A week before the anniversary of the fall of Sauron, Lothíriel returned to Minas Tirith. She was not eager to come back, knowing that Éomer King would be attending the celebration.
He and King Elessar would return from their campaign to Eriador, where their primary objective was reconnaissance and laying the foundation of dependable representation of the High King's reign over the lands. The hosts had left for their return from Edoras, where they had taken rest for a week. The majority of the Rohirrim army would retire until their King's return when he would set out for campaigns within the borders of Rohan until the wedding procession was set to leave for Minas Tirith.
Lothíriel's father had been mindful of her emotional state and thus he had informed her about the whereabouts of the King, so she would not be caught unaware. Imrahil valued his daughter's happiness, but now he needed her to be strong. He was confident that she would do be able to handle a visit to Minas Tirith. She had been doing well in Dol Amroth after all, dividing her time between her family and her ambitions. Of course, there was also Lord Forgammon to consider, her unexpected suitor. He would be present in the White City as well.
It had been strange, reading Forgammon's missive on why he thought that she should accept his suit. Never had she considered him anything other than her father's irksome advisor and her nephew's moody uncle. In fact, she still could not believe that he would earnestly be interested in her as a husband. From the letter he had given her father, his motivations were indeed anything but romantic.
His grandest motivation was that his sons would become eligible to partake in the Swan Knight training through his marriage with Lothíriel, and they would thus attain strength and glory. The power he would gain by their alliance would mean greater significance for him in all of Gondor. Of course, there were benefits for her as well, or so he wrote.
The lands of Lossarnach were mountainous and wet, and therefore abundant with a vast variety of plant life. According to other herbalists, there was a lot of potential for new medicines to be created for the people of Lossarnach – and beyond. Lothíriel would be, if she were willing, in charge of building that venture from the ground up. Lord Forgammon would facilitate her travels and she would be free to go and stay as she wished. As for offspring, he had already two sons, so it was her choice to have children and how many. Furthermore, he had promised her that she would not have to compromise in terms of freedom and luxury.
It was more than the other suitors could give her.
Except for perhaps a throne to a kingdom, but that was neither here nor there.
They had met about five times since the Yule celebrations, while his mother or Erchirion chaperoned them. Amrothos had also been tasked with this, but he had laughed wryly before walking out on Imrahil, his intentions clear.
Lothíriel did not lay any fault at his feet. Sir Forgammon had been unpleasant to them for the past decade and Amrothos had the tendency to hold grudges.
And Lothíriel knew that if she wanted this suit to succeed – though she was not sure yet – then Lord Forgammon needed to make an effort to compensate for his behaviour for the past decade.
Therefore, it was at their second chaperoned meeting, that the Princess had looked Lord Forgammon in the eye and spoken to him, firmly. "Milord, considering that you wish to marry me, you owe me an explanation about your behaviour."
"Whatever do you mean, milady?"
"You are very quick to criticize me. Why is that?"
His open-mouthed gape had been amusing to her, but she also had been a touch irritated. How could he be so obtuse?
"Could you give me an example of my unbecoming behaviour?"
What had followed were many examples and a surprisingly in-depth discussion as to why things were said and why the offense was taken. Lady Vanyalos had also listened attentively to their debate. Finally, they had reached the conclusion that he would choose his words more carefully and that she would try and move on from the past.
The consecutive meetings had been better, but he still had the tendency to look at her with disdain. Lothíriel had not minded, as she had determined that she preferred his disdain over his fondness. The marriage, should she choose to accept his suit, would be a business transaction, rather than the joining of two hearts.
And it was just as well, she thought as she allowed her hand to rest on Lord Forgammon's arm, two days after her arrival at Minas Tirith. She did not have the capacity for any more romantic feelings, after what she had been through mere months ago.
The void persisted in her belly, quiet and dark.
"Shall we take a walk around the herb garden of the Houses of Remedies? Perhaps you could tell me about your latest acquisitions."
She looked at the brown-haired man in mild surprise, not used to him taking an active interest in her personal pursuits. "As you wish, milord."
