her before, and Imrahil too relaxed little bit. Here was the daughter he knew and loved, who had endured Ivriniel's attempts to mold her into something she was not. His heart ached when he thought of what he had almost let happen to her, but he hid these notions the best he could. After all, he had hoped to cheer up his daughter by bringing her here.
It appeared his plan was working. She was smiling and even laughing a little as they spoke and feasted on his bounty from the kitchen of town house. Imrahil had told the cook to pack some of Lothíriel favourite treats and he was pleased to spy looks of delight when she opened her bundle. Quietly, he wondered what kind of a woman she would have become if he had told Ivriniel to stay away from her.
"This is really nice, Father", she said suddenly, disrupting his line of thought. "Thank you for bringing me here."
"It was my pleasure", he said and offered her a smile. "Your mother loved to come here back when we used to have more time. Her handmaids were quite horrified. They seemed to think orcs would come storming over the bridge and take us if we lingered here too long."
"Why did you stop coming here?" she asked him.
"Well, Elphir was born, and your grandfather needed me more and more in Dol Amroth", Imrahil responded and let out a soft sigh as he thought of those days long gone. One night he remembered, and moonlight over the ruins of the city... his wife's quiet laughter as they wandered under summer stars and being told off by his second in command when they returned to the city close to dawn.
"Trust Elphir to put an end to all the fun. He was such a demanding child", Lothíriel jested wryly. Imrahil laughed. They both knew Elphir was one of the most responsible and caring brothers that had ever lived, and in any case she had been too small to really know her eldest brother as a child.
"I had more headache from Amrothos, to be honest", he said warmly. "He can be so carefree and reckless. But he never was malicious or selfish... and you, my dear daughter, almost raised yourself after your mother left us."
Her expression sobered and she looked over the river to the other side. Hot afternoon sun made the air almost seem hazy.
"I miss her, Father", she said quietly and held her waterskin between her hands. "I wish she were here and I could talk to her. Maybe then I wouldn't feel so lost."
His heart ached as he looked at her. She seemed so young and so uncertain.
"It was an evil fate to lose her so soon", he said and reached to gently touch her arm. "But I suppose I never understood what a loss it was for you, being left to manage with so many men around you, and no proper female company. We never much talked about it, but I don't think your mother really approved of your aunt. I suppose she only kept her silence because she thought I would never question Ivriniel's position. I think... she would have known to protect you."
They were both silent for a moment, remembering their loved one. His dear Míriel had always been wary of Ivriniel, though she had not spoken against her, or explicitly told him to keep Lothíriel safe. So many things had been left unsaid...
"It's fine, Father. We all have done things wrong and made poor choices. You never did anything to imply I couldn't confide in you, and yet I acted like no one else except Aunt mattered or had valuable counsel... I let myself forget that I have a father who loves me", she said solemnly.
Imrahil felt his throat growing tight. He reached for the hand of his daughter and held it in his own. Here they were, speaking these heartfelt words... it was not yet too late. However wounded his youngest was, she was not beyond healing. And he – he had not lost her.
Save your daughter while you still can.
He was able to smile and she returned it. For a while they ate in silence, finishing their lunch as afternoon grew older. Like with Míriel, it was easy to lose one's sense of time in this ruined city where years had long since lost their meaning.
When they had gathered their things and turned to walk back to the horses, Imrahil looked at Lothíriel, and he asked: "Have you had any time to think things over? Do you wish to resume to your earlier work?"
"I really don't know", she said softly, eyes fixed on the ground. "I'm not sure I can do it without Aunt. And yet we both know what will happen if I go back to her... all of it is in the dark for me, Father. Even the person I see in the mirror seems unfamiliar."
"You will grow to know her again", he reassured her, though his heart felt heavy as stone. "You will find your way in time."
She looked at him and he thought he saw some hope in her eyes.
"Do you really think so?" she asked him. Strange it was, knowing how deadly and single-minded his daughter could be, and yet to see this uncertainty and vulnerability in her... he only hoped she would find a way to unite those parts of her, and not be always torn in two.
