Chapter 11
Careful fingers touched the strings of the old harp before her, testing the tension and sound. It was an ancient instrument, dug out of a corner of Meduseld at Éowyn's request and installed in the Dol Amroth apartments for the Princess. Though it had been masterfully tuned by the court's minstrel it took some time for her to adjust to the weighty frame. Harps from Dol Amroth were narrow and light, similar in fashion to the harps and lyres of the Elves. These strings sang a deeper resonance than the airy instruments of home but Lothíriel liked the depth they produced.
She played arpeggios and scales to familiarize herself with the instrument, regretting not continuing her practice in recent years. After many minutes she put her fingers to task by starting a song taught to children. It was a simple tune and helped her get a feel for the size and weight of the instrument, adjusting herself in the wide seat a few times.
The door to the chamber opened as she moved on to a more challenging piece, brow furrowed in concentration as she heard someone approach. Her father sat silently at a chair belonging to the table some feet from her seat, watching her play with a smile on his lips. She gave him a nod as she rolled her shoulders and reminded herself to relax into the music. They sat together until she finished the piece, Imrahil nodding once to her.
"You haven't lost your touch on the strings."
"My hands have seen many trials since last they played a harp."
"All the same, come tomorrow the mourners will revel in the sound." Lothíriel sat back against the upholstered chair, the harp resting against her shoulder as she beheld her father. "Evandor said you were looking for me?"
"Yes, I'd hoped he would find you before the day ended. Thank you for coming so swiftly, Ada."
"I'd much rather spend my time with you, daughter, than attend council meetings until sundown. Is there something on your mind?"
"Yes," she murmured, suddenly nervous to share her thoughts with the Prince. He waited patiently, expression placid as she took her time setting the large harp on the ground. When she stood up, he gestured to the open chair at the table beside him. Accepting the seat Lothíriel took a breath before speaking again. "I desire your counsel, father. Counsel and… blessing should I be worthy of it."
"You've always been worthy of my blessing, Lothíriel. In all things you have done."
"You might wish to hear me out before you make such a proclamation," she answered with a wry grin. Imrahil nodded and she continued. "I've had cause to spend time with the King of Rohan since my tenure in Minas Tirith – as you know… Well, let me start again. When we were in Cormallen you advised me in taking on the mantle of nobility. That if I chose to act as the Princess of Dol Amroth it would come with responsibilities and expectations."
"Indeed."
"The King, Éomer… he has shared his affection for me, in few words. He would like that we might speak after his uncle's funeral. To affirm those feelings."
"And do you share them?" Imrahil's smile was both knowing and curious as he watched her.
"I do. Father, I admire and care for him. Though I wonder if I am foolish for it."
"Why would that be so, daughter?"
"We scarcely know each other. He certainly knows less of me than I of him now."
"I suspect he has seen enough to know your heart and character."
"Have you foreseen this?" she asked, suspicious of his tone and expression. A grin broke out on the Prince's lips as he shrugged lightly.
"Neither of you is particularly skilled at disguising shared glances. But more than that, I can see that he is much affected by you. What counsel can I provide you with, melethel, as it seems you've made up your mind?"
"I do not deny my fondness for him. But this is more than affection between two people. He is a King. The woman he weds becomes a queen. Is that… could I? …Ada, I am not a queen."
"No. But you have been educated in running a royal household, and you have done so efficiently at home."
"But this is Rohan. I don't even speak the language. Would I be accepted?"
"If Rohan's King – and the King's sister – accept you, would not his court? You can learn the language and customs. Barriers, perhaps. But ones easily overcome if you wish it so. What else, dearheart?"
"It just seems so immense. And what of my brothers? Would they accept this?"
"Lothíriel, there has not been a day in your life that you have let the opinions of your brothers sway your actions."
"This is different," she argued with a frown. Imrahil chuckled and shook his head.
"You seem to be looking for reasons why this ought not work. Why is that?"
"I am not," she countered but couldn't finish the sentence without doubt coloring her words. She averted her gaze from him as she thought for a moment, aware that he was giving her the space required to work through her thoughts. "I didn't come here to betroth myself – much less to a king. It was never the plan. And… I don't know if I'm ready to leave home, Father."
"There," he murmured with a softness in his voice. She looked at him then, feeling both relief and apprehension at the announcement of these feelings. "My dear daughter, ever have you ordered yourself by intention and expectation. First in the pursuit of the Maidens of Mercy, then as a healer. But love cares not for our designs." Lothíriel bristled slightly at love, to which Imrahil smiled before continuing:
"Long have I suspected Éomer's regard for you, and you for him. It seemed a matter of time before you two spoke it aloud. You said earlier you sought my blessing. It has been yours since the moment you were laid in my arms as a babe. Blessing to do as your heart leads. If you and Éomer commit yourselves and desire to be wed, then my happiness overflows. The rest will fall into place, melethel."
He stood, arms opening as Lothíriel rose and went to him, releasing a relieved sigh as they embraced. Trepidation lurked in her heart but to have her father's support alleviated the loudest fears. He held her as the moments passed until she pulled away, hands upon his upper arms as she looked at him with concern.
"You are sure you think this a wise move? Not for our affections but for our lands? When last did Rohan have a foreign queen?"
"You forget your history, daughter. Éomer's grandsire, Thengel married a woman of Gondor. Our own kin albeit slightly removed. Rohan has known not only a foreign queen but a lady of Dol Amroth. And she was much loved by her subjects. As you will be."
"I suppose I have a penchant for poking holes in the cheesecloth, as Chir delights in reminding me."
"Your mind turns to rationality and sensibility; traits we share, you and I. But you inherited your mother's joy and capacity to love. Let those traits guide you now."
"Thank you, Ada."
"Of course, dearheart. When do you speak to Éomer, then?"
"Some time after the funeral. I would imagine before his coronation."
"Very good. Come to me once you two have decided on your next steps and we can make the necessary preparations."
"I am grateful for you, Father." He pressed a kiss to her forehead and smiled as she placed a hand on his cheek.
"You will have more in common with Lord Elrond now," she remarked as she stepped away to approach the harp.
"Aye. Though I could not imagine his sorrow at being parted from his daughter. Tomorrow's proceedings will encompass grieving of many kinds."
"That is true. Which reminds me of the other question I had for you." The Prince turned to her with raised brows as she sat and picked up the harp. "I am not sure what song would befit such an occasion. None of the ballads seem appropriate in their pining for lost love and desire."
"Hm," Imrahil nodded thoughtfully, sitting down once more. "What of Amroth's Lament?"
"Beautiful, but it seems strange to play such a composition when the Elves in attendance may indeed have known Amroth. And it certainly applies pressure to play it correctly."
"True," he paused with uncharacteristic hesitation before speaking again. "Do you recall the piece played at Raeniel's burial?" Silence fell as they locked eyes as Lothíriel nodded slowly.
"Grief of the Mariner."
"Yes. Perhaps that would be more fitting to send Théoden across the sea?"
"I will need some time to practice, as I haven't played that piece since… it has been a long time."
"I'll leave you to it." Imrahil stood again with a melancholy smile as he watched her re-tune the harp carefully. "I am contented by your happiness, my daughter."
"Thank you, Ada."