Roughly two months after her abrupt departure from Minas Tirith, Lothíriel once more gazed upon the White Mountains. They were mere hours away from their arrival at Harlond as she stood on the main deck of the swan ship carrying her and her kin. Queen Arwen had invited them to join the Yule festivities at Minas Tirith, and so, the entire Dol Amrothian household, save Aunt Ivriniel, was aboard the Alphroval.
The mountains of Ephel Duath loomed at a distance to her right in the east, from whence a cold wind blew. She gathered her cloak tighter around herself and turned away.
Alphros ran past her, shrieking with delight as his uncle Amrothos chased him. Lothíriel fondly observed them as they played their games. The two-year-old future heir of Dol Amroth was going to Minas Tirith for the first time and both Erchirion and Amrothos had planned many activities for him in the White City. Lothíriel did not commit to join all of them, but she had promised that she would try.
Truthfully, she would have preferred to stay in Dol Amroth, rather than return to the stone-cold structures in which she had fallen in love and had her heart broken. For the sake of her family, though, she had gathered her resolve and bravely set out to make the necessary arrangements for their trip to the Capital of Gondor. Her brothers and father had been working tirelessly as ambassadors with the Haradrim since the summer and she did her best to support them in their labours. However, very little progress had been made and Prince Imrahil was frustrated and irritable, affecting the mood of the household. Even now he was in his cabin in meeting with Elphir and two of his Dol Amrothian advisors.
Lothíriel cast another glance towards the northwest before she entered the quarterdeck, where the wife of Elphir, Lady Siloril, was resting with her feet up.
"How are you feeling, dear sister?" asked Lothíriel.
Siloril smiled warily. "I feel glad that the journey is almost over."
"Shall I get you something to eat?"
"Only if you eat with me, Lothíriel."
Lothíriel fetched a tray with a variety of snacks that suited Siloril's disposition. She was four months along in her pregnancy and while she did not experience any sickness, she had a limited appetite. Instead of taking three meals, she preferred to have many small ones. If it were not for the meagre quantities that she consumed, Lothíriel would have likened her to a Hobbit.
Siloril was eight years older than her and she had a calm and cool nature, which meant she got along well with everyone. Observant she was too because despite her pregnancy and an unruly toddler to look after, she had noticed that Lothíriel had lost her appetite. It was why she insisted on her little sister to join her whenever she ate something.
The two of them had an easy friendship that allowed for distance and silence. Siloril's favourite plants were growing in a pleasant corner of the Dol Amroth herb and floral garden, where she enjoyed sitting there in the mornings, watching her son play and Lothíriel work in her herb garden. Now that it was winter, they had moved their morning routine inside, where the only difference was that Lothíriel worked on her plant journal or wrote her correspondence with her friends.
Contrary to her father's expectations, Lothiriel did not consider the black-haired woman to be a replacement for her mother. It had been nine summers since Elphir and Siloril had wed, merely a year after their mother's passing. They had been engaged for a year before Prince Imrahil insisted on the marriage taking place because he worried that Lothíriel would be negatively impacted by the absence of feminine presence. Siloril never held up the illusion that she would be able to make up for the lack of a mother and she had frankly spoken with young Lothíriel about it.
"I am not here as your mother. I can be your sister, your friend, or both, but that is entirely in your hands." Siloril had spoken kindly to her, kneeling in front of the twelve-year-old girl. And she had remained true to her own words, despite objections from Elphir and Imrahil. Lothíriel had come to truly love her on her own, and that had been because of Siloril's own hidden strength.
At that time Lothíriel had not been aware of it, since she had been shielded from their troubles, but her sister-in-law had been unhappy in her marriage. Not only had she been rushed into marriage at too young an age, but she had noticed that her husband gave her no attention or importance. Prince Elphir, who was the heir and shadow to his father, had been too wrapped up in his duties to the fiefdom, and what little time he had to spare he chose to spend alone or with his closest companion, Sir Nemir, the son of a lesser noble family.
