Imrahil's Interlude

It was approaching midnight and the celebrations in Merethrond were winding down. A middle-aged man dressed in a splendid blue and silver half-armour made his way down the hallway to the Dol Amroth common rooms. The black of his hair was interspersed with silvery grey, concentrated mostly at his temples, and his handsome face was tense with fatigue.

It had been a long and tumultuous day for Prince Imrahil, and not for the first time today did he sorely miss his wife. It had been ten years since her passing, yet not a day passed without the ache of her absence.

His sweet Celairwen, beloved wife and mother of his four children. Parenthood would have been easier to navigate if fate had kept her by his side. He certainly would have not been at a loss like he was right now.

He nodded to the guard standing on watch and entered the common rooms. There, sprawled haphazardly on the chaise longue, was his youngest son Amrothos, sound asleep. Quietly Imrahil stood over him and observed the young Prince.

How was it that his most mischievous offspring had been causing the least trouble for him, he wondered.

Amrothos had the same curly hair that Celairwen had, and he was the only one of his siblings not to inherit Imrahil's stern brow. Instead, his eyebrows were high and curved, thereby quite capable of lulling any unknowing observer into believing that he was a free-spirited and innocent young man, one who would only be half-serious most of the time and non-serious the rest of it. But Amrothos' romances had all been superficial, and he was dedicated to his family as well as his responsibilities as Grand Officer of the Swan Knights and Second-In-Command of the Dol Amroth Naval Fleet.

Imrahil gently pushed a dark curl out of his son's face before putting a blanket over him.

No, aside from the occasional outburst about whatever topic Amrothos felt strongly about at that moment in time, this child of his gave very little trouble to his Ada.

The Prince sank down on the sofa seat opposite his son and took a moment to close his eyes as he continued to reflect on his children.

In retrospect, it had been Elphir who had given him the majority of his headaches, even if Imrahil was partially to blame. His eldest son had shown no interest in women at all, and Imrahil had been grateful for that at first. But when the time had come for the Prince Heir to find himself a wife, he had rejected every possible prospect until Celairwen had managed to broker the match with Lady Siloril, the sister-daughter of Lord Forlong. And both Elphir and Siloril had readily agreed with Celairwen's advice of a long betrothal.

Imrahil had not understood why, until a few years ago. Elphir had had no interest in and no knowledge of how to be a good spouse. It was only now that the two of them seemed to get along, but Imrahil was still not at ease with them. There were two months left of Siloril's high-risk pregnancy and only the Valar knew how the events surrounding the birth of his second grandchild would unfold. He could only hope that with the delivery taking place in Minas Tirith, further grief would be avoided.

Then there was Lothíriel. It had taken her the entirety of three months to consider and subsequently reject Lord Forgammon's courtship of her. In the light of her previous swift decisions concerning her suitors, he had not expected any delay in this particular decision. Yet, he could not fault her. Perhaps it was because she had grown into her role as Lady of Dol Amroth that she had been more careful in the consideration of this match. He did not doubt that she had needed the time to consider the advantages of marrying the influential and resourceful Lord of Lossarnach. Still, Imrahil was no fool. Despite her bravado, it was clear as the waters of Cobas Haven that she was still in love with the young King of the Riddermark.

He let out a small sigh of dismay and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger.

If he had not put her in Éomer's path, she might not have had to suffer such heartache. Not unlike himself, she too had a hard time moving on from the person she had come to care for so deeply. For Éomer was a handsome young fellow, strong and proud, and yet humble and kind-hearted.

Thanks to Sir Feruion and Sir Angrenor's diligent reports, he was aware that Éomer too had become attached to Lothíriel. However, the young King had personal issues that left no room for any kind of commitment.

At least, that was what Imrahil had thought until tonight. Though he had been busy enough attending to his duties - for the work of a Prince never stopped - he could not have helped but take notice of the interactions between his daughter and the King of the Horse-lords.

Lothíriel had never looked so radiant and so much like her mother dressed in the white and silver gown, and Éomer had not been able to pay attention to anything or anyone but her. All through the banquet, he had kept his eyes on her and when she had been on the dancefloor he had watched her every twirl and sway. And if that had not been enough indication of his feelings toward her, he had joined the dancing lines and fallen in step with her, as well.

