That very same day, King Elessar invited the entire court for luncheon. He had arranged for it to be an informal affair, with smaller tables spread out through the hall instead of two main ones. The attendees were encouraged to sit amongst those they spoke infrequently and no talk of business was allowed.

It was how Lothíriel ended up sitting between a very elderly Gondorian noble, two young men of lesser noble descent, an elf visiting from Mirkwood, and the High King Elessar himself. Lothíriel's family was spread throughout the Hall.

It took her not even a minute to find Éomer King, though she tried to stop herself from doing it. He was sitting two tables away from her, his tall figure towering over his luncheon companions, even when sitting down. She could see his profile clearly if she leaned a bit forward. He was frowning and paying very little attention to the people at his table, which had a decent variety in age and station.

Lothíriel sighed and looked down at her hands, annoyed with herself that she was once again worrying about a man who felt nothing for her. She should be concentrating on Lord Forgammon, as she had to decide whether or not she would marry him.

Lord Forgammon was sitting not far off with Prince Erchirion among others as his table companions. He was busy talking with his usual stern expression and clear voice. For a few minutes, she observed him, forcing herself to imagine him as her spouse, the father of her child, and the person she was supposed to depend on first and foremost. She had almost succeeded in conjuring up the visions in her mind's eye when her eyes strayed to her brother.

He was glaring at Forgammon, evidently struggling to contain his irritation. Despite his propensity to reach for the bottle whenever he felt less than happy, when it came to matters of patience, precision, or power Erchirion had nerves of steel. In fact, according to her own observations as well as an entire wall dedicated to Erchirion's marksmanship awards, he was the most even-handed of his siblings. Yet here he was, frowning and gritting his teeth because of the brown-haired lord from the mountains.

With a frustrated sigh, Lothíriel tilted her head, wondering for the umpteenth time if there was any hope for peace between her siblings and her suitor. She then noticed that Lord Forgammon was observing her. When their eyes met, he inclined his head and smiled at her, leaving her no choice but to smile in kind.

They got along well enough, especially when it concerned topics such as politics, herb-lore, mycology, Alphros, or the straightforward planning of their future together. Very respectable matters, of course, but she had yet to feel the need to share her inner thoughts with him or to chat with him casually about their daily life. She did not feel the need to touch him, feed him, or have him near her all the time, either.

Not like she did with him.

She broke the eye contact with another slight smile and a nod of her head. Then, before she could stop herself, she leaned forward to cast another glance at the man whom she was not supposed to care for.

And her breath caught in her throat. Apparently, he had already been looking her way because his hazel-green eyes were now boring into her grey ones.

While she had been surprised because of his stare, the actual intensity of it shook her to her core. Before, when he had been deep in thought he had looked troubled. Now, though, with gritted teeth and eyes blazing, he seemed to be boiling with rage!

Hastily she looked down. Éomer King was undoubtedly an intimidating man, and she needed a moment to gather herself.

When her mind was clear and her breath was steady, she wondered what had caused his anger.

He had been looking at her.

And she had been smiling at Lord Forgammon.

Lothíriel's stomach contracted with the realization, both joy and anger clashing and curdling her insides.

The nerve of that man! How dare he be jealous?

Indignance welled up in her chest. He had no right to be upset. He was the one who had refused her.

Perhaps he was confused, but she would set him straight once more. Her heart was not his plaything.

With her chin raised proudly, she met his glare squarely with her own look of Amrothian steel. This time, however, he did not look away and continued to glower at her with a stormy expression.

But a warm voice called her by her titled name and she sat back suddenly, embarrassed at her own childish behaviour.

King Elessar was looking at her, as was the rest of the table.

"I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. I was distracted."

The King smiled, his eyes squinting with earnest amusement. "Indeed, there are distractions all around, Princess Lothíriel. In fact, my eyes too keep straying to my Queen."

As if to demonstrate, he leaned back in his chair and smiled at Queen Arwen, who sat at the table furthest away from his.

Lothíriel blushed and bit back a giggle at her King's openly affectionate behaviour. It was a refreshing sight to see a powerful man doting on his beloved without paying regard to the constricting Gondorian customs.