It was only when Lord Forlong of Lossarnach, Siloril's Uncle and father to Lord Forgammon, had noticed the lack of heirs and had threatened to take his niece back in his care that Imrahil was forced to remind his son of his duties to his family. Even then, there had been barely any warmth between the young lady and her spouse, until the event of Alphros' birth which finally shook Elphir out of his apathy for Siloril, and upended his world.
Indeed, he had been standing at her bed when she nearly lost her life in her duty to provide Dol Amroth with its next heir. It was not just the horror of the delivery itself, but the realization that Siloril would possibly die in service to him when he himself had made no effort to be a husband to her.
Lothíriel had been eighteen summers old as she had stood at her sister's sickbed, two days after her traumatic delivery when Siloril had finally regained consciousness. At once, Elphir had been called in to see her, and he had entered her room in an unkempt state of distress, looking nothing like the well-groomed stoic that he had been his entire life. In quiet shock, Lothíriel had watched how her brother had burst out in tears, voicing with great difficulty his regrets in his behaviour towards Siloril.
Even greater had been her consternation when the young mother, pale and tired, had laughed lightly at Elphir's remorse. With a quiet, hoarse voice, she had uttered: "How cruel you are, milord. Do I need to nearly die for you to show me an ounce of care?"
Elphir had gaped at her wordlessly, completely taken aback by her cold and abrasive words. But Siloril had ignored him and instead had asked Lothíriel to show her child to him. It had taken the Princess a moment to snap out of her stupor, but then she had carefully walked around her brother and brought her nephew to his mother.
"Well met, Prince Alphros of Dol Amroth. Thank you for making a mother," Siloril had whispered, kissing her baby's hand, softness finally colouring her cheeks and brightening her eyes, "I have been waiting for you."
Initially, Lothíriel had been upset that Siloril had been harsh to Elphir, as she had never seen him this upset, not even when their mother died. But after seeing Siloril smile at her son, she had understood that her sister-in-law had only spoken in her own defence. She had been right. Why did she need to be at Death's door just so her husband would see her value, her importance to him? Why indeed should a woman have to suffer before she was deemed worth caring for?
That day, Siloril had taught Lothíriel how to champion herself in the face of carelessness and indifference, and she had henceforth demanded respect from kin, peers, and nobles, and from kings as well.
"Lothíriel, is something the matter?"
Kind eyes were looking at her from the other side of the table, rousing the young woman from her thoughts. A part of her wished to share her heartbreak with Siloril, but as her eyes fell onto the modest bump visible under her sister's silver and blue gown, she decided otherwise.
No, she could not share her grief with her. While their marriage had vastly improved, even now there was still a lot left to repair, and Lothíriel did not want to add to their burden.
Time had cooled her anger. It would soon heal her heart, too, and she would move on from him as well.
"I am feeling a little under the weather," replied she, knowing that the lady would not accept false assurances, "I shall visit Warden Bair soon enough to see if he has something for me, aside from tall tales and vague stories."
They shared a smile and then a meal, before Lothíriel went back to the main deck. On either side she could see land, moving rapidly. To the left was Lossarnach, while the area on the right was Ithilien. In less than an hour, perhaps not even half of it, they would enter the ports of Harlond, where Faramir would be awaiting their arrival.
Dear Faramir, who was the Steward of Gondor as well as the Prince of Ithilien, was a beloved cousin of the Dol Amroth siblings. For Lothíriel, he was the main bright spot of her trip to Minas Tirith. She had not seen him since spring and she longed to see his kind face. They had had some correspondence, and he had always been too eager to sing Éowyn's praises, but Lothíriel was always willing to hear more. At least he would not have a broken heart and she could glean a bit of joy from his happiness.
Lothíriel joined Erchirion on the forecastle deck and tucked her hand in his arm. He acknowledged her with a slight press of his cheek against her head.