It was the first time that anyone in Gondor had seen Éomer, son of Éomund dance at all.

Thus the Prince of Dol Amroth could not stop himself from hoping.

Hoping that the unintended harm of his interference would right itself soon. For somehow it seemed that the moves he made to improve the future of his children always seemed to make matters worse. Without Celairwen to balance out his ambitions, all his best intentions went awry.

For example, he had genuinely thought that Erchirion and Minieth would find companionship and comfort in one another. And up until the end of the party, they had seemed to be getting along fine. But while Lothíriel had been taking her leave from him, he had noticed his future daughter-in-law Lady Minieth of Lebennin at a short distance.

She had been crying. And Erchirion had disappeared.

Upon approaching her, Imrahil had asked her what had made her so upset, but the poor young woman had only sobbed her fiancé's name before struggling to catch her breath. A lead weight had settled in his stomach then.

He had known Minieth since she was eighteen summers old. It had been not even a year after Celairwen's passing that Minieth and Boridhren had lost their parents during a Corsairs attack when they were sailing from Dol Amroth back to Pelargir. Since then she and her younger brother had been in the care of their mother's brother, Sir Laechanar, a bachelor Swan Knight residing in Cobas Haven. Unfortunately, Sir Laechanar perished in battle, leaving the two once more without a guardian.

It had been Celairwen's cousin, Sir Breniedir of Linhir who had been given charge of the two siblings at the behest of Prince Imrahil himself. When Breniedir had deemed Boridhren worthy of his title a year ago, he had stepped back from his role as interim leader and remained an advisor to the young Lord of Lebennin. It was he who had suggested that a match of Boridhren and Lothíriel. However, when that did not pan out, the alternative union between Erchirion and Minieth had seemed appealing to Imrahil as well.

Thus he had made great effort to arrange the match in the hope that Erchirion would gain a powerful position as the right-hand man of young Boridhren, as well as benefit from the optimal geopolitical location of Pelargir. It was a setting that would suit Erchirion and Dol Amroth very well. Indeed, it was the best that a secondborn son could wish for.

Yet the young Prince did not seem to care for any of it.

After ensuring her safe return to her rooms, Imrahil had sent a few men to find Erchirion. His behaviour had been most reprehensible and he would be taken to task for it.

"Sire."

Imrahil looked up towards the door. It was Sir Angrenor.

"Prince Erchirion awaits you in your study, as per your instructions."

He nodded his thanks and made his way to the office, where he found his second son seated on a chair whilst balancing it precariously on its hind legs.

The young Prince let the chair fall forward into its upright position with a loud thud and he nodded to his father in greeting. "You wished to speak to me, sir?"

Imrahil walked up to his son, his hands clasped behind his back and he looked down upon him to study his state.

His usually slicked-back hair was dishevelled, there was some staining on the cuffs of his sleeves, and the clasps of his collar were undone. The silver and blue cuirass he had been wearing during the evening was placed on Imrahil's desk. There was no distress or frustration on his face, nothing to signify any worries concerning his behaviour or his treatment of his fiancée. One would think this young man, fresh-faced and relaxed, had not made of a fool of both himself and the Line of Imrazôr, but Imrahil knew better than to fall for his own son's charm.

No, as he was failing to hide the flask of ale under his cloak, it was evident to him that his son was completely in his cups.

"Erchirion. How has your evening been? Anything noteworthy?"

A corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. "I had a pleasant time, Ada. How was yours?"

With a sigh, the elder man sat down in his chair and bent forward to steeple his hands beneath his chin. "It was eventful."

His son's smile widened and he raised his brow in surprise. "Is that so? I did not notice."

There was an unsettling glint in his eyes. Imrahil did not like it.

"You cannot claim to be unaware of what you put me through tonight, Erchirion. What is the meaning of your behaviour?" he asked, straightening up.

Erchirion had apparently been expecting it because he remained calm - too calm. "My behaviour, sir?"

He dared to claim ignorance!

Imrahil clenched his teeth to control his anger. "I speak of your actions, the ones that resulted in you abandoning Lady Minieth in tears with no one looking after her."

"Minieth? Poor, poor Minieth." Erchirion shook his head in feigned disbelief and ran his fingers through his unruly hair. "There is always something going on with her. What did she do now?"