"Yes, sweetheart. I do believe it", he told her gently and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
Imrahil thought his daughter did seem a little less troubled as they rode back to the city. She looked more ahead than down below. He smiled to himself. She had strength in her and it would get her through this.
When they reached the town house again, Lothíriel pecked his cheek and took her leave. But Imrahil was informed by his steward that a messenger from Aragorn was waiting for him inside, and so the Prince of Dol Amroth made his way quickly to meet the man. Perhaps his liege-lord had some urgent need of Imrahil – though in that case the messenger would probably have come look for him in Osgiliath.
It turned out the news were of a pleasant sort: King Éomer had arrived in the city and there would be a ball in his honour later this evening. Aragorn hoped that Imrahil could attend, even if the invitation came at such a short notice. He smiled slightly. There was no short notice between friends and he imagined there were plenty of noble lords in the city who would drop all other plans at hearing King Éomer would be there.
He sent the messenger back to the Citadel, bearing his answer: he would come indeed and bring his daughter as well. It would be a nice surprise for her, he thought. In Pelargir, he had got the sense that Éomer had grown to like her, so perhaps seeing a friend would help to cheer her up even more? Not to mention, her aunt had whisked her away so quickly that the two had not got a chance to rejoice in their successful efforts. No doubt they had plenty to talk about when they saw each other again... and maybe – just maybe – it could become something more.
Imrahil almost laughed at the simple beauty of the idea. Éomer was a good man, but also different enough he would understand Lothíriel's unconventional upbringing. After the struggles of his own sister he might be able to see her perspective unlike anyone else. And a life with him in Rohan... well, it would remove Lothíriel from Ivriniel's grasp for good. She would be safe. Someone so honest and true as Éomer would help her find her own way once more.
But he was getting ahead of himself. Lothíriel herself would decide whether Éomer was to her liking as a potential husband. He wasn't going to take her choices away from her like Ivriniel had tried. Yet neither would he stand in the way of what could be a very beautiful solution to a difficult situation. And so he told his steward to instruct the servants not to speak of King Éomer to Lothíriel; she wouldn't find out about his presence until they got to the ball.
Yes, it would be a wonderful surprise indeed.
Lothíriel had scarcely got out of her bath when a maid arrived and announced there would be a ball at the Citadel tonight, and Father wanted her to join him. She did not refuse, even if the idea caused her no particular excitement. So far, she had not been able to get very comfortable at the social gatherings of Minas Tirith. Not that there was something inherently wrong about it, but she simply didn't feel like she belonged there with the high and noble of the realm. It was such a different world, and she knew she could never be truly herself there. Like a spider, her eyes looked for dark, shadowy spots where she could retreat.
But Prince Imrahil's daughter could not go hiding or avoid certain amount of publicity. So whenever he asked her to go with him, she plastered a smile on her face and told herself it was simply another role. It was not even a particularly hard one, when one made effort.
The maid helped her to get ready. Her dress was simple enough, light blue silk without particular embellishments except about the wide skirts. The way it flowed when she moved reminded her of the sea. With it, she wore a string of Amrothian pearls on her neck and in her hair, which the maid arrayed to tumble down her back. Wryly Lothíriel thought this was another kind of dressing up, and it required a significantly lesser amount of plotting and stabbing. She managed to cause herself a surprise by realising she was actually thinking of how she might be able to hide a small blade inside her skirts.
When it was time to go down and join Father, she took one more look in the mirror to make sure she would not be laughed out of Merethrond. Her reflection still seemed a little pale, but perhaps not so full of shame and grief as before. She almost looked like a lady, even with her outdated dress and simple jewellery.
Father expected her in the entrance hall. He smiled when he saw her and said she was beautiful. She smiled back and wondered if this was how it felt like to be a perfectly ordinary noblewoman in Gondor, getting ready for a great ball in the city of kings and joining one's father to walk there in the fragrant evening. Would it be a happier life?