In the past year, the Dunedain had affected positively not only the fates of Men, Elves, Dwarves, and other beings alike on a grand scale, but even the stuffy Gondorian court had had an upheaval due to the influx of foreign influence. Lothíriel welcomed all change, especially the change that allowed her to pursue her passions with more freedom.

Lunch was served in a way that everyone was welcome to partake in whatever was placed at the centre of the table, and the servants would replenish whatever would run low. The Hobbits had undoubtedly left their mark on Minas Tirith, thought Lothíriel with an amused smile, once again missing them and wishing them well.

Inspired by her thoughts about the Halflings, Lothíriel requested the King to tell her, and the rest of the company, about the Hobbits. A nostalgic expression came upon his face and he grinned. Then he began his story, regaling all who listened with such amusing anecdotes and happenings. How fond his memories were of the four Halflings whom she had met, but also Bilbo, Frodo's legendary uncle.

Lothíriel was of a sure mind that the King was looking forward to his next visit to the Shire, where he would be establishing his throne in the north of his kingdom.

Throughout the meal, as she listened to the King's tales, Lothíriel kept feeling the weight of Éomer's gaze upon her, sometimes fleeting other times enduring, but ever returning. For her own sake, she chose to continue to ignore him, considering that he did not seem to be willing to lower his gaze even when challenged by her.

Stubborn man.

When luncheon had ended, Lothíriel stood up, her soul and her body both nourished by Aragorn's stories and the wonderful variety of rustic and flavourful food inspired by the Hobbits. As she began making her way towards the exit, a curious and almost wistful thing happened.

A servant maid approached her and greeted her as she was about to join the mass of people leaving the hall. "Well met, milady. I pray you, take this."

Before Lothíriel could have realized what was happening, the maid had pressed a slip of paper in her hand and disappeared.

The young lady glanced down at the slip of paper.

She could guess who it was from.

With trembling hands, she folded it open and read the words written in a familiar, hasty scrawl.

'Please meet me in the stillroom.

E. E.'

Heat crawled up her cheeks as the implications and memories linked to this note flooded her mind.

Being alone with him, talking, eating, touching, and kissing...

All of which she had sworn off for her own sake, and his as well.

Lothíriel did not have to search long for him. Not five feet away he stood, his jaw set and his eyes fixed upon her expectantly.

For a moment, she struggled with herself on what to do.

However much she longed to sprint out of Merethrond, across the courtyard towards the Houses of Healing and to the Apothecary Wing, she would not.

Lothíriel tucked the paper in the inner pocket of her skirts where she kept the spiral shell. With her index finger she traced its shape a few times before she squared her shoulders and decided on what to do.

Holding his gaze, Lothíriel finally shook her head.

She would not meet him at the stillroom.

Hurt flashed instantly on his bearded face and a strange guilt spread in the pit of her stomach.

No, said a small but strong voice inside of her. There was no rational reason why she should feel guilty.

He was the one crossing the boundaries he himself established, again and again. If he wanted to be alone with her, then he should have married her.

Lothíriel pressed her lips together in anger.

She was no mere farmgirl with whom he could spend time as he pleased. In fact, no self-respecting farmgirl would tolerate such audacity either, King or no King.

"Milady, may I escort you out?"

Lord Forgammon had appeared at her side and she glanced at Éomer.

He was looking at her, his brow furrowed and his jaw slack, evidently pleading for her not to go with her suitor.

Her foolish heart was screaming at her to excuse herself from the Lord of Lossarnach and run to Éomer instead.

But actions had consequences, even for handsome warrior Kings.

Without breaking their gaze, Lothíriel offered her hand to Sir Forgammon, who smiled broadly and tucked it in the crook of his arm.

Seeing this, Éomer bared his teeth in a snarl with his nostrils flaring, and he turned away from them.

Then Lothíriel watched him leave Merethrond with heavy, stomping steps. She had gotten what she had wanted, but she could not be happy about it.