"I beg your pardon? She is your fiancée and you shall speak of her with the respect she is due."

When had his son become such a cruel man?

To his father's consternation, he sighed and rubbed his forehead in an overt display of weariness. "Respect? How can I respect her when she is so exhausting? Always asking me where I am going and what I am doing – "

"As is her right – "

"No!" He held up a hand in protest. "If I want to go to The Thirsty Seer with my friends, she has no right to stop me. I am not her keeper and neither is she mine."

"Liquor does not suit you, Erchirion. You should have stayed with her and at least brought her back to her quarters."

"I can handle liquor!" Protested he, and he stood up, the flask still badly concealed in the crook of his arm. "And it is her fault she was alone. I told her that I would have someone bring her back, but she refused me and insisted I stay. I swear to you, she is such a nuisance – "

"Come now, Erchirion, you are being unfair to her."

But he was unwilling to hear any of his father's words. He began pacing the room. "You do not seem to understand me, Ada. My dislike for her is to the extent that I do not wish to marry her!"

"You what?" Imrahil's eyes widened in shock and he came to stand in front of him. "Is this some sort of jest, Erchirion? Minieth is precisely the type of girl you tend to take an interest in."

But he scoffed and narrowed his eyes at Imrahil. "Did your spies tell you that, Ada?"

Spies. That was the word his son used to denote the network of guards, servants and other informants who reported to Imrahil about everything from the plans of the High King for the coming week to the movements of various people in Minas Tirith, Dol Amroth and in-between. A side-effect was that he knew of matters that did not directly concern him, something that Erchirion had expressed his discontent of numerous times in the past.

"Yes. My informants have told me that." There was no use in denying it. "Erchirion, I do not understand. I have never once heard you object to the match."

He then stopped in his tracks and looked back at him, a frown finally forming on his brow. "Sir. When did you give me a chance for any objections?"

"You were all too happy when we agreed upon the betrothal. And at the engagement ceremony, you were all smiles – "

"I was confused and distracted by her…" He gestured with his hand around his chest. "… Her figure, but I have come to my senses. I cannot marry her. I cannot."

A tense silence stretched between them as Imrahil struggled to come to terms with what he just had heard. Though he did endeavour to do right by his children, it was undeniable that he had not spent much time with Erchirion. Aside from the occasional scandalous behaviour to that needed it be addressed, he rarely had found himself in his father's office as he preferred the company of his friends to that of his father. And Imrahil could not fault him for it.

"My son, tell me what is truly going on," he said, his voice even and insistent, "your behaviour has been aberrant for several months already before Lady Minieth was even considered to be your wife."

But he did not seem to have a receptive audience, for Erchirion merely shook his head once more and finally took out the flask of ale to take a swig of it.

"Erchirion. Your occasional drunkenness has now become a constant. People have taken notice and they are not friendly with their choice of words."

"I am fine, Ada."

"Is that so?"

"Your hand is as steady as always?"

"Aye."

Imrahil came to stand opposite his son and frowned at him. "Hold out your hand."

"What?"

"I said, hold out your hand!"

With a scowl, Erchirion relented and extended his right hand towards his father, who immediately began scrutinizing it.

His hand was perfectly still... For the first minute. Then Imrahil saw it.

A tremor.

"Your skills are deteriorating."

"I have the best marksmanship of the entirety of Belfalas and Anfalas, nothing is wrong with me."

He was quite convincing when he needed to be.

"Stay here!" Imrahil ordered his son as he walked towards the door. Five minutes later, he returned with Erchirion's bow and quiver of arrows. Then he motioned towards the window. After sending his father an incredulous look, he looked out the window to see a target being readied by two guards in the otherwise abandoned inner courtyard of the Southern Guesthouses.

"You are testing me? Now?" asked Erchirion, looking back over his shoulder in anger.

"Is there a problem, Prince Erchirion?" The challenge was clear in his voice and he knew that his son would not be able to back out.

"None at all, sir." He replied testily.

"Good. Three arrows, twenty-and-hundred yards, dead centre, one minute. Your usual party trick should be no trouble to you."

Erchirion slammed the bottle that he had tucked under his arm onto the desk before taking hold of his bow and quiver.