"Let us go, then", he said, and a pair of servants opened the twin doors for them. A few Swan Knights waited there and trailed the Prince and his daughter as they began to climb the road to the Citadel. It was not a long way, for the House of Dol Amroth was important enough to have lodgings near the heart of the city. Other nobles were going the same way and greetings were exchanged between them. Lothíriel was surprised to see so many of them. How big was this ball going to be, exactly? Surely the amount of people was unexpected, considering the invitation had only come this afternoon.
They reached the Citadel. Low fires marked the way to Merethrond but many groups of guests had chosen to stay outside and enjoy fresh air; it could get stuffy in the feasting hall when it was full of people at summertime. The doors leading inside were wide open and golden light streamed invitingly.
"I must say, sometimes the Citadel seems like an entire different place in the world, compared to the way it was before the war", Father said softly as they joined a line of people who were headed for Merethrond. Somewhere inside, Lothíriel heard the voice of a herald announcing the names of guests.
"Why do you think that is?" she asked him. She had been here a couple of times in past, but her last visit before coming here with Father was years ago. He was a much more frequent guest in Minas Tirith. But even so, she had to agree. In the days of Denethor, the Citadel of the White City had been a joyless place.
"There is no Shadow in the East anymore, which plays a big part. But it's because of Aragorn and Arwen, too. They light up this place, in a way... well, I expect they light up their surroundings wherever they go", he answered and let out a soft chuckle. She knew what he meant. It was easy to be in their presence, and particularly Queen Arwen. One might have expected that a character so legendary would constantly emanate an aura of far off loftiness that made her hard to approach, but Lothíriel had only felt welcomed with her, safe even. Maybe it was because she had previously had so few good relationships with other women.
Inevitably her thoughts turned to him. For he too was one of those luminous people whose light was gentle and comforting even to a creature of shadow.
They reached the line that was forming at the gates and halted there to wait for their turn. Merethrond was already full of laughter and noise, and candlelight gave a warm glow to white stone. Even she, with her wariness and doubt, could appreciate the light and life she beheld there.
Father touched her hand, which rested on his forearm.
"I did not tell you before, daughter", he whispered to her as he leaned closer, "for I wanted it to be a surprise. Our mutual friend Éomer is here tonight."
She froze dead on her tracks. It felt like all strength abruptly fell away and she stared ahead with wide eyes. He was here! Of course! That explained why so many people had come!
"Father! Why didn't you tell me before? I can't – I can't see him! Not now!" she said in panic as her eyes already scanned the crowd for a tall, golden-haired man... half dreading the sight, and half yearning for it.
Her sire looked at her in astonishment.
"But why ever not? I thought you would be glad", he wondered out loud.
She felt like collapsing as she took support of his arm. What a fool she was! How could she ever think this would not come back to haunt her?
"I – I failed him, Father. We were... I was going to..." she stammered and tried to keep her voice down – there were a few people already staring at them. Don't make a scene. "He won't be happy to see me. I let him down like he meant nothing!"
The line moved a little bit, and she was only able to keep up because Father was moving them both. But his eyes were still fixed on her.
"Daughter", he said evenly, "What happened between you two?"
She felt miserable. There was no way she could avoid the truth now.
"He asked me to marry him. I told him yes", she mumbled in a defeated voice. "And then I left without even saying goodbye to him."
For a moment Father was silent. She didn't dare to look up, because she was too afraid of what she would see. He had been wonderful lately, taking her away from Aunt and being there for her, but how could that go on now when he knew her disgrace?
"Did you want to leave him?" he asked her at length. The line moved a little again, but this time she was able to use her own feet.
"I... I thought I did", she whispered. "Or... maybe I didn't really want to go. But I was scared he'd abandon me once he saw me for who I really am."
"And was it your aunt who made you think so?" he asked now.
"Y-yes", Lothíriel stammered and stared down at her feet. A part of her felt like she was betraying Aunt now, but her reason told it was not so. How could you betray someone who has never been your true friend to begin with?
Father sighed heavily before he said anything again. When he did, his voice was grave.
"Why didn't you tell me this before?" he wanted to know.
"Because... I was ashamed. And I didn't want to embarrass you", Lothíriel said quietly and swallowed hard at the lump that had stubbornly lodged itself in her throat. "I know it's stupid but... I suppose I just hoped it would go away if I didn't say anything."
