I'm having such a good time with Amrothos. I hope you're loving him too! Enjoy!
As Mareke lay against Amrothos's chest the next morning, her fingers lightly traced the intricate lines of the tattoo over his heart. The stylized swan, elegant and bold, stood out against his skin, a symbol of grace and strength. She had noticed it before but hadn't had the chance—or perhaps the courage—to ask about it until now.
Her touch lingered, and she tilted her head up to meet his gaze. "Tell me about this," she said softly, her fingers brushing over the ink. "The swan."
Amrothos glanced down at the tattoo, a faint smile playing on his lips. "A mark of the Swan Knights," he explained, his voice warm and unhurried. "It's a symbol of belonging to the brotherhood. Every knight of Dol Amroth earns one when they take their oath."
She tilted her head, her fingers pausing. "You're a Swan Knight?" she asked, curiosity and a hint of surprise in her tone.
He chuckled, the sound vibrating beneath her cheek. "I am," he replied. "Though perhaps not what you'd expect from one. I'm not the most disciplined knight among their ranks, I'll admit."
Mareke raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