Instead of taking the path from the back of the Houses of Healing, Lothíriel led him and his mother there via the side entrance. The garden had just started to come alive with spring aspirations and the scents of the herbs and flowers were but gentle and sparse.
"Do you recognize these, Lady Vanyalos?" They paused near the Rosa Rugosa that she had planted last year. A few flowers had already bloomed, while the rest remained coyly in their buds.
"Aye, Your Highness, I recall these grow in abundance in the dunes of Cobas Haven."
The Princess smiled in appreciation, "That is right, milady. As you can see there is a lot of sand mixed into the patch. To my delight, the plant has survived the winter."
"These flowers have medicinal value, have they not, milady?" Forgammon stared at the roses with his usual stern expression. "Pray, what is their effect?"
"They are anti-inflammatory and reduce pain temporarily. They also help if you have a cough."
"Would these thrive in mountains?"
Lothíriel thought for a moment. "Considering that they grow in sandy soil, I think that even if they survive, the beneficial properties might decrease over time due to a less than favourable environment."
She met his gaze. "It is better that you find a plant with similar properties that is more suited to the mountain air and soil, rather than force the beach rose to turn against its very own nature."
"How clever of you, Princess Lothíriel, you are so wise in herb lore!" Lady Vanyalos praised her earnestly.
"I only wish to be of use, milady." Replied she, smiling warmly at the old woman.
"How about this one, I have seen this plant flowering near our home." Lord Forgammon was now standing near a plant with numerous tiny white flowers. "What is their use?"
It seemed that the man was only interested in the practical side of herb lore, and Lothíriel wondered if he was already planning on having a similar herb garden built to start their venture into herbal medicine.
She stood next to him and kept her gaze on the plant. "That is yarrow, which comes in a variety of colours. It is good for women's ailments, but only as prescribed by a Healer."
"Heavens, that is what our Healer also says, " exclaimed Lady Vanyalos, who pressed her way between them from behind, "that women must use it only as instructed when and how he prescribed it. Herb lore is not without its dangers."
"Indeed, Naneth." The man, who was clad in a simple black velvet outfit, took his extravagantly dressed mother by her arm and walked her over to a stone bench a little ways off. "I see that you are tiring yourself out, dear Naneth. You should sit down for a spell."
The old lady looked at her son in confusion before understanding flashed in her eyes. "Aye, I shall take a rest. Thank you, dear."
Subtle the pair were not, the Princess thought with mild amusement, and she was curious to find out why Forgammon required privacy. Unbidden, her mind recalled the other times that a gentleman sought to be alone with her in this very area. Her eyes strayed to the Apothecary wing on the opposite side of the garden.
"Shall we?" The lord offered her his arm and she took it. They strolled for a good ten minutes while passing remarks and questions about the flora until he halted near the tall Iâfthalion grape trellises.
"Princess Lothíriel."
His voice was terse mixed with something else that she could not place. She tore her eyes away from their examination of the vines, to look at him. He was standing in close proximity to her, making her feel a bit unsettled. He had always kept himself an arm's length away from her, even during their courtship.
Questioningly, she tilted her head to indicate that he had her attention. He was looking at her quite intensely and he stepped a bit closer. Then he reached out and took hold of her hand, pulling her closer still.
"It has been almost three months since you accepted my courtship," he said with an uncharacteristically gentle voice, "and I was hoping that I would be allowed a kiss from you."
For a moment Lothíriel thought that she was dreaming. It was not quite a nightmare, but more of an unsettling dream. Not once had she wished for a kiss from him, but he, in turn, had asked outright for one. She stared at him in shock and he actually smiled, quite ruefully.
"Milady, I am courting you after all, it should not be a surprise that I long for a kiss. In fact, I have held myself back, because... You do not think of me in that way."
For a moment she considered politely denying her reticence, but then she chose honesty instead. "That is true, milord. It is hard to shake the impression that has been formed over a decade."
"I concur, my perception of you changed only recently, too. I cannot fault you for being consistent in your convictions."
"What changed for you?" She wondered, genuinely curious.