"Are you looking forward to the Yule dances?" She asked after a few minutes a companionable silence.
Erchirion laughed softly, a derisive undertone. "Aye, my two left feet are looking forward to making a grand spectacle of themselves, while trampling over some poor noblewoman's shoes."
Lothíriel laughed too, and consoled him. "No, I am sure you will be fine."
He glanced at her in disbelief and she smiled impishly. "I will keep a phial of Sorrowfew at hand for the victims of your hazardous hooves."
His mouth fell open in shock, but he soon joined his little sister in her laughter.
Lothíriel and Erchirion could count on each other for comfort and support. Returning to Dol Amroth she had no idea how to cope with her broken heart.
Never had she felt as strongly as she did for Éomer. It was not an infatuation. He had been the first with whom she could imagine having a future with. How does one move on that?
Erchirion was the first to notice her melancholy, despite her efforts to keep hidden her aching heart. The difference with her other brothers was that Erchirion did not ask too many questions. He merely sought her out more, involved her in his job and took naps in the greenhouse where she tended to her flowers. It did not take long for her to figure out what he was doing. And she loved him for it.
What he did not take into account, was that, due to their time spent together, she had become aware of something. Lothíriel now knew that he, more often than not, was drunk.
It was unfortunate habit of his when he was unhappy, but he thought that no one was aware of it, because he was quite functional when he was in his cups. Erchirion had the ability to hit the dead centre of his targets if he were to practise his archery while inebriated. He could walk straight and think straight enough to fool the average observer. But Lothíriel could detect the hint of slurring in his speech and the slight slack in his jaw.
Only once had she asked him if he was willing to share his troubles with her. He had laughed wryly and spoken cryptically. "You are aware, yes, of the saying, 'you do not know what you have until it leaves you,' Lothíriel?"
"Yes, I have heard several versions of it."
"Do they have a saying for when you never had it in a first place?"
She had paused her harvesting of the rose hips om the Rosa Rugosa, that morning during the early winter days, and she had stared unseeingly at the ground. His question had resonated with her.
She never truly had Éomer in the first place, either.
That was the most he had ever uttered about his own worries. Since then they had kept the unspoken agreement that they would only share what they wished to share unprompted.
Lothíriel appreciated that. She did not want to talk about Éomer. In fact, she did not even want to think or dream of him, but she had little choice there. So she slept late, woke up early, avoided all discussions of Rohan and kept herself busy with her family, the household and her vocation.
Returning to Minas Tirith was bound to happen, considering the fact that she was a Gondorian Princess. At least she could count on her family to keep her busy if the Houses of Healing or the Queen's court could not occupy her mind well enough. If not the others, then she could always turn to Erchirion.
The two of them spent their time talking about their expectations for Yule and meeting up with old friends. Steadily, the ports of Harlond came into view and ten minutes later, the Dol Amroth family disembarked the Alphroval.
Soon enough, Alphros wiggled out of Amrothos' arms and ran up to Lord Forgammon, who was awaiting their arrival alongside Faramir. The Lord Forgammon gave his nephew a rare smile and embraced him gently.
"Well met, cousin Forgammon!" Siloril followed her son suit and approached the lord, glad to see her beloved cousin brother once more.
Amrothos scoffed as he observed them, feeling the loss of Alphros' attention. "How can he prefer that sour-faced uppity grump over me?" he muttered to his sister as they walked down the ramp.
"It is because Lord Forgammon graces us with his dulcet presence in Dol Amroth often enough to make a lasting impression on Alphros."
"'Tis my fist which is itching to make a lasting impression – "
"My dear Faramir!" Lothíriel exclaimed, drowning out her brother's choice words, and she allowed him to kiss her brow and hold her hands. "Heavens above, you look happier and healthier than ever!"
"It is the Rohirrim lifestyle, Lothíriel, it suits me well."
"Aye, the food and the physical activities have done you wonders!" interjected Amrothos while he embraced the young Steward.