After another glare, he nocked the first arrow and aimed for the straw target. A second later, a twang and a whistle were heard and the arrow had successfully hit the target in its centre. In the next moment, he readied and shot his second arrow which landed flush against the first one.

This was going better than Imrahil had expected. Perhaps Erchirion was not as in bad shape as he had thought. Perhaps he was not as a neglectful parent as he thought himself to be.

He silently watched his son draw the final arrow and then release it. Then they both peered through the window to see the result.

In the flickering of the torches, they saw that the third arrow had also hit the target. But instead of the dead centre, it had veered three inches to the right.

For anyone else, this would have still been a major feat. But for the Grand Officer of the Swan Knight and the Commander-in-Charge of the Archery Regiment of Dol Amroth, it was an embarrassment. Erchirion was fully aware of this because as he turned away from the window, his face was pale and drawn.

And Imrahil felt his failure even worse, as it meant that he too was a failure as a parent.

"You are not well, my son. I…" He heaved a great sigh and motioned for him to take a seat while he too sat down, not behind his desk, but on the chair next to it. "Something is troubling you and it has affected your health. The Warden has spoken with you of the dangers of sustained drunkenness, warning you of the very signs of physical and mental deterioration that we just now have witnessed."

He paused and studied his expression. "What is the cause of all of this?"

Erchirion squeezed his eyes shut, his discontent and apprehension apparent. Yet he did not reply.

"Erchirion, please! Dol Amroth needs you, Gondor needs you! I need you. Your liaison skills are essential to all communications between us and the Haradrim – "

"For Ulmo's sake! You do not listen." He had been sitting down, but he jumped up and turned to his father, his still paled face now distorted into a scowl.

Imrahil fell silent at his interruption and stared at him expectantly.

"You have never listened to me," continued his son heatedly," yet you expect me to be your mouthpiece whenever it suits your politics. Every decision you have made regarding myself and my siblings has always been tainted by – by the greater good! For Gondor! For Dol Amroth! For anyone and anything, but never us in the first place."

"Aye, I do not deny that. But it is part of – "

"I am not interested in hearing why you think it is fine and good to sacrifice us for power!"

"Then tell me exactly which of my missteps is bothering you the most perhaps I may remedy – "

Erchirion slammed his fist on the desk, causing the bottle of ale to fall over. "There is no remedy!"

"Tell me!" Implored Imrahil. He deftly caught the flask and put it back upright on the desktop. "Tell me so I can know where I failed you."

"Fine. Fine." His son nodded and he rubbed the back of his neck before he met his father's gaze with his own. "Lady Cellindes, the cousin of Lord Hirluin the Fair, had him send a proposal. And you… You refused it – without even speaking with me!"

The blame and the bitterness were palpable, and Imrahil sat back in his seat, processing. Yes, he could vaguely remember Lord Hirluin suggesting the match, but he had barely given it any thought. Lady Cellindes had been adopted by her parents and she had no real connections or standing in Gondorian society.

"Lady Cellindes was not suitable for you, Erchirion. How could you consider her to be – "

"You are doing it again! You are politicking instead of parenting," exclaimed Erchirion, and he balled his hands into fists in frustration, "you did not meet her. You did not talk to her or me. You just decided then and there that it was not to be!"

"But she is not nothing like the usual woman you – "

"Cellindes and I had an understanding, Ada!"

Again Imrahil paused for a beat before replying. "I did not know that."

"Your network of spies did not tell you? I do not believe you."

"Erchirion, during that time you were with a new woman every other week, so forgive me I did not keep track – "

"You should have bothered to ask me!"

"I routinely refuse offers of marriage for all three of you, son. If you were serious about her, you should have come to me first."

"I did not have the chance, she, ah – " The frustration was evident on his face and Imrahil could not help but to feel pity for his son. "Cellindes was anxious and she got ahead of herself, I think."

Both were quiet for a spell until Erchirion spoke up once more, his weariness now seeping into his voice. "It was not until later that I found out what exactly happened when I noticed that she was actively avoiding me. Sir Norgalad told me what had happened. I was going to find her and talk to her – but then matters escalated in Minas Tirith and we had to leave."