The brown-haired man smiled again, being unnaturally cheerful in her company. "It was after the Battle of Pelennor Fields when I saw how you used your influence and skills for the sake of our soldiers."
He looked down at their enjoined hands, his skin a few shades darker than hers. "It was then that I realized that the Princess was now a formidable noblewoman, one who was able to fulfil her duties with her proud head held high, veil or no veil."
Lothíriel started. While she had been busy watching Éomer, Forgammon's eyes had been trained on her, observant and stern. And it was especially during that time that she did her utmost to fade away into the background.
A master of disguise she was not, apparently.
His hand released hers, only to skim her wrist and go up the length of her arm, coming to rest in the curve of her neck. She allowed him to bring his face near her, but he did not complete the distance.
"May I?" He whispered, his breath caressing her cheek, his half-lidded eyes gazing into her widened ones.
Lothíriel did not expect to be intrigued by him, yet she felt her eyes close involuntarily. A moment later, she felt his lips press against hers, his beard prickling the skin around her mouth. His hand slid up into her curls and he added a bit of pressure, only to have his lips graze very lightly before moving back, dropping his hand at his side.
When Lothíriel opened her eyes, he was looking down with pinked ears partially hidden beneath his short brown curls. Clearly, the kiss has affected him, in any case, more than it had affected her.
And It had been a pleasant kiss, far better than the ones stolen by stable boys in her early teens or the ones curiously given to a young Swan Knight. Yet it lacked something, and she knew that her foolish heart was comparing it to the single abrupt kiss she had received in the Apothecary stillroom.
It lacked Éomer.
Still, it was not Éomer courting her. It was Lord Forgammon who saw a future with her, one in which she would be valued as a leader and as an herbalist.
It was the lord from Lossarnach who was now looking at her in admiration and desire.
She allowed herself to give him a small smile, which he heartily returned.
"Thank you, Princess Lothíriel. May I kiss you some other time as well?"
His question was a bold one, but at least he was aware of what he wanted and held no fear in acting upon it. She nodded her assent and took a few steps toward where his mother sat.
"Shall we?"
That night, Lothíriel reflected upon all the kisses she had received in life, now having enough experience as an adult to make cognizant comparisons.
Lothíriel had learned to be cautious in her approach to men, and boys, in the same way she had done so for education, court politics, and other areas of personal development. Matters were never straightforward, especially for a young noblewoman of Gondor.
Nevertheless, she was a woman, and before that, she was an adolescent curious about why boys were boys. First, she had asked a few questions here and there to friends, maids, and Healers. Then she had stolen the book on the anatomy of Men from the office of the Chief Healer from Dol Amroth.
This had been followed by routine observations of the training that took place at the Swan Knight Academy. After that had followed choosing the young man that she liked best and then stealing looks at him. Her looks then would become more bold and pointed, even as she made eyes at him from where she had stood behind her brothers. Eventually, when she knew that he had enjoyed her attentions and his graduation at the Academy was nigh, she would happen to come across him at a secluded spot, one that she would have chosen over time based on her observations, and she would feign surprise at meeting him. Finally, if she saw that he was willing, she would congratulate him on his Knighthood and award him with a sweet and simple kiss on the lips.
She had done this three times, with each of the 'flirtationship' taking up an entire year. It had been only once that her kiss had been refused, though with profuse apologies from the young knight. It had been the last one when she was seventeen summers old. The Knight had told her that he had a sweetheart waiting for him, but that he was flattered and he hoped that she would not be upset with him. Indeed, she had been quite upset, but she had schooled her expression and laughed lightly, saying that she wished him and his sweetheart the best. Upon reflection, she had known that she had been envious. She longed for something more substantial than looks and a single kiss. The kind of connection that the Swan Knight had with his sweetheart. But it would not happen to Lothíriel, she had learned that by now.
That was the last of her flirtatious amusement with any young Swan Knight.