Faramir patted him on the back, harder than Amrothos expected as he winced in pain. "Amrothos, you are the same as ever."
Erchirion, Elphir, and Imrahil greeted their kin too, while Lothíriel walked towards her awaiting horse, Ferieth.
As she stroked the horse's neck and whispered her greetings, she heard someone approach her.
"Well met, Princess Lothíriel."
She did not want to turn around and greet Lord Forgammon, but court etiquette dictated that she must.
"Lord Forgammon," she said very politely and she curtsied, "How kind of you to receive us."
"Yes, well..." he looked at her and then looked back to his own horse, "Are you not taking the carriage with Lady Siloril, milady?"
Lothíriel sighed softly, not surprised by his patronizing tone. "I prefer to ride Ferieth, milord."
"Is that so?" He had not averted his gaze and he took a few steps towards her. "Do you need help getting on your horse?"
In place of a reply, she mounted her horse with as much grace as she could muster and shot him a look. "I am quite capable, milord, thank you."
After a miniscule bow towards him, she clicked her tongue and led her mare away.
Minas Tirith was less than an hour's ride away from Harlond. The crisp wind was biting her skin, but Lothíriel felt invigorated. The lands on either side were covered with frost and the snow-covered White Mountains did justice to their name.
Amrothos, Elphir, and Erchirion appeared on either side of her, their large horses snorting and steaming their sweat off. Elphir tilted his head towards Minas Tirith meaningfully. "Ready?"
Lothíriel gasped in excitement. It had been years since she had been given leave to race her brothers!
With a loud shout of her command, she spurred Ferieth on to gallop, getting a small head start on her brothers, who playfully shouted their objections. The rest of their party was left behind quickly and the formidable structure of Minas Tirith came ever closer.
Lothíriel laughed out loud, though her eyes watered and stung from the cold. She felt warm because she was grateful for her brothers, grateful for the privileges she enjoyed because of her father, and grateful that her heartbreak was nothing compared to the love she got in return from her family and friends.
The void in her stomach would perhaps never go away, but it was drowned out by the happiness of being able to live as she pleased. It was enough for her, Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, proud daughter of the Line of Imrâzor.
A sharp, stabbing pain occurred in her side and she doubled over, gasping.
Lothíriel had been dancing for the past hour with Amrothos and Faramir, both of her kin taking turns. While she was healthy and young, there was no doubt that her brothers had better stamina for such matters.
"A drink, I need a drink." She fanned herself with her hand and stumbled over to the refreshment table. Foregoing the wine and mead, she poured herself a cup of honey and lemon water instead.
"A very wise decision, milady, you cannot handle anything stronger."
Lothíriel slowly turned to look at the source of the remark, though she did not need it to know who it was.
Lord Forgammon emptied his own goblet of wine before inclining his head and walking away.
"What a corrosive man, he is!" said another voice, one that was unfamiliar to her. Lothíriel glanced at his face and while she had seen it before, she could not recall his name.
Unsure how to give a polite response to the uncomfortable truth, she curtsied and smiled lightly. It was enough encouragement for the man because the next moment he asked her for a dance.
Lothíriel showed her cup. "Do forgive me, I am parched. I have been dancing incessantly."
The young noble nodded in understanding. "Shall I wait for you to recover, Your Highness?"
With a critical eye, she looked at him. He was not much older than her, dressed in shades of black and grey. Lothíriel finished her water and set her cup down. Because he was agreeable enough and was not afraid to show that he was interested in her, she acquiesced.
The familiar stranger was a talented dancer and he was skilled enough to make clever little quips while spinning her around and moving along the dance steps with ease. It had been the first time in ages that she danced with someone outside of her family, and she felt that she had been missing out. The music, the exhilaration, and the collective elation of the people on the dance floor made for a nigh spiritual experience. When the dance ended, she sighed out loud and looked at the young man appreciatively.
"Thank you for a wonderful dance, milord," She said, breathing rapidly still as they walked to the edge of the dance floor with him, "but it is terribly rude of me that I do not know your name."