The last of his anger had faded away. His shoulders were slumped in defeat. "By the time we returned to Dol Amroth, after the coronation, Cellindes was already betrothed to another."

Imrahil stood up and rubbed the young Prince's shoulder in an effort to console him. When was the last time he had ever done so for him?

"I am terribly sorry, my son." He said, softly and sincerely. For all of the usefulness of his informer network, he had hurt his son by the lack of communication between the two of them. "Is there nothing we can do now?"

He shook his head. "Nay, she is married now. And quite happily, too."

"I see."

Once more the two of them fell silent. It was well past midnight and the noise of Merethrond had died down. Most of the crowd had retired, though a small number of them had left the Citadel for the lower Circles to continue their celebrations there. Imrahil was feeling weary, his joint aching lightly and continuously. Though he wished to retire as well, he first needed to clear the air with the young man in his office.

"Am I right to conclude that Lady Cellindes is the reason your drinking has gone out of your control?"

Erchirion hummed in agreement and he longingly glanced at the ale on the table.

Imrahil moved to look at him with a stern expression. "I do not discount your feelings, dear son, however, your coping is now at your detriment. I do not think that she would want you to ruin yourself in your heartbreak."

Again he hummed, but he did not meet his father's eyes.

"That is why I am stepping in. No more drink for you, Erchirion – "

He sat up in consternation, but he did not speak.

"I shall ensure that no ale, mead, wine or liquor is served to you in all of Gondor, and anywhere else I have friends. You shall have to bring your feelings to closure – "

"I cannot, Ada!"

"Well, you must find a way, Erchirion. You must. She has a good life without you and it is time for you to live your own. You have Minieth – "

"By Ulmo, I do not want to have her, she is nothing like Cellindes."

"Lady Minieth is your fiancée and she does not deserve to be spoken of so badly, not by anyone but least of all by you. She is a very amiable young lady and – "

"Amiable?" echoed Erchirion. "No, she is anything but! Her temper takes unexpected turns and she is stubborn and inflexible."

"She is not without flaw," replied Imrahil, his patience with his son finally wearing thin, "but I trust the reports – "

"She is a menace!"

Imrahil levelled him with a glare. "And you are not? Do you not remember that she is one of the women you have dallied with in the past?"

Evidently not, thought the Prince as he watched him freeze in place, eyes wide and jaw slackened.

"No, no," he stuttered, after regaining control of himself again, "I have not – "

"Come, let us not waste our time with this." He truly was exhausted and the day ahead was already daunting. "You had accompanied your mother's cousin Sir Breniedir from Linhir to Pelargir to support him. She was already there and both Breniedir and Lady Minieth claim that you… spent time together."

"I…" He tried to form coherent words, but he was unable to.

Imrahil was not surprised by this, as it had been more than a few years ago and there had been other events and other women to keep his son occupied. However, Erchirion needed to remember and if he genuinely could not, then it was all the more important for him to realize the consequences of his careless behaviour.

"You met with her multiple times, at night. She mentioned something about boat rides through the canals and visiting the northeastern docks?"

It was almost comical to see the realization appear on his face, and Imrahil would have laughed. But Lady Minieth's honour was no laughing matter and to know that his own child had risked it was quite sobering.

"Do you remember now, Erchirion?"

He nodded dumbly.

"Do you also remember what the two of you did during your escapades?"

At this he quickly averted his eyes, belying his guilt and the nature of their activities during their meetings.

"I shall not ask of you what you did, as I do not wish to know the... extent of the liberties you have taken with her." Imrahil struggled with keeping his temper in check. Anger would not be a friend to either of them right now." Fortunately for you, Lady Minieth claims that you were a perfect gentleman who merely offered her friendship as a distraction from the loss of her Uncle."

"Yes, ah – " the young Prince muttered, "it was just friendship."

"And it is precisely this friendship that allows her to see you beyond your reputation of debauchery and reckless behaviour. She is genuinely interested in you as a spouse, Erchirion. Is it not a good thing?"

But Erchirion did not seem to agree with his father's assessment.

"I understand that you might have qualms, but I urge you to see the good in her and the good of strengthening the bonds between Dol Amroth and Lebennin – "

"Could you not put aside politics for once, Ada?"

