She was the daughter of a slave woman from the south and a man from the north. Yet her features strongly resembled whoever was her sire. Pale skin, slim figure, and piercing grey eyes distinguished her from one darker skinned, swarthy playmate. But soon, her friend learned that they could not play together because they were too different in appearance. Even her black hair was different to the general population. Most people merely had black hair that remained as black as the raven's wing under the sunlight. Hers took on a shade that was dissimilar to the deep blue of the midnight sky. Her mother died when she was still young, and the master had little love for the fair skinned child. The girl was a weakling, and he needed someone strong. And so, he sold her for pennies to a trader going to the coast.
She remembered traveling across the desert on a huge animal that seemed to her all legs and neck. She remembered crowds, spices, and hearing the shouts of men in their stalls. She vaguely remembered standing while men shouted numbers. Eventually, she was on a boat, and the water around her was salty like her tears. She missed her mother and the places with which she was familiar. Somehow, she ended up with this family who seemed well to do. They gave her new clothes and kitchen work. But she did not stay with that family for long.
"She does her work as she is told," they said, "but she is always crying. We are sorry, but she is just not working out for us."
She next ended up in a far grander house. It was more of a palace. She worked in the gardens, and it was nice. But she could not help but remember how her mama loved flowers, especially to wear in her hair on very special occasions.
Then a lady came, and bending down to the little girl's level, asked, "Why do you weep, child?"
"I miss my mama," she answered between heaving breaths and blurred vision. "She liked flowers for her hair."
"Oh, you must be the new girl my housekeeper was telling me about," the lady said gently. "What is your name?"
"Mama called me, 'my girl,' or 'little one,' and Master said I was a wastrel."
"That is no name for someone like you. How about Lothíriel?" the lady asked. "It means flower-garlanded maiden. So, you will never forget your mother."
She nodded. It was a nice sounding name, and she supposed her mama would have liked it.
That day began a new life. She learned that she was now to be a part of the second most powerful family in a nation called "Gondor." The kind lady dressed her in beautiful dresses and introduced her as daughter. Lothíriel was not sure if she wanted to be daughter to this family, but she supposed it would not hurt. She could learn to read and write like her former master's children. She could learn to be more than what her birth mother and master was.
As the years passed, Lothíriel grew into a formidable lady. Unlike her bubbly, air-headed peers, she was as cold and emotionless as marble to the public eye. No one cared for her company, and suitors rarely called.
Her lady mother (never mama, only mother) asked her one afternoon, "Is there a reason why you must be cold when in public?"
"All the suitors are below me," she answered coolly. "They are boys. There is nothing for me to gain. My brothers can marry and strengthen our ties to other families." She turned the page of her book.
"You have a point there, but it wouldn't hurt to be kinder when rejecting their advances."
"It is too late for that," Lothíriel said, now closing her book. "I have long established my reputation and breaking it would give hope to some foolish man. My mask must remain."
Her mother could see the loneliness in her daughter's eyes. Lothíriel was was a good politician, but that did not mean that she loved it. No, Lothíriel would be much happier playing with her dogs, riding her horse, or tending to her little garden. "Perhaps, then, you'll find a man that will see you for you," she said with a sad smile.
At this, Lothíriel raised her brow slightly and asked with a small, indecipherable smile, "Did I just hear that I get a say in who I marry?"
"I will talk to your father, for what you ask does not follow tradition. He may give you a list, but at least you will have a choice."
It took a war and a couple of months before she received that list from her father. In the meantime, she was allowed to go to Minas Tirith to keep her Aunt Ivriniel, who had been acting as the lady of the city, some company. Her prowess with words, logic, and rhetoric (all things that helped make a good politician) made her stand out to her uncle. She heard him telling her aunt Ivriniel that she was to marry his eldest son. She had never met Boromir, but she heard that he was a good man. He was also technically old enough to be her father. Just the thought of marrying someone that old was enough to disgust her. From then on, she sought ways to avoid both her aunt and uncle when her presence was not absolutely needed. Eventually, she met the herb-master of Houses of Healing and began shadowing him.
Her role during the war was unseen, for all she ever did was work in the apothecary and the gardens. While she could technically stitch wounds and bandage, she was not a trained healer. No, it was better to let her do at what she was most comfortable doing. She met her kind-hearted cousin while he was pacing in the gardens one day while the days were grey and tense. They spoke of many things, and she found that he was similar in mind to herself. Within a short time, their bond developed from cousins to the level of brother and sister. She soon also met the Lady of Rohan, for her cousin brought the Lady with him to walk in the gardens. She saw a lonely soul in the fierce warrior woman of the north. And she could see that her cousin would ease the loneliness very well. And as the days turned golden with victory and joy, they became good friends for loneliness recognizes loneliness.
Eventually her father sent her a list of eligible men with his first letter after the victory of the West. It was a short list, but one name stood out. It was foreign to all the rest and like her foreign friend. He did not seem so foreign though, for she heard enough stories from the sister. She told her father that she wanted to meet this young king of the north, for she had already met the others at some point or another. She recalled what other ladies said of their husbands. Things that painted a darker picture of married life. Their husbands were no true men. They were no innocent boys either. And perhaps, this stranger would be a true and good man in his own right. A man, not a boy.
She saw him first, standing near her father during the ceremony to crown the long-awaited king. He was tall and carried himself like her father. He seemed overall a solemn man, but war and hardships were a tasking master. When they met, she found him a man of simple words. Yet, his mind was keener than the young lords she met, and she supposed that few words were his people's way. (She would later learn that the people of the Mark had words that could not even be translated into the common tongue or the flowing words of ancient beings.)
They were married at the turning of the ages. Their marriage was founded on a tradition. A tradition of political ties. Though they did not know each other, they had both heard of each other, coming to regard the other with respect. After the first five years, they had become good friends, even though he was fighting in the south with the King of Gondor. By the time their tenth anniversary rolled around, she could almost say she loved the man she married. She only hoped that he could say the same about her.
Many, many years later, the lonely slave-girl from the south, now a queen of the north passed away before her kingly spouse. Not long after, her husband also passed away. It was said that he died of a broken heart, and they would not have been too far off.
Author's Note: This started off as a story inspired by "the tradition" by Halsey. While the song kind of has a more depressing tone, this little story started taking on a more hopeful and happier disposition. For that, I'm happy because it's nice for Lothíriel to have a happy ending. Like I've said before, I know this story is not even developed, but who knows, perhaps this will become a full-fledged story.