He gave a rather rueful smile. "We have been introduced twice since spring, but I do not seem to make a lasting impression on you."
If she had not been already pink from exertion, she would have had a noticeable flush come up to her face. Apparently, she had been too preoccupied with the Rohirrim King to remember anyone besides him.
Sensing her embarrassment, he shook his head and smiled widely. "I do apologize for making you feel embarrassed, it is not my intention. I am Húrdil, second son to Lord Húrin, the Warden of the Keys."
Her eyes widened in recognition. "Sir Húrdil, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth – "
"The Veiled Lady and the Princess Herbalist," Húrdil interjected with a broad smile. "Your Highness, you are quite famous, I assure you."
They returned to the refreshment table, but they were not able to speak much further. Her father approached them and he asked her for a dance. She immediately obliged and took her leave from Sir Húrdil, who only smiled and watched her as she returned to the dancing crowd on her father's arm. The young nobleman's scrutiny of her was as unwavering as it was validation.
"How are you, Lothíriel?" Imrahil asked his daughter. "I have not been able to give you much time, but I see you are doing better than... Before."
She pursed her lips together, aware that he was concerned for her heart. "I am well, Ada. Blessed is my life, for I have you and my brothers. As long as you are on my side, I shall never falter."
At once, his worried expression made way for one that was full of relief and joy. "Good. I cannot bear to see you downcast. You and your brothers are the reason I live and breathe. I wish you unending happiness, not just for your sake, but for my own as well."
Lothíriel's eyes stung and she gave her father a brilliant smile, unable to find the words that could express how loved and blessed she felt. Instead, she pressed a kiss on his hand, before turning away from him in her dance and then twirling back to him.
After her dance with Sir Húrdil and her father, it seemed that a line of dancing partners had formed for her. First came Erchirion, who managed to step on her feet only once. Then came one of her father's advisors from Dol Amroth, two nobles and finally, even Lord Forgammon wished for a turn. Seeing his extended hand, she cast her father a pleading look, but he raised his eyebrows to indicate that she should oblige. Begrudgingly, she danced a single dance with the Lord from Lossarnach, who thankfully did not make any of his usual disparaging remarks and merely glowered at her whenever they stood face to face.
By the time the celebration of Mettarë, the last day of the year, had ended, Lothíriel had aches all over her body. She fell fast asleep once she hit the bed and for the first time in months, she did not dream of Éomer.
The morning that followed came with a lavish breakfast for the noble guests and the court of High King Elessar and Queen Arwen. When Lothíriel joined the table, very few people were there. None of her family members were present, except for her sister-in-law and her nephew Alphros.
"Hello, Nánig!" The toddler smiled sweetly up at his aunt and continued to inhale his food.
The sisters greeted each other and Lothíriel sat down at Alphros' other side.
"How rare," mused she playfully in Sindarin, "this little boy remembers his aunt!"
Alphros shrugged as he broke a small cake into pieces. "Nánig so busy and busy. Boring! Adatheg Amros play, and Adatheg 'Gammon play."
"Aye, you prefer your uncles to me, I know." Lothíriel ruffled his hair, but he pushed her hand away with a glare similar to his grandfather's.
"No, Nánig is boring! Adatheg 'Chiri boring and Nánig boring!"
She sighed. "I am sorry, Alphros. I will play with you more from now on."
"And dance too!" He bit off a piece of bread and mumbled around it. "Nánig so much dancing, me too want dance!"
"Sounds like today is going to be a repeat of yesterday," Siloril said to Lothíriel, "the first man who wants to dance with you has already made his intentions clear. And breakfast is not yet over!"
Lothíriel laughed nervously. Her body still ached from last night and she wondered if she should fetch some potions for herself, perhaps some Sorrowfew for her feet.