The rest of the day passed in a blur. First, she took a walk at the Pier with Lord Forgammon and his mother. Then she finished her study of the mycology book and sent the Lord to return it to the Old Archives. That was followed by a visit to the Warden of the Houses of Healing. Finally, she retired to her room to get ready for the evening trying to keep focus on the task at hand.

Her hand slipped into her skirt pocket and she took out the paper with Éomer's hasty handwriting.

As she stood at her desk adjacent to her changing room, she remembered the letters and notes they had exchanged in the past. What had become of them? Had Éomer thrown them away or had he kept them in the fancy wooden box she had put them in?

Even at the height of her heartbreak, she had not been able to throw away his letters. But keeping them would have been too painful. Even her copy of Théoden King's herbarium held too many hopes and dreams about Éomer, so she had forced herself to part with that as well.

And now this slip of paper?

She should throw it away.

Ah, but she could not. So she retrieved her personal herbarium and tucked it in between the other loose papers at the back of the book.

Halfway through the motion of putting the journal back in its place, Lothíriel stopped.

A sudden urge took hold of her. She wanted to run to the stillroom and see if he was waiting for her there, just in case she would change her mind.

If only her silly heart could understand that it was no use now regretting not meeting Éomer in the stillroom.

Lothíriel sighed deeply and willed herself to calm down. If Éomer magically had changed his mind about marrying, then all he had to do was declare his intentions to her father. It was that simple.

Then a knock at the door was heard.

"Who is it?"

"It is, I, milady. Your chambermaid. It is time to get ready for the ceremony."

Lothíriel pushed the herbarium holding Éomer's paper back onto the shelf and cleared her throat.

"Come in!"

Enough with the simpering, she told herself. She was a Princess of Dol Amroth with a special and singular duty tonight.

Prince Imrahil would be announcing his son's engagement to Lady Minieth to the Gondorian court in the custom of Dol Amroth, which meant that she had to look every inch of a Dol Amrothian Princess for the ceremony.

She would be wearing a sleeveless silver gown, one that would be heavily embroidered with swan and boat motifs with a gossamer grey shift to cover the bare skin of her arms, her back, and her neck. Lothíriel would be wearing her mother's silver and gold tiara in her braided hair, which was embellished with sapphires and pearls.

Not long after she was ready, her father escorted her to Merethrond, with her two brothers following closely behind them, with Amrothos carrying a slim wooden box.

In preparation for the engagement ceremony, the Dol Amrothian family was seated at a table in front of the dais. There was an empty chair, meant for Erchirion's fiancée.

Queen Arwen and High King Elessar had once more Éomer King seated to their right. He was dressed in his emerald green robes, with his golden crown on his brow.

When all the attendees were seated, King Elessar thanked them for their presence and invited Prince Imrahil to speak.

"Ready?" Asked Imrahil under breath.

Lothíriel nodded and placed her arm on his, allowing him to guide her onto the dais. When they stood in front of the Kings and the Queen, they greeted them before turning to the audience. In the split second during which she had turned, her eyes met Éomer's.

He was sitting up stiffly with a strangely pained expression on his noble face.

But she could not dwell on it, for she and her father were about to start the ceremony.

"Good evening, my dear King, Queen, peers, family, and friends," Prince Imrahil said, his voice ringing clear across the expanse of Merethrond, where everyone was looking at him and his daughter with mild to great interest.

"Dol Amroth thank you all for joining us here this evening. As you know, as the Prince of Dol Amroth, I have dedicated myself to safeguarding and strengthening the bonds within Gondor as well as building new bonds with the lands beyond our glorious Kingdom. While I have humbly done my part in this, I have also sought to honour my promise to my late wife to ensure the happiness and prosperity of our children. Bearing that in mind, over the past months I have laboured to strengthen the bond between two allies." He paused and looked around meaningfully with a broad smile.

His audience was awaiting his words with bated breath, observed Lothíriel mildly as she stared out into the crowd. No doubt they were now all wondering what the powerful and cunning Prince Imrahil had been able to bring to success.