"I am not angry with you, daughter", said Father slowly as they moved forward again. "Perhaps I might have been, but now I know what your aunt has been doing to you, and it is clear she did not mean well when she took you away."
Lothíriel nearly sobbed in relief. She had not lost her father's regard! So many things in her life were already broken or in disarray, and if he ever told her that he was ashamed of her, she didn't know how she would endure it.
He sighed again and whispered, "If you don't feel up to it, we can turn around and go back home. I could say you got suddenly ill."
The option was attractive, she could not deny that. He was giving her an easy way out of this, a chance to escape... but if she did run now, it would change nothing, it would just make her a coward. And she had run from Éomer once already. She didn't expect it would fix anything, but she owed him this much.
"I have to face him eventually. Maybe then we will both have peace", she said, fighting to sound determined. Father still seemed concerned, but she was able to conjure a smile for him.
"Very well", he said quietly and nodded. "It is a brave thing to do, daughter."
Maybe, she thought to herself, but I wish I had been brave when it mattered.
The journey from the Mark had not been the most pleasant one. Weather had been warm even in Rohan, but it became unbearably so when Éomer and his company crossed the Mering Stream and rode southwards to Mundburg. The last stretch had been downright torturous in dry, dusty air; both man and beast were overjoyed when they had finally reached the cool shades of the White City. He had expected to meet Éowyn and Faramir there, but there had been some trouble in Ithilien which had delayed their arrival, but they should join the party in a day or two.
Éomer would not have minded spending the night quietly with Aragorn and Arwen, but propriety had its demands on them, and so he had barely time to take a bath and a quick rest before he already needed to join them for dinner. Then it was time to go and greet the first guests arriving in the Great Hall of Feasts. As ever, days in Mundburg were hectic and his status as an unmarried foreign sovereign attracted certain amount of opportunism. No wonder it was a continuing joke between him and Aragorn that some time they should just discard their royal mantles and go wandering the countryside as Rider and Ranger.
But however much he complained inside his mind, not all encounters were unpleasant. There were comrades in arms from the Ring War and friendly acquaintances made during its aftermath. He also heard it mentioned in passing that Imrahil was in the city and was expected to join the party tonight. There was indeed a chance he would be enjoying himself.
So he thought until the moment the herald announced the last name he had expected to hear tonight.
"Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and his daughter, Princess Lothíriel!"
It was a good thing Éomer had just emptied his glass and a servant had snatched it away. Had it been still in his hand, he might have dropped it in shock. She was here!
His expression must have become a strange one and his eyes glazed over, for the elderly lord he had been talking to needed to raise his voice to get the Rohir's attention back.
"My lord, are you quite well?" the man asked at last loud enough to get curious glances from a group of southern nobles.
"I'm fine", Éomer snapped even as he fought the serious urge of turning towards the doors of Merethrond. She was here and her presence felt like it was drawing him in... dare he look at her? Could he do it without growing as angry as he had first been?
He had thought – had hoped – he was moving on. But clearly it was not so, if the prospect of seeing her made him feel so intensely!
Éomer shook himself. This was not the time or place to lose his grip. In a desperate bout, he looked at the man he had been talking with, and the question came out before he could stop it: "Say, what do you make of Imrahil's daughter?"
The old lord looked a little surprised at first, but he cleared his throat and made his answer.
"I have heard no ill spoken of her. She has not spent much time in Minas Tirith until she came here with her father a few weeks ago. What little I have seen of the girl, she seems quiet and thoughtful – not at all your usual court butterfly. But that sorrowing look of hers reminds me of her late aunt, Lady Finduilas", he said at last and nodded emphatically, as if to make it clear this was the furthest extent of his opinion on the young lady. Éomer shuddered. Éowyn had said Faramir's mother, the very Lady Finduilas, had withered and died young...
He muttered something affirmative to the old lord's statement. Aside from it, he was hardly aware of anything that happened around him next, for his mind was too much in tumult.