Still, that had not been her only kind of youthful experience though. Over the years, she would join Prince Imrahil on his visits to Minas Tirith and during those times she had befriended a stable hand called Nelion. Their paths would cross whenever she had to go for a ride or when she had to take care of her horse. Soon, their friendship had evolved to something more, though both had known it would never be worth naming. Nelion had been a muscular young man thanks to his labours in the High Stables, and he had been a head shorter than the Princess, with a lopsided grin that would always make her heart skip a beat.
What started with smiles and furtive looks, grew into stolen touches and short conversations until the spring before she turned eighteen, when they both had the confidence to meet behind the stables. He had been an endearing boy, with light brown hair and blue eyes, who had made sure he was washed up before he met Lothíriel, yet continued to smell of horse and hay. She had not minded it, he had been a stable hand after all. After daring to hold hands, he had pressed a feather-light kiss on her lips, one that she returned in kind.
Their years-long acquaintance had given a deeper dimension to the brush of their lips and it had sent a small thrill up her spine. After that day, they met three more times, during which they would do nothing more except hold holds and share light yet deep kisses. On the last day of Lothíriel's visit to Minas Tirith, she had found him in the High Stables again, but at once she had seen that something had changed. He would be sent to Osgiliath, where Orcs had been wreaking havoc and strong men were needed to defend the strategic location of the old capital. They had cried together, still only holding hands and sharing a final kiss before he had departed. She had never heard of him again, not even after her many attempts to enquire after him. His disappearance discouraged her from forming any more light-hearted attachments because it had affected her more than she had expected. Erchirion had taken note of her downcast moods and he had comforted her without asking questions.
After that, she kept her distance from all boys and men, not just from men of the court. No kiss would be worth the heartache.
Lothíriel remained distant from men from then onwards. Or at least, she did until that fated day in the herb gardens of the Houses of Healing. Éomer's appearance had heralded the deterioration of all the sensibilities that she had gained over the years.
He had awakened in her a strange kind of hunger, something deeper and more potent than the wish for a companion that would look upon her with admiration. That hunger seemed dormant, yet it deceptively reared its head in unguarded moments and dreams. It refused to let her forget the touch of Éomer's lips and the warmth of his hand.
And then there was Lord Forgammon and his kiss that spoke of prowess and potential.
Without a doubt, his kiss had been the most skilful of all. She could not deny that he knew what he was doing and a part of her was, in fact, curious as to what else one could do when touching lips and skin.
But whenever she thought of him, she would, without exception, have her mind turn elsewhere.
Even now, as she lay in bed reflecting and reminiscing, her mind unbiddenly conjured visions of a blonde moustache over lips and tanned skin.
No, she should not think of him, she reminded herself.
Yet it was all she did until she fell asleep.
The hosts of the two Kings were still two days away when a messenger arrived in the office of Prince Imrahil, where his children had gathered after dinner.
"Prince Faramir has sent word that he has found Lord Baranor and his companions."
Lothíriel looked up from her book, in awe.
Erchirion stood up, visibly excited. "Tell us more."
Imrahil beckoned the messenger to approach him and received the letter. Hastily he read through the missive and then looked up at his three children with a triumphant flicker in his grey eyes.
"Captain Baranor has agreed to become a liaison for Gondor, provided we meet with some of his reasonable demands."
"That is excellent news!" Exclaimed Amrothos. "When can we meet him?"
"He is staying in Osgiliath, as we were told by our sources - "
Erchirion frowned and raised his hand in confusion. "Who are our sources?"
"Gondorian infantry soldiers with close ties to the Rangers of Ithilien. Not many survived the war, but the ones who did, spoke of Captain Baranor and his deeds concerning Minas Ithil." Prince Imrahil explained and he glanced at his daughter. "They spoke with your sister and she relayed the information to us."
Lothíriel smiled brightly, enjoying the proud look on her father's face.
"Well done, sister."
"Erchirion and Amrothos, you will join me for Osgiliath as soon as the anniversary celebrations are done. Lothíriel, I shall leave a Swan Knight with you, but I urge you to start your journey to Dol Amroth for the month ends."