While the men of her family were naturally courteous, the other men had either been clumsy or had hands that very purposefully sought the boundaries of what was appropriate. Inversely, Lord Forgammon had behaved like she was riddled with contagious diseases, but she had preferred that to being groped. There should be no need to dance with a partner so closely in the first place.
Then a brilliant thought occurred to her and she had a quick breakfast before taking leave. Alphros gave it most unwillingly, complaining that his aunt was too busy for him. However his complaints were cut short when his Uncle Forgammon appeared, who was quick to engage the child.
After luncheon the festivities of Yestarë began with a speech of hope, blessings, and gratitude from High King Elessar. Yestarë was a more subdued event compared to Mettarë, with less dancing and more dining. The guests were thankful for it, because most of them were still feeling the effects of the celebrations of the night before.
When it was time to start the dances, Lothíriel lined up elegantly, holding Alphros' his small hand. As she had expected, a few men immediately approached her, only to receive a scowl from the princeling. The music began and Lothíriel happily modified the dance steps to accommodate her nephew. He looked adorable in his silver and blue velvet tunic, his curly hair bobbing along with his movements.
The enthusiasm from him was endearing and soon other noble women asked to dance with him. Fickle as he was, Alphros happily changed dancing partners halfway through his second dance with her, leaving his aunt behind as she smiled indulgently.
"Princess Lothíriel, allow me to step in where Alphros left you."
Before she could reply, Lord Forgammon took hold of her hand and bowed. She allowed it, as both Siloril and Alphros were inexplicably fond of him and she did not wish to slight them. She placed a hand on his shoulder while he placed one on her back and immediately guided her into the next turn in the dance.
Despite his abrasive demeanour, the Lord was a good uncle and, from what she had heard, a good father to his twin sons. Through her eyelashes, Lothíriel observed the man. He had short curly brown hair and a beard that he kept meticulously short as well, as he was a very rigid and organized person by nature. He and Prince Imrahil had a good relationship, one that had its emergence when Prince Imrahil had sought Siloril's hand in marriage for Elphir. Siloril had no male relatives except for the now late Lord Forlong and his son.
Lossarnach was a significant fiefdom of Gondor and the match was considered to be a great boon to both parties. Lord Forlong had encouraged his son to visit his cousin sister in Dol Amroth often and to learn from Prince Imrahil the Fair. With time, the young noble had become a trusted advisor of the Prince. It was a shame that he never got along with the Dol Amroth siblings, least of all Lothíriel.
She averted her eyes from his face as memories of his disdain came to mind. Regardless of where they were or in whose company they were, he always had critique ready for her. He thought very little of her and the reason he chose to dance with her was probably to keep her father's favour. Lothíriel wished she was allowed to scowl openly like Alphros was. The music changed and she pulled her hand out of his grasp. A short curtsey was her goodbye as she made her way to her family.
"Your son is a popular dance partner, Siloril," she told her with a fond expression, "did you see how he abandoned me for others?"
"Aye, but Forgammon came to your rescue, did he not?" She replied, not unkind. "I could ask him to dance a few more with you if you wish to dance with only your nearest and dearest."
"'Tis no matter," Lothíriel sighed, with half a mind to say that Lord Forgammon was neither near nor dear to her, "I am my own rescuer. Just one more dance and you shall see for yourself."
Sir Húrdil asked her for the next dance and like the day before, he amused her with clever quips and sharp observations during their dance. He was quite talkative and, if she were honest with herself, pleasing to look at. He had bright blue eyes and black hair and his cheeks were always a rosy pink. When the dance ended, she allowed him to bring her to the refreshment table, where they ate and drank and talked about their daily life. Light conversation was the most she could handle, even from him.
The musicians took a break and Queen Arwen stood up and addressed the attendees, thanking them for their presence and praising the staff of Minas Tirith for excellent arrangements. At the end, she added: "To honour the upcoming nuptials of our noble Steward, Prince Faramir of Ithillien, Lord of Emyn Arnen, to his Lady Éowyn of the Shield-Arm, I invite you all to join me and Princess Lothíriel in the traditional dances of Rohan. I request your participation so that we will all be able to celebrate their wedding in June with glad hearts and nimble feet."