"I cannot. We have all enjoyed the privileges of our position and we must be mindful of them always, even when it comes to matters such as these! Especially matters such as these. We cannot isolate it. I have only ever wanted the best for all of my children - "

"Just like how you thought that Éomer King was best for Lothíriel? And then Forgammon?"

"Yes. I am not without fault, but you still have the final say. I only press upon you to decide with not just your heart but also with your mind. And though it has taken her the entirety of three months, Lothíriel has refused Forgammon's suit tonight. However, she did it after considering everything and not just her personal preference. Something that you ought to do as well."

"Good for her." Erchirion sniffed and pressed his lips together in a flicker of admiration before the corners of his mouth turned down again. "So if she can make the choice, why can I not?"

"Because you made your choice years ago, in Pelargir! And every other time you were alone with a woman and risked your honour for your own selfish wants."

"But nothing happened between Minieth and I, did she not say so?" countered Erchirion. "It was just friendship!"

He was right. Objectively speaking, even if the engagement were to end, their past behaviour would not come to light thanks to Breniedir's discretion. But ending the engagement was a foolish decision, especially at the cost of two young people with too much power for them to handle. Lebennin needed Dol Amroth for support and the union between their Houses would ensure friendship and co-operation between the two fiefdoms.

Yet his son could not see anything beyond his feelings for this married woman.

"Even if you do not marry Lady Minieth, you do realize that Lady Cellindes shall never be yours?"

"I do. But I do not want Minieth either."

Erichirion was being uncharacteristically obstinate. What was Imrahil to do now?

"Very well, then!" After a moment of uncomfortable consideration, Imrahil threw his hands up in surrender and he leaned back in his chair.

"What did you say?"

"If you wish to end the engagement with the Lady Minieth and thereby disrupt the entire trade arrangements of Gondor, then I shall not stop you."

Again Erchirion stared in shock at his father, as he had not expected him to give in so easily. "And – and for that, I am grateful, Ada. I – "

"Wait." Imrahil gestured for him to be silent. "Allow me to expand upon that. You shall have to be the one to go to Lady Minieth and inform her of the cancellation of your betrothal – "

"What? Ada, I – "

"What is more," continued Prince Imrahil the Fair, his voice steady and strict, "you shall have to go to High King Elessar and brief him, too. Then tomorrow morning, you shall have to address the High King's Council on the matter and come up with an alternate plan before we leave for Osgiliath at noon."

The young Dol Amrothian stood up from his chair and then sat down again, shaken by the sudden gravity of the situation.

"Ada, why me?" he stuttered, his hands clenched at his side. "It was you who brokered this match and hinged the entire Gondor-Harad trade agreement on it – "

"Erchirion, if you want to end it, then you are going have to do it yourself. Because I shall not."

Silence stretched between the pair of them, one quite secure in his assertions while the other was utterly ruffled. He stood up again, a hand now placed at the desk to stabilize himself.

He glanced at his father, reluctance and shock still etched on his face - perhaps hoping that Imrahil would change his mind about his ultimatum at the last moment.

But the elder man stared back, his grey-eyed gaze resolute.

"Very well. I – ah, I will." He reached out for the flask of ale that he had put down before, but he dropped his hand when Imrahil cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows pointedly.

Then for a moment, he stood there, seemingly unsure of what he wanted to do, before he straightened up and glared at his father and exclaimed: "Fine!"

Thus he stormed out of the office, leaving behind both his cuirass and his drink.

The door shut slammed loudly and Imrahil heaved a heavy sigh, at once worried if he had done the right thing by letting Erchirion break off the engagement.

He expected that it would be morning ere he found out just how bad the fallout of the dissolution of the engagement would be. That meant he had a handful of hours left to take his rest. The beleaguered parent of the Dol Amrothian Princes stood up and picked up the Swan Knight's cuirass from his desk. As he walked out of his office and back to the common room, he gave it to one of the guards with the instruction to take care of it. He stopped at Lothíriel's room and checked on her – she was fast asleep.

The same was also true for Amrothos, who was snoring away on the chaise longue in the living room. Despite his worries, Imrahil smiled and shook his head fondly.