"Thus it gives me great pleasure tonight to announce to you the engagement... Of my son Prince Erchirion to Lady Minieth of Lebennin!"

In true Gondorian fashion, there was merely polite clapping, though some faces in the crowd seemed to be more interested in whispering their opinions to one another.

Imrahil beckoned to his son and Erchirion appeared from the right, the hand of Lady Minieth tucked in his arm. Lothíriel and Imrahil greeted them both with kisses on their cheeks.

Amrothos then approached the dais and opened the slim wooden box, revealing an heirloom necklace of Dol Amroth.

As gently as she could, Lothíriel took the necklace from the wooden box and secured it around the lady's neck. If her mother had been alive, she would have performed this ceremony to welcome the young woman into the family. With a smile, Lothíriel ensured the silver and sapphire pendant hung in its proper place.

"Welcome to the family, dear Lady Minieth."

Lady Minieth thanked her and she curtsied before her future family, who returned the gesture.

Erchirion eagerly took her hand in his and once more the court clapped in approval.

With the engagement ceremony thus concluded, Lothíriel took a moment to observe how her brother helped his betrothed down the stairs of the dais and to the unoccupied seat at the Dol Amroth table. They seemed to be happy.

As she moved to follow after them, she walked past Éomer King, and unable to help herself around him, she stole a glance at him.

His gaze was trained on the newly engaged couple, but what was remarkable was his body language.

He was leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees while he rubbed his beard thoughtfully, his brows bunched into a confused frown.

Had he been so emotionally invested in Erchirion's personal life that he was out of sorts now?

Éomer's eyes snapped to hers and he sat up straight and raised his eyebrows at her questioningly. She returned the gesture, unsure of what exactly he was asking her.

But then the moment passed and she took her seat at the family table. When everyone was seated once more, dinner began.

It was a merry affair at the table of the Dol Amrothians. Amrothos and Lothiriel spent the meal plying Lady Minieth with questions, hoping to get to know her better, as Erchirion had been very mindful of keeping her away from them.

The lady had a similar complexion to hers, but she had pin-straight brown hair and large green eyes. Compared to Lothíriel's tall and lithe figure, Minieth was a head shorter than her and pleasantly full-figured. She enjoyed all the activities proper Gondorian ladies were wont to do: embroidery, playing the harp, singing and she had recently started painting still life.

"I do confess that my flowers look rudimentary and my fruits seem to have been kept in the sun for too long, but I still enjoy the activity." She told Lothíriel with a slight, deprecating smile.

"If it suits you, milady," replied the Princess kindly, "I could help you sometime. I may not know how to paint, but drawing plants and flowers is something I am familiar with. I could give you some guidance and you can teach me how to use paint."

"I would love nothing more, Your Highness."

Erchirion shot his sister a grateful look, who smiled in return. She truly wished for her brother's happiness.

"Do tell me this, dear brother," she said and she schooled her face with a frown, "why have you kept us in the dark about Lady Minieth?"

Erchirion merely quirked an eyebrow. "I was afraid that you would scare her away with your opinions on horseback riding."

"I would never," protested Lothíriel, though she was unable to resist a little grin, "not until you were actually married, at least."

Amrothos barked a laugh and Imrahil too smiled.

Minieth, though, looked panicked. "No, milady, I am to blame. I was worried about my brother. I wanted to keep a low profile until everything was settled."

Lothíriel regarded her with a discerning gaze. Minieth was wiser in social politics than she let on. Suddenly she had the feeling that the woman had a significant hand in orchestrating her match with Erchirion. It very well could be that Lord Boridhren had been sidelined by Imrahil and Minieth altogether. Which was... Curious, to say the least of it.

"I cannot blame you for wishing to spare his feelings, Lady Minieth," Prince Amrothos leaned forward to his sister-in-law with a conspiratory squint of his eyes. "Lord Boridhren is a good fellow, but it is my sister who has always had her particularities about horses."

Everyone at the table laughed good-naturedly, even Minieth though she did not understand the jest fully. But Amrothos was not wrong. Horseback riding while sitting astride was a hard-earned freedom for Lothíriel and she would never relinquish it, not even for Éomer himself.