All three of them gave their agreement, happy that finally progress would be made in the trade agreements with the Haradlands. Lothíriel had been attempting to manage the moods of the men in her family, all of whom had been prone to wallow in frustration and despair. Most of the time that meant that she was trying to distract them from their worries, and she was running out of notions that could hold their interest. The cooperation of Baranor meant that they would gain an edge in their negotiations, laying the foundation of a reliable trade network between the Haradlands, Gondor, and beyond.
What followed was a lively discussion about the role of Captain Baranor and the risks and benefits of his involvement. An hour later, the brothers chose to retire for a drink, while Lothíriel stayed behind with her father.
"How goes the courtship with Lord Forgammon?" This was already the fifth time that her father asked her. And every time she gave the same answer.
"It goes well, I suppose, Ada." Lothíriel never knew what else to say. The time spent with the lord was pleasant. Logically their marriage would be beneficial for both fiefdoms. Lady Vanyalos adored Lothíriel and thus she was overjoyed with her son's courtship. Yet she could not force herself to put more effort into forging a relationship with Forgammon, even if he was an accomplished kisser.
Prince Imrahil nodded, his sharp eyes fixed on her face. "My daughter, I want you to make a decision before you leave for Dol Amroth. Either end the courtship or accept his suit. I see no reason for any more delay. You have to be more decisive, especially in matters such as these. Do you not know that both Dol Amroth and Lossarnach are awaiting your answer?"
She met his gaze, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "Yes, Ada."
Lothíriel donned her Healer's robes and had her chambermaid twist her dark curls into a braided bun, before putting on her head cover.
Like last time, Minas Tirith was astir with preparations for the arrival of the Kings. The Houses of Healing adapted to the procedures that had proven to be most efficient in the past, their Healers and their assistants delegated to their dedicated positions. Meanwhile, the kitchens, the stables, and the guesthouses were ready for an influx of demand as well.
This time, however, there was an increase in wounded and so the Warden demanded more of his staff. Lothíriel did not have a moment of rest from the moment the first blonde warriors and wiry, dark-haired soldiers streamed into the High Hall of Healing. While she was not responsible for the healing directly, she spent the whole day providing the right medicine to the Healers and giving the lightly wounded the care that was within her skill set.
"Westu, hlæfdige, hál!" Greeted one of the Rohirrim, as he sank down on the cot she had offered to him. She had lost count of how many of the soldiers from the North she had helped.
"Ferthu hál, cempa." She replied with a warm smile, immediately taking in the places he was hurt. She set out to clean the wounds and then applied a thin layer of Sorrowfew on them, before bandaging him up. During her work, she felt a strange prickle in her neck, as if someone was watching her. A glance at her patient's face confirmed it. He was looking at someone behind her and bowed his head with a brave grin.
Lothíriel turned around to see a tall armoured man walk away, in his hand his helm with the horsehair tail.
She breathed deeply to steady her heartbeat, refocusing her attention on the horse-lord in front of her.
This was to be expected.
They were bound to run into each other.
She could handle this.
And he was not for her to have.
With the last bandage done, she gestured for the man that he was free to go. He bowed and left. Lothíriel looked around and saw no other patient in need of attention. She sank down on the cot and heaved a deep and tired sigh.
It had been almost five months since she had last seen Éomer King. And she had succeeded in thinking less about him during the day, by concentrating her attention on her duties, her passions, her family, and even on Lord Forgammon.
During the night, though, he was ever-present. He persisted in appearing in her dreams, where he would be holding her by her waist, or where he would be sitting next to her while looking at her as if she was the only thing that mattered in his life. Yet more disturbing visions occurred as well. He would appear to be wounded or on his deathbed. Then there were the dreams in which the single kiss they had in the stillroom would evolve into a flurry of intense kissing, wandering hands, and bare skin on the cushions near the fireplace. Or that dream in which they were both astride on Firefoot, but instead of being taken to the Houses of Healing, he would find some other, more secluded, space to further explore how it felt to have their bodies pressed tightly against each other.
"Your Highness, are you well?"