He loved his children more than he loved Gondor – more than he loved peace. In their youth and their inexperience, they could not comprehend that every political plan, every friendship, and indeed, every single meeting he had, was for their sake. He suspected that it would take years, perhaps decades for them to understand that whatever their old man did for them, it would ultimately benefit them the most.

Even if Erchirion was out there, sabotaging himself right now, Imrahil hoped that he too would look back one day and see what his father had intended for him.

For now, though, Amrothos needed to move to his room, as it had been prepared with a pleasantly rolling fireplace and a bed turned over the way just the way that he preferred it. Together with Erchirion and himself, the youngest Prince would have to do his best to befriend former Captain Baranor, and catching a cold would be quite unhelpful.

Imrahil was about to shake his son awake when a loud and incessant knocking at the door did his job for him.

Who could it be at this late hour, he wondered. As the youngest Prince opened his bleary eyes, his father opened the door.

It was Éomer King, wearing a nervous yet determined expression on his face.

"To what do I owe a visit from you this late, my young friend?" asked Imrahil, both curious and worried. "Is everything all right in Rohan?"

The blonde warrior King stepped in, looking around the common room before nodding at his young friend who had just sat up. "Aye, Rohan fares well."

Amrothos waved his hand in greeting and yawned.

"Have a seat, Éomer. Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you, I have had my fill tonight." Éomer did not sit down, but he did let the cape in his hand fall onto a seat nearby.

"Very well…" The Prince looked at him expectantly. It seemed that sleep would have to wait longer still.

"Forgive me for coming at this late hour," said Éomer, his tone urgent and the frown at his brow deep, "but this matter cannot wait any longer."

Both Princes were now staring at him, intrigued, and - if they were not mistaken – they saw a light blush creep up his cheeks, just barely hidden by his blonde hair.

After a deep inhale, Éomer straightened his posture and looked Imrahil in the eyes with a serious expression. "The reason I am here is because of your daughter."

Imrahil blinked, taken aback by both the mention of his daughter and the intensity radiating off of his young ally.

Amrothos too, frowned and swore under his breath, incredulous.

The lack of response unsettled Éomer because he rubbed his beard and shifted in place before moving his gaze to Amrothos.

Imrahil sent a cautionary glance at his son, who had started fidgeting with one of his seashell bracelets. It was a nervous habit, had inherited from his mother, that often preceded an outburst. But when the young Prince met his father's look with his own, the latter realized that there was no anger in him, only anxiety and the already fading haze of inebriation.

Finally, the silence was broken when Imrahil turned to Éomer again to speak.

"Come, my friend. Sit down," he said, his voice gentle, "and let us talk."

Éomer settled on the seat opposite the eldest Prince and he cleared his throat. "I realize that… it seems quite out of the blue, especially considering my – my behaviour in the past – "

Imrahil raised his eyebrows slightly, but he chose to continue listening.

"Yet I have come to believe that – " he paused, searching for the right words, "that knowing Lothíriel has been one of the greatest blessings of my life and I cannot… I cannot allow myself to waste any more time."

Then he bent forward to place something on the table between them. It was a small cherry wooden box, beautifully carved with the traditional motifs of Rohan. Both the Princes looked closely at the box, intrigued by both its design and its contents. "Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, I humbly request you, for my own sake and for that of Rohan, to allow me to marry your daughter, Princess Lothíriel."

Ah, and there it was at last, straightforward and earnest.

Imrahil steepled his hands under his chin and quietly studied the young lord sitting in front of him, whose light eyes seemed to plead his sincerity.

It was a far cry from how Éomer had stood in his study, one year ago, his body tense with stress and shame, as he had sought to explain his unwillingness to marry not just Lothíriel, but any woman at all. Fine logic it all had been, and true as well. But the Northerner probably had not foreseen that he would find himself quite attached to the young lady of Dol Amroth soon after.

Imrahil had kept himself well-informed about the two of them by his informer network, especially through both Feruion and Angrenor. The Knights had reported mutual affection between his daughter and his Éomer King, but they had also spoken of his insecurities and unpredictability.

The fact that he had come to find Imrahil at this frankly inconvenient hour, meant that he had finally been able to solve the dissonance between his heart and his mind. And yet, in the wake of his talk with Erchirion, Imrahil was hesitant to give his blessing without at least the approval of one of his children.