He was going to have to meet her. Propriety demanded it – she was Imrahil's own daughter, and at the end of the day she was still the one who had saved his life. Éomer was not afraid, he was simply worried he could not hold his temper in check. How could he look at her and not feel his anger and hurt over her betrayal once more?
The fifteen minutes that passed between the herald's announcement and Imrahil steering their way through the crowd were not enough for Éomer to collect himself. From the corner of his eye he saw them approaching, inevitable like the rising tide. Imrahil's tall figure and a slighter one next to him... moving with the light gait of a trained killer.
"Éomer, my friend! Welcome to Minas Tirith", Imrahil spoke as he reached the Rohir's vicinity. His tone was not quite so serene as it usually was, and Éomer guessed it was because he knew full well how utterly uncomfortable all three of them were about to be.
He turned to face the man and his daughter, trying not to seem reluctant. It would send entirely wrong implications about how fondly he regarded the House of Dol Amroth.
"Imrahil", said the young king as he was still moving, "It's good to see you."
And there they were, father and daughter standing side by side. At once Éomer felt like someone had punched him in stomach, because why hadn't he ever realised how much they looked alike? Both had those clear grey eyes and in many aspects, her features were a feminine version of her father's. Yet there was also some promise of unusual spirit and fire there that set her apart among all the Mortal Men and all the women he had ever seen. It was like yet another punch to notice that she was rather lovely, her hair tumbling down and wearing a light blue dress that flowed like sea-foam. How he had dreamt of black hair...
But the longer he looked, the more he saw. She did not seem like the brave, spirited woman who had journeyed and fought by his side. She was pale and thin, listless like one who has long been ill. Her eyes were without the shimmer he remembered. Where was the fearless young maiden who put herself against pirates? Was this reaction merely because of the unease of having to face him at last? He couldn't say. And yet, as moments lengthened and neither of them were able to say anything, Éomer thought he could see a brief flicker in her eyes.
"This here is my daughter, Lothíriel", Imrahil spoke, interrupting Éomer's wildly racing thoughts. His first thought was to be surprised, but then he remembered he had not been introduced to her properly in public. No one knew how close they had almost become.
"My lord", she greeted him softly at last, even going as far as curtsying at him. Éomer felt like something very unpleasant twisted in the bottom of his stomach. She was talking like they were complete strangers!
"My lady", he responded in any case, offering her a stiff bow. His reason screamed, telling him to get away from her right now. The longer they were face to face, the harder it would be afterwards... he had thought he was improving – getting rid of her, little by little.
She would be back in full force after this, he was sure of it. And he, he was the fool who could not let her go.
"I hope your journey went well, Sire?" she spoke still in that same demure tone that was so unlike her. It vexed him to the point of wanting to shake her, if just to see what her reaction would be. Éomer was not sure what he'd have expected of their reunion. Cool distance or mocking arrogance? False tears or some misguided attempt to charm him once more? All those options seemed much more likely than this... this broken spirit.
It was like she felt regret.
But that could not be, and he hardened his heart.
"It was fine", he answered in clipped tones and folded his hands behind his back.
"Are things back to normal in Rohan? I imagine there was quite a stir after your return", Imrahil remarked for his part. At this point, all three of them were just struggling to keep up the small talk.
"Aye, I had an uproar in my hands when I came home. It is all settled now", Éomer said.
A few more pleasantries were exchanged between them. Imrahil kept up the conversation, while his daughter stood in silence next to him. But her eyes never left Éomer, who was finding it hard to stand calm and still under the scrutiny of those eyes he had known and started to love. He grew more and more tense, until he could not stand it any more and he glanced at her once again.
She said nothing – just stared right back at him in a way that made him shudder.
Thankfully, it was then Imrahil decided they had tortured each another quite enough. A few more words were exchanged, along with promises they would talk more about the matter of corsairs tomorrow, and then the Prince smoothly began to steer himself and his daughter away. But that was not the end of it.
Slender, calloused fingers brushed against the back of Éomer's hand as the pair passed by him. And then, quiet words spoken in soft feminine voice: "Ferthu Éomer hal."