Angrenor, the Swan Knight that had the duty to guard over her, was kneeling in front of her, looking concerned. She had not even heard him approach, even with his heavy suit of arms. She stared at his lined face in surprise. "Sir, you are very stealthy."
"Not at all, milady, you were very deep in thought." The Knight straightened up his stout body and helped her up as well. "Perhaps I should go tell the Warden you are done for today?"
Before giving an answer, she cast a look about the High Hall. The staff of the Houses had been working since before breakfast, and it was almost dinner time now. The patients seemed to be handled or delegated to the appropriate Specialist Healers up in the House of Remedies. The Warden was nowhere to be seen, but she did not wish to go looking for him. He could be with Éomer King, and she was determined to stay far away from him for as long as her station allowed it.
Instead, she approached one of the Healers in charge of the High Hall and took her leave of her.
"We will need you in the morrow, Your Highness," said Healer Lagreth, "some of the medicine that you make, is in short supply, and the other Herbalists have requested your help. I will have your stillroom prepared."
Lothíriel opened her mouth to protest but closed it again. She had been avoiding that still room, but duty trumped personal problems, and instead, she thanked the Healer and promised to return early.
Angrenor escorted her to the Dol Amrothian quarters, where he was given leave by Prince Imrahil. Lothíriel bathed and changed into one of the formal robes she had brought along from home. Her mind was overwhelmed by thoughts of the Rohirrim King, which was downright foolish because she had not actually seen him except for a glance at his retreating back. What would become of her, if she were to face him at dinner time?
On Erchirion's arms, Lothíriel left with her brothers for the welcome feast, her mind still in turmoil. They approached the dais where the Queen, the Kings, and the Prince sat. Arwen caught her eye with a warm smile and for a moment, Lothíriel's head was clear.
She was a Princess of Dol Amroth who was about to greet her lords and liege, and there was nothing to be nervous about.
Following her brother's lead, she curtsied grandly and greeted each of the royals, including her father, with a happy smile and a heartfelt greeting. Éomer King was also greeted in the same manner. She met his gaze proudly and proclaimed her greeting clearly with only the slightest tremor. He was dressed in black and gold robes, with his maroon cuirass on top of it. Across his brow was his crown, nestled on his half-tied hair. As was his habit, he was frowning slightly with an unreadable expression on his face, which remained even as he returned her greeting.
Lothíriel and her brothers made for their seats, and she let out a shallow sigh, grateful that their reencounter was over so soon.
She had finally faced him and she had done so without stuttering, blushing or stumbling. There was no doubt now that she could handle being around him.
"Milady, allow me to take you to your seat." Lord Forgammon appeared in front of her, and without waiting for her answer, he took her arm in his.
"Well met, Lord Forgammon. By all means."
It was better to concentrate on her suitor, she thought wryly, as he was the best chance at a politically useful match. Amrothos did not at all agree, of course, because he cursed under his breath as he followed them, while Erchirion excused himself to talk with their father.
The table at which they were to be seated was along the length of the dais and she ensured that her seat would not face the dais. She knew that she would be sorely tempted to keep looking at the Rohanese King. Her suitor was most willing to oblige and sat down next to her. Amrothos chose to sit opposite them, probably so that he could keep a close eye on them.
During their courtship, Lord Forgammon had usually been a quiet dinner companion, and thus the first two courses passed in relative silence. When the third course was placed in front of them, a marinated mushroom salad, he took a few bites and then set his utensils down.
"Lady Lothíriel."
Lothíriel glanced at him and put her fork down, wondering why he was looking at her so intently.
"You have proven to be very wise in growing all sorts of herbs and plants, but have you any experience with cultivating mushrooms?" His eyes flickered with something akin to excitement.
Lothíriel was taken aback by the energy in his voice. He rarely showed any emotion except for disgust and annoyance. "I have not, milord. Have you?"
Forgammon turned towards her while pointing at the salad. "I have not, but I know people in Lossarnach who are masters in foraging and cultivating mushrooms. Granted, the mushrooms are used either for food or for poison darts, but I have a very strong feeling that there will be mushrooms in Lossarnach with healing properties!"