Once again her mind had looped back to the horse-lord King, and she suppressed a sigh of frustration before forcing herself to focus on her brother once more.

Erchirion had, yet again, a goblet of wine in his hand, and it was almost empty.

When Lothíriel had heard about the union, she had made inquiries in the House of Rest. More than once had the young Prince been there, nursing a grand hangover after too many drinks.

And to confirm her suspicions, her brother had been a frequent visitor of the recuperation ward, even after his union was agreed upon. The staff at the House had been all too eager to complain about him because Erchirion was a mean drunk.

To gain a better perspective on the matter, she had asked the maids of the Southern Guesthouses to inform her of the latest about Minieth.

Apparently, there had been a scandal concerning her before the War had escalated. The young lady from Lebennin had a fiancé who had been boasting about her overly affectionate nature. His words had then reached Lord Gorhir, the father of Boridhren and Minieth, who had ended the engagement and demanded a duel from the fiancé for the sake of his daughter's honour. Before such a duel could have taken place, the Corsairs had attacked Pelargir and both the Lord of Lebennin and the fiancé had perished in the attempt to defend the city.

Nowadays, mere whispers of the scandal remained and the majority of the Gondorians looked on Minieth with pity.

Lothíriel had taken her time to digest the information, and she had reached the conclusion that the match was probably a good one. Lebennin was at the heart of Gondor, and Erchirion had a scandalous past himself. All too often had he gotten in trouble by providing a bit too much understanding and comfort to young widows.

And it had seemed that he was interested in his fiancé. Even now, as Lothíriel observed them quietly, the two of them were whispering continuously with each other. But still, she worried. Because when she had kissed his cheek during the ceremony on the dais, she had smelled his favourite hard liquor on him.

That particular liquor, she knew, was not for the sake of his nerves. For some reason, he was still drowning in his unhappiness.

Perhaps he felt yet attached to one such a widow.

If that had been the case, though, he could have married the widow. Indeed, in Dol Amroth marrying a widow was considered to be a very honourable deed that only powerful men could undertake.

And Erchirion was anything but weak, except when facing their father.

Had Imrahil refused that union?

As she glanced at her father, Lothíriel wondered if she should further inquire into this. If she were to ask Erchirion himself, he would probably not give her a straight answer. Then again, she did not like her brothers prying into her love life, and she thought that they deserved the same respect from her.

After all, she too had not shared everything about Éomer and Forgammon with them. She had tried to, initially, but there was a clear bias against Lord Forgammon that was anything but helpful.

Amrothos had been against the match with Éomer and against the match with Forgammon, as well. Erchirion seemed annoyed by the whole matter entirely, while Elphir had told her to choose the most politically sound union.

Simply put, she could not depend on her brothers in this matter at all. She would have to decide on her own in the end.

Theoretically, the match between her and Lord Forgammon could be a successful one. They were both passionate, but his pursuits were business-like while hers were for the enrichment of her life and that of others. Family was important to each of them, yet he did not seem to like her brothers. Lord Frogammon had two sons whom she had last seen when they were toddlers. Nevertheless, she felt no compulsion to meet them. She would have a lifetime for that, and furthermore, the boys would be enrolled in the Swan Knight training soon after the wedding. The idea that she would be a stepmother to -

"Milady, are you ready to take your leave?"

Lothíriel was jostled from her thoughts by the very person she was thinking about. Lord Forgammon was looking down at her. He was, as always, impeccably groomed, wearing a modestly embroidered ensemble. He had one hand extended towards her. Behind him stood his mother, Lady Vanyalos, smiling ever sweetly.

She had forgotten about the notes that she had taken during the Concluding Debate.

Slowly, she stood up and ignored her younger brother glaring daggers at her. Her future sister-in-law was looking at her and Lord Forgammon very sharply, no doubt her Gondorian court gears turning rapidly in her head.

Lothíriel was not surprised by this. It was only fair, considering she had been thinking about Minieth in the same manner not minutes ago.