The guests murmured their surprise at the announcement, some happier than others. Lothíriel smiled broadly at her Queen and stood up when the music started. Compared to Gondorian music, Rohirric music had a more lively beat and instead of couples, the dancers were in groups of four or more. Faramir appeared at Lothíriel's side and kissed her hand.
"You are precious, my little cousin sister." He said simply.
Sir Húrdil and Queen Arwen approached them to join their group. Faramir and Lothíriel demonstrated the easy steps to the other two, who followed suit and very soon, the four of them were moving merrily on the fast-paced tunes of the musicians. Within two turns, more people joined, including the Princes of Dol Amroth and High King Elessar. Lothíriel looked around, satisfied with the amount of people willing to take part.
She twirled and clapped her hands to the beat, while her place was next Sir Húrdil, who time and again sought eye contact with her. His attention had been flattering and she had basked in it, allowing him to seek her out not just during the festivities, but before them as well. And there was no reason to refuse him or any other suitor her attention. Éomer King would not marry her, and she would not pine for him. She had been in love with him for only half a year or so, surely she would be able to move on eventually. Someone like Sir Húrdil would be useful for that.
Despite her heartache, she was still a Princess of Dol Amroth, born with the duty to serve her lord and her king. Having a purpose suited her and she would strive to be competent in whatever role would be given to her. The only hurdle to overcome was the upcoming wedding when her path would surely cross that of the King of the Riddermark.
Her stomach twisted painfully even as she spun herself around, pressing her palm against that of the young noble opposite her. She would have to fortify herself so that she would survive the wedding celebrations without falling further in love or in despair.
Reinforcement was offered to her two days after the Mettarë celebrations had ended. She had been finishing up her packing when she was called into her father's office in the Dol Amrothian quarters. When she entered, her brothers and Faramir were already present. Amrothos looked tense, bouncing his knee up and down, while Erchirion had a solemn expression on his face as he looked out of the window. Elphir was standing near their father's desk, his hands clasped behind his back and his face devoid of any emotions. Faramir nodded lightly as she entered, before returning his gaze to Prince Imrahil, who sat behind his desk, his hands steepled under his chin.
Instantly, Lothíriel felt uncomfortable.
"You called for me, Ada?"
"Yes, my dear. Please take a seat." He gestured to the chair in front of his desk, and she swiftly complied.
"In the wake of the Yule celebrations," Imrahil spoke slowly, as was his habit when matters were serious, "a number of requests came to me. Requests for courtship within the tradition of Gondorian court."
"Sir?" The Princess was taken aback.
"I have taken the liberty to select the one that suits our interests, your interest, the best. And I have given him leave to court you, to see if you and him can come to an agreement to marry. Like I have said before, I shall not pressure you into an unhappy marriage, but it would be remiss of us not to use your capabilities to the fullest of your potential."
Amrothos scoffed but spoke not.
"I have informed your brothers of their duties to chaperone you, though I trust you and your suitor to remain within the boundaries of good behaviour."
He offered her an envelope. "Here is his request. You can read it and see for yourself his motivations. Then you can let me know if you have any objections."
She received the letter and opened it. When she saw the name signed, her eyes snapped to her father. "Him?"
Imrahil nodded in understanding and sat back in his chair. "There is no harm in considering it, nevertheless."
Lothíriel held his gaze for a minute before looking back to the letter and reading it once again. Then she finally spoke. "Will I have a say in ending the courtship if it is not to my liking?"
"Aye."
"I see... Well, if you approve of this, Sir, then I have no objections." She decided after some cool consideration. "You may accept on my behalf."
To her left, Amrothos leapt up, his entire being radiating anger and disbelief. He looked at her face, then at that of their father. Then he let out a long string of curse words, kicked the door open, and stormed out.