Relatively speaking, his excitement was subdued compared to the average person however he was figuratively bouncing in his chair. And Lothíriel could not help but smile and be affected by his energy.
"That is wonderful, milord. I would love to learn more about it."
The energy made Lord Forgammon look his age and perhaps that same energy persuaded him to take hold of her hand in the presence of a Dol Amrothian Prince who was glaring hard at them.
"Princess Lothíriel, will you join me tomorrow for a visit to The Old Archives to see what knowledge is kept there?"
Before she could even think to answer, Amrothos spoke in her stead. "I am afraid my sister will be occupied with her duties in the Houses of Healing tomorrow, Lord Forgammon. Perhaps you can go yourself and bring back to our quarters whatever you deem useful? I am sure that father would not mind the three of us pouring over dusty old books in the common room."
Lord Forgammon's mouth stretched disdainfully before giving a reply. "You take an interest in herb lore, Prince Amrothos?"
"I take an interest in my sister, milord, and I would not like her to go to such a dreary place."
Lord Forgammon glared back at the younger man but admitted his defeat soon after. "Very well. Let us meet after lunch, milady?"
Lothíriel agreed, shooting a frown at her brother, who in turn raised his eyebrows with a scowl. "Aye, you can send word to me and I will join you in our common rooms."
The lord stared at her for a moment, before giving her hand a light squeeze and letting go. "I look forward to it, milady."
She nodded with a smile and turned to her salad. Amrothos genuinely disliked Forgammon and the feeling was mutual, despite knowing each other for a decade already. They only bore each other's company for the sake of Prince Imrahil. She stole a glance at the man sitting next to her, who was having his salad with his usual stern expression. There was no doubt that he was a great asset to Dol Amroth and to Gondor as a whole, but it did not sit right with her that her marriage would have the shadow of animosity between her loved ones. Perhaps, over time her brother would be able to let his grudges go.
The rest of the courses passed uneventfully, except for the periodic scowling and glaring from the youngest Dol Amroth Prince. When the meal ended, he was quick to take hold of his sister's arm and pulled her along towards the Southern Guesthouses.
"Lothíriel, you must end this courtship." Said he, when they were alone in the common room of their residential quarters.
She sank down on a sofa seat, rubbing her forehead. "Amrothos..." She said tiredly, "It is not that simple. He is important to Gondor and he has ambitions that suit my personal interests while having the means to support these... Aspirations."
"Look, I understand the goal and duty of marriage, Lothíriel," he said in an empathic voice, sitting down next to her, "and I understand he is influential, but he will squeeze all the joy out of your life if it serves his purpose. And even if it does not happen immediately, he will do so eventually."
"Despite all that, he is still the best match when it comes to rank." Lothíriel did not understand why she was defending the courtship, but a dutiful part of her was compelled to do so. "If I marry some lesser noble, the power I will have as a married woman shall not have the highest potential."
Amrothos rubbed his face in frustration and grabbed his hair in his hands.
"Refrain from pulling your hair, Amrothos," she huffed, "you will grow bald early."
He ignored her attempt to distract him from his tensions. "You do not have to get married, Lothíriel! Not now, not never."
"You are right, but I do not wish to remain unmarried for the rest of my life. Therefore it is best I marry the one most suitable for a Princess."
He stared at her. "Forgammon is not the best."
"Perhaps. But I see no one else."
He was about to say something, when Imrahil and Erchirion entered the room. Instead, he closed his mouth and looked thoughtfully at his feet.
"Amrothos, Lothíriel," said Imrahil with a lightness in his voice, "I bring you good news..."
Both of them looked at him and Erchirion with interest.
"Your brother Erchirion is betrothed."
The following morning, Lothíriel rose early, dressed in a fresh set of Healer's robes and went to the Hall for breakfast.
From a distance she could see a relatively small number of people having their morning meal. One of them was the King of Rohan, sitting amongst his direct command. She turned around and went to the kitchens to have a meal there. The kitchen staff was used to her comings and goings, which were unusual for Gondorian royalty, but they welcomed her always as she enjoyed discussing the use of herbs and plants in food.