He froze right there and stared after her. But her back was turned and her head bowed, and he could only wonder what this meant.
It felt like a goodbye, the kind you speak when you expect to part with someone forever.
At last he got himself moving. The air was too warm and he needed some air, lest he choked on the mixture of anger and confusion and fierce pain. What kind of a witch was this woman, the way she knew just what strings to pull with him?
He more or less charged out into the garden and nearly knocked over an elderly couple taking a stroll. Éomer muttered his apologies as he passed them, but their offended looks implied they were most shocked with his ill manners. He strode forward blindly and his hands trembled in powerless fury.
Fresh air helped only a little, but it was enough to help him get back his composure. For a while, Éomer wandered aimlessly. His breathing evened and sweat that had started to gather against his neck cooled down. When the heat of emotion passed, he felt strangely empty. So this was to be the conclusion of their partnership? This bitter, twisted thing that could well be true or false, and even he couldn't tell the difference...
With a groan, he sat down on a carved stone bench and rested his head in his hands. The skin where her fingers had brushed still burned with the memory of her touch. He felt trapped. What could he even do here? What would it take to be able to move on? And yet was there any hope of it while all it took for her to put him off balance were three little words?
Minutes passed as he sat there, and Éomer might have brooded away for a good while more. But on a path nearby he heard steps and soft rustling of fine dresses. There were some tall bushes in between, so that he remained invisible.
"I wonder what is ailing Imrahil's daughter. She looks ill", said a female voice idly from behind the bush. Éomer grimaced silently. It appeared he simply couldn't escape her!
"It's unseemly of him to bring her here if she is not well. One would assume the air is better in Dol Amroth for one so sickly" a second voice, deeper but also female, commented. It sounded like they halted, maybe to admire something in the garden.
"Perhaps they came to consult with the healers of Minas Tirith. Not even Prince Imrahil can boast having equal to their skill at his disposal in Dol Amroth", the first one noted. Now Éomer was finding himself growing more and more restless again. Yes, he had noticed too that she didn't seem well. But did the two unseen ladies really need to press on this matter? Angrily he thought she must be fine if she could attend the ball.
"It is always a sadness when a maiden withers. She is so young, and all her brothers are strong and quite vital", the companion observed in a pitying voice.
"Perhaps some weakness does run in the line. Her aunt, the late Lady Finduilas, died young – much to the grief of Lord Denethor. May they both rest in peace", sighed the one who had first spoken. Éomer nearly stood up and interrupted them right there. She had never seemed weak physically or mentally, and that was not the case here, even if she was ill!
"Yes, but wasn't it agreed at the time the Shadow hastened her death? And have you met the other aunt? I doubt Sauron himself could face down her", snorted the woman's friend and they both let out a low, humourless laugh.
"Indeed. It was often said back in the day that even if the whole of Gondor fell, Princess Ivriniel would still be left standing. But you never know where the apple falls, don't you think?" was the last comment to reach Éomer's ears, and then the pair went along to enjoy their walk in the garden.
He remained on his seat, staring into the growing shadows of summer evening. Over the course of past weeks, he had often wondered and doubted. Some nights sleep wouldn't come because his anxious thoughts grew too loud. It had got a little better with time, and she was not there as much as in the beginning. But tonight they had been face to face for no more than ten minutes, and it had still caused this onslaught of emotion... he had tried to deny it, but now he saw how wrong he had been to think it could be just ignored to death.
They were not finished. It was not over yet.
He had to go and see her one last time.
If someone had asked Lothíriel how she got through that ball with her mind and sanity intact, she would not have known what to answer. Afterwards, she only remembered the slow torment of having to smile and pretend she was perfectly well, while her true desire was to flee the too warm hall. And there was the memory of him, too: his fierce, accusing eyes, the hard expression on his face when he looked at her... and yet she had not been able to turn away. In the end, she was not like to see him again. She had dreamed of him for too long to be able to look away. And no one was in her eyes as him.