She allowed her suitor to hold her hand. "If you would excuse me, Ada, brothers, Lady Minieth."


She should have known that this would happen. After all, he had gotten her consent the last time they were alone together like this.

Lothíriel, Forgammon, and his mother had taken a turn about the Royal Garden before they settled at a seating area. One by one the nobleman had answered all of the questions she had written in her book, in a speed that be lied his wish to get it done immediately. Lothíriel had felt like a child using a shorthand method to write down his answers, trying to keep up with an impatient tutor.

" – and that is how we can assure fair trade for both parties, without compromising on our position. Is it all clear?" Forgammon had looked at her with an expression that said he was ready to end the discussion.

Lothíriel had agreed readily, and she had accepted his invitation to take another turn about the Gardens. Claiming fatigue, Lady Vanyalos had remained seated.

The Princess had been casually commenting on the plants growing in the shades of the walls of the Sixth Circle when the man beside her had stopped them in their tracks. He had looked around and when he had seen that no one was there except for them, he had taken hold of both her hands and made her look at him.

His eyes had been lively and his hands had been warm around hers.

"Princess Lothíriel, last time you told me you would permit me to kiss you again..."

Now she stood, somewhat taken aback that he intended to follow up on their first kiss.

He did not seem to be someone who would care a lot about showing affection, however, Lothíriel realized upon reflection that he had been given her small compliments here and there during their time together. It was flattering that she was able to inspire him to praise her.

To think that a stern man like him would want to kiss her again... It was somewhat charming. While she was not excited at the idea, she was also not revolted. That also counted for something, she supposed.

"I do recall that, Lord Forgammon." She replied in a quiet voice.

"Do I still have your permission?"

She appreciated the insistence on her consent and she felt comfortable enough to reply. "You have, Lord Forgammon."

He took a step closer, his eyes darkening with anticipation. His hands slid up her arms to her shoulders and he pulled her closer, gently.

Lothíriel did not know how to feel. Was it not supposed to be more thrilling? He was doing nothing wrong, his behaviour was courteous, and he smelled pleasant and clean, like sandalwood. One should not mind a kiss from a man who was as self-assured and gentlemanly as he was.

Her eyes were still open when he brushed his lips against hers once and then twice, before increasing the pressure as one of his hands caressed its way to the back of her neck. Finally, as her eyes shut, his other hand rested on her lower back, bringing her closer to him.

Then she felt his lips leave hers to trace her jawline towards her left earlobe. It was a ticklish but not unpleasant sensation. When he reached the delicate skin below her ear, she felt herself sigh softly. In response, he pressed her even closer to himself and whispered:

"Lothíriel."

Her eyes snapped open and she pushed him away, wide-eyed.

There was no rolling rr.

That was not a deep, accented voice.

The person who had been kissing her was not Éomer.

She had known that it was not Éomer who had been about to kiss her.

How then could she forget it the very next moment?

She could not comprehend her own betrayal. Did her body fool her or did her mind play tricks on her?

Lord Forgammon was staring at her, half in shock, half contrite.

"I beg your forgiveness, Princess Lothíriel, I –" The man was uncharacteristically scrambling for words. "It seems I went too far – "

Taking deep breaths, Lothíriel watched him fumble to express himself, as she too could not muster up the adequate thing to say. She was preoccupied with scolding herself for mixing up her fantasy with her reality. There was no excuse for her own insanity.

How could she confuse Lord Forgammon with Éomer, when her eyes had been open at the start of the kiss?

Lothíriel pressed a hand against her forehead as a thought occurred to her.

Was this to be her fate, she thought miserably, to kiss one man but to fantasize about another? Was there no escape from her own feelings?

With a sigh, she leaned against the wall adjacent to where they stood. What a perplexing predicament this was!

Meanwhile, Lord Forgammon had started pacing to and fro, rubbing his beard, still wishing to explain himself, thinking that he was to blame for her current state of distress. "I realize that you have little experience in such matters, rightfully so, given that you are a Princess. However, it has been a long time since I have allowed myself to feel something for someone other than my late wife - "

"Forgammon! You bastard!"