As she had her meal she reflected about Erchirion. Her brother had been consistently drunk the past few days. Was it because of his betrothal? Amrothos had told her that Imrahil had put in a lot of effort to get this union arranged. Had Erchirion been the one who had been causing trouble on this matter? When their father had announced it, Erchirion did seem pleased. Had his contentment been an act? When she had gone up to him, he had deflected all of her questions and left to meet his friends, so her brother was not being forthcoming either.
"Shall you be having supper in the herb garden again, Your Highness?" asked one of the kitchen staff, biting back her smile.
"No," Lothíriel was taken aback by the forwardness of the young woman, and she put her spoon down in her bowl, "that shall not happen anymore."
"Shame. The two of you got along so well, that – "
"Idril!" The head chef interrupted with a warning look on her face. "Mind your own, if you know what is good for you! Your Highness, I beg your pardon, we did not mean to upset you."
Lothíriel looked down at her breakfast, all appetite lost. She too once thought that there would be more suppers together, as well as other meals the two would have in private. But things had not gone as per her expectations.
Her foolish, naive expectations.
Abruptly, she stood up and took her leave, despite profuse apologies from many staff members. Perhaps she had been rude, but she could not stomach their well intentions yet. Instead she made her way to through the herb garden.
She opened the door to the stillroom in the Apothecary wing of the House of Remedies and just stared at the space.
Five months ago, this room had bee filled with a cosy atmosphere, with throw pillows and cushions piled up on one side, a veritable spread of their favourite foods in the middle of the room, and a pot of mulled wine brewing on the other side of the room.
Her heart still ached, but she had no regrets. Ending their meetings had been the right decision for both their sakes. He had made a fool out of her and she had allowed him to do so.
Her anger at him had long since dissipated. The heartbreak would fade eventually, too. Hopefully.
She took a step over the threshold and pressed her lips together resolutely.
More important matters were at hand now and she scanned the list with the herbal medicine the Healers needed from her. A number of her specialties and large batches of Sorrowfew and similar salves.
She rolled her head and then her shoulders, and she set to work.
It was near lunch time and Lothíriel was cleaning up the stillroom, having had a productive morning.
When everything was spotless, she refreshed herself and left the still room for a walk in the herb garden before she would return to the Dol Amrothian quarters. The Royal Gardeners had been tending dutifully to the herbs, bushes and trees, and it was to their efforts that the garden was an invigorating place to be in. There were also the Royal Gardens near the front of the Houses of Healing which featured the efforts of landscapers and many walking paths under looming trees, but there were too many people about for Lothíriel to enjoy.
She stretched out her arms and circumambulated the garden once alone and twice together with Sir Angrenor, the Swan Knight who watched over her.
She tried to make some idle talk with him, but like his predecessor, he favoured listening over talking. Too tired she was to give monologues, so they stayed in companiable silence. It was when she considered returning to the Southern Guesthouse that someone came out of the House of Healing doorway opposite the apothecary wing.
Both Lothiriel and Angrenor turned their heads to look at the newcomer, who was partially hidden out of sight by some overzealous shrubs.
A soft rhythmic clanging sound approached and immediately a lump formed in her throat.
Even without a visual, the Princess recognized the heavy footfalls and the clanging of armour. Hastily she turned around and walked up the nearest parapet, hoping that the grey colour of her robes would blend in with the wall. Sir Angrenor stayed put, but he was well aware of her agitation. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, her ears fully aware of his nearing.
A few moments later, Éomer King appeared, seemingly deep in thought as he walked past them, only to retrace his steps and look at Sir Angrenor, who immediately bowed deeply and greeted him.
"You are the Princess' personal guard, are you not, good sir?" She heard him say.
"Aye, Your Majesty."
"Then she is here?"
"... Yes, Sire."
The rhymthic clanging was now very close and its source stopped mere feet behind her.
Lothíriel bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping for some miracle to make her invisible to him.
Then she heard Éomer King clear his throat.
"Princess Lothíriel... Well met."