His gaze moved to his youngest son, the self-proclaimed greatest friend and protector of his sister. Last year, Amrothos had been adamantly against the union, citing the stark cultural differences between Rohan and Dol Amroth and the sheer distance between the two realms. Imrahil did remember noting that his son had not raised a single objection about Éomer's character.

And now the King of Rohan himself had come to seek for Lothíriel's hand in marriage.

Amrothos returned his father's look thoughtfully. Imrahil raised his eyebrows, wordlessly asking his son for his opinion.

For almost a minute, Amrothos stared at the ground down, once more playing with one of his bracelets.

Then he looked back up with a frown and finally gave a small inclination of his head.

Meanwhile, Éomer was staring unseeing at the marble floor as he awaited their response anxiously, his nerves fraying as the two Gondorians silently communicated. When Imrahil suddenly stood up, he immediately stood up too, his eyes wide and eager.

"Éomer, son of Éomund, worthy King of Rohan..." The elder Gondorian paused and glowered at him for a moment. Then the glower made a place for a warm smile and he held his arms wide. "You have my blessing."

The relief on the Northerner's face was palpable and he gladly stepped forward to receive the embrace.

Imrahil clapped him twice on his back and stepped back, holding Éomer by his shoulders. "Dol Amroth is honoured by your offer, though your worry is not over yet."

The smile slipped from his blonde bearded face and Imrahil gave him the same impish smirk that Amrothos and Lothíriel had. "The matter now entirely rests in the hands of the proud Princess of Dol Amroth. She will have to accept you, Éomer King."

"Aye, of course," said the young man sincerely, "I agree. Ah, where is she?"

Amrothos piped up. "She is in her room."

"Shall I see if she is awake?" offered Imrahil.

To their mild amusement, Éomer shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back before replying. "No, I think she might be tired from ah - from all the dancing. It is best that I wait until tomorrow."

Imrahil pressed his lips together to stop himself from smiling and instead nodded brusquely. "Aye, I am afraid so."

The blonde man picked up his cape from where he had dropped it and began walking towards the door. "Would you be so kind as to send me word when she wakes?"

"It will be done," replied Imrahil, "I suggest you take your rest now."

"Wait, Éomer!" Prince Amrothos called out and pointed to the small keepsake box that the King had left on the table. "What about this box?"

He blanched and walked back with a sheepish smile. "Forgive me, it had slipped my mind. I shall need your help with this."

Imrahil shared a curious look with his son.

Ten minutes later, Imrahil accompanied Éomer out of the Dol Amrothian quarters, and after spending a few minutes discussing Rohan's current affairs in the inner courtyard of the Southern Guesthouses, the King took his leave and left for his rooms. When Imrahil returned, he found him hunched over with his face buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly.

"My son," he gently said and ruffled his son's messy black curls, "Lothíriel is very fortunate to have a brother like you."

"I know!" Amrothos raised his head, a grin breaking through despite his reddened eyes. "I am the best."

With a sad chuckle, Imrahil wrapped his arm around his son's shoulders.

Though he was glad that Lothíriel would be marrying his dear friend Éomer - truly one of the best of Men, it did mean that eventually, she would be out of the safety and familiarity of her father's reach. She was sound asleep a few doors down, but it felt as if the separation from his only daughter had already begun.

He was sure that she would be perfectly happy with Éomer, but how would he - famed and reliable Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, manage without his dear Lothíriel? She had been at his side even since before she was born, growing happily in his beloved wife's womb, and her vivacious and ambitious presence was a comfort and a constant source of happiness for him. He had done everything in his power to fulfil her wishes and, upon the counsel of his elder sister Ivriniel, given her the education and guidance to become a leader in her own right. And he had succeeded, because even now when she was a bit foolish and naive still, she had all the makings of a Queen.

Yes, he had all reason to be proud.

Nevertheless, he felt heartbroken.

With a small groan, Imrahil stood up and patted Amrothos' back, who wiped at his eyes before standing up as well.

"Time to sleep, my boy. We have an eventful day ahead."

"Good night, Ada."

"Good night."

As he shut the door of his bedroom behind him, Imrahil pressed a hand against his forehead and let out a sob.

"My dear Celairwen. If only you were still with me."

End of Imrahil's interlude