Lothíriel did not know whether it had been wise or not, but she could not end it without some kind of a goodbye. So she had reached to brush at his hand – the life that would never be hers – and whisper the words she had learned long ago in his tongue. Ferthu Éomer hal. Would it make things harder? She didn't know. And yet, everything had already gone crooked, and she was owed at least a farewell.
Somehow the night reached an end at last, and she returned home with Father. She pleaded weariness and headed to her own chamber straight away, even though it was many hours until she did sleep.
Lothíriel knew she was not in the best of shapes next morning. But fortunately for her, Father was too preoccupied with the meetings he would have this afternoon. He got this way sometimes, bringing important papers to breakfast table and reading and reviewing them while he ate. So her listless appearance went unnoticed as long as she commented whenever it was needed. Father was human and he was a prince. She didn't expect him to notice things that were, ultimately, so small. For this afternoon, he would have to talk about corsairs and relationships between Gondor and Rohan. He didn't need her burdening him.
He spoke of these things to her, and she listened and commented where she could. She had insight to the character of these people, for she had observed them when they had still thought her a street rat of Dol Amroth. But eventually Father had to go. He rose swiftly and kissed the top of her head when he walked past, and Lothíriel was left pretending alone that she was eating.
Slowly the spoon in her hand fell down and she was left staring at the plate before her. How beautiful was the light of morning, and how strangely thin her fingers... did anyone ever pay attention to the beautiful work of silversmiths of Minas Tirith? For only in her home had she seen cutlery as delicate... and she thought of his hands on these things, the light he would have brought to the places she used to know. To dance with him in the halls of her childhood, or to bathe in the sea together, or ride over green plains that would only exist in her dreams now. How fine would it be to take his hand in her own and sneak through the dark, laughing quietly as they went... it was gone now, and so was he.
Éomer was gone. Last night had made it clear he was not coming back to her. She may as well accept that fact and try to move on with what scraps she could find.
"My lady?" spoke a servant's voice from her left, snapping Lothíriel from her reverie. She looked up quickly.
"What is it?" she asked and arranged a blank look on her features. Emptiness was the best answer.
"There is a message for you from Harlond, my lady", said the servant and put a small sealed scroll in her waiting hand.
She took it and thought nothing. It was fine, stiff stuff her family would use. Maybe members of her family were here without an announcement? But why would they direct this letter to her instead of Father?
Well, it was meant for her. That couldn't be a misunderstanding.
She opened the letter and read:
Child,
I have come for you. It is high time we had a long conversation between ourselves. You have been too long without proper guidance. Would you truly abandon your mentor like this? Is it really your wish to forsake all that we have achieved together, or did your faithless father make you believe you needed to leave me? Lothíriel, you know that you owe me better than this. Come for me in Harlond.
Your loving aunt
She stared at the letter and wondered. What more was there for her? Where could she go from here? The old woman had come all this way for her... and she had no doubt Aunt wouldn't follow her to the ends of the earth. Her mentor's skill and cunning far excelled her own. What point was there in running? After all, Aunt would be there for her, however twisted it was. No one else could even hope to understand her. All else was dust and shadow and she, she was a fool to have lingered and refused her mentor for so long. What was she waiting for here when it was clear she was too far gone to live the life she wanted? This one thing she knew how to do, even if she was never going to be as good as her predecessor had been. She might never find peace or contentment, but at least with Aunt, she could do good for Dol Amroth. Maybe Ivriniel was right to reject human attachments. Maybe being alone was not so bad in the end.
He, he was gone. She needed to let him go. And her own foolish hopes were but fanciful dreams of a child. The sooner she could dispose of all this, the better it would be for herself.
Lothíriel folded the message in her hands. This was the thing she ought to do all along. Maybe at last she was strong enough to go through with it.
"I will need a couple of Knights to take me to the harbour", she spoke to the waiting servant at last, cold and without feeling. How she managed that indifference was not clear even to herself. But she knew it was finished. All was finished.
"Very well, my lady", said the servant and he took his leave to get a couple of knights for her escort. Lothíriel stood up and headed slowly for her own chamber to change her shoes and hide the letter. She knew Father would not understand. There was no way she could explain this to him... to anyone.
Maybe after a time they could learn to accept it – both of them. Or maybe at that point, she would be enough like her aunt not to care anymore.
To be continued.
A/N: Here's an update for Friday! I hope you all have a great weekend. :)
I really liked writing this chapter, especially the bit where Imrahil and Lothíriel go riding together. It felt good to give her some healthy, normal bonding. But I also enjoyed writing Éomer's POV. Poor man really is quite confused right now! But I also think he has finally resolved that he needs some kind of a closure. They can't just ignore each other to death - even if Lothíriel thinks he now hates her enough to do just that. Meanwhile, Ivriniel continues to be her old, manipulative self... I think Lothíriel has not yet been away from her long enough to really break that hold Ivriniel has over her, and so she is not able to refuse when her aunt asks/commands her to come to her. Moreover, though Éomer surely would not intend such a thing, meeting him does make Lothíriel vulnerable again. It's not easy for her to see him and feel all that guilt and grief, and yet love him still. But neither is it easy for him!
Thanks for reading and reviewing!
RubberKidney - What can I say? When I got my torture wheel rolling, it is hard to stop! :D But I am glad if this story has so captured you!
heckofabecka - Unfortunately for them both, Imrahil also has his duties at the side, and Ivriniel is one sneaky old snake. She's not going to just let go like that.
I imagine Éothain's words are already doing the biting! Éomer's stubborn pride can go both ways, after all. Now that he has resolved he needs to talk things through with her, it is going to be hard to stop him!
Merakia - That is quite right! But unfortunately, he doesn't know the lengths his sister will go to keep her pupil. And Ivriniel never really surrendered. She just saw that it was the wrong place to fight, and instead chose to make her move at another time.
I'm afraid the letter is not yet addressed: only Éowyn (+Faramir) and Ivriniel know about it. And Ivriniel surely isn't going to say a word!
But anyway, Éothain may have shaken some feelings that are even more rattled here!
EStrunk - I think she saw right away it wouldn't be possible to keep Lothíriel from leaving. But that doesn't mean she's ready to give up the fight. Anyway, I'm glad you liked that scene between Imrahil and Lothíriel! It's been great writing them bonding in this story.
Cranky Éomer is surprisingly fun to write, no matter the cause of his crankiness! :D And I hope you liked this chapter with Minas Tirith bits!
sai19 - Glad to hear that! I really like the parts with Imrahil and Lothíriel, too. :)
Wtiger5 - I think Imrahil really just needed someone to say "look at your daughter for a bit". I mean, he did have his own suspicions already, but he simply needed that one push.
And you were quite right about Ivriniel making an appearance in Minas Tirith! I'm sure she made certain no trace of that letter would ever come to light. As for Lothíriel, I think she was starting to heal, but meeting Éomer again like that put her in a very vulnerable place - and so made her an easy target for Ivriniel.
Katia0203 - I hope you also liked this chapter's bits with them, too! I think Minas Tirith woul indeed be a good place for her to start, and she would have progressed, though perhaps slowly. But the events that put her off balance are still so close that meeting Éomer maybe derails what progress she has made. Obviously, he would never want that, if he knew the full truth. But Lothíriel thinks he hates her, and having to meet him like that is not going to impact her well.
Anon - I have to admit, I didn't foresee this either! After the first chapter I did realise I would have to explore the abusive dimension of Lothíriel and Ivriniel's relationship, but it has gone deeper than I expected and taken the story to places I didn't guess! But it's been great exploring that angle, because it's so unlike the stuff I've written until now.
I believe Lothíriel and Éowyn would indeed become great friends, were they given some time. But as of now it seems like Ivriniel has other ideas!
Wondereye - Éothain does know Éomer very well, and he is not afraid to point out things Éomer himself is trying to deny!
Jo - I'm so sorry to hear about your Mum! My condolonces to you and your family. I hope you'll be all right. 3 And it humbles me if my stories can be helpful at all.
Laure - Glad to hear that! :)
Doranwen - You were quite right! Ivriniel was not going to give up just like that.
Éothain has no trouble seeing through Éomer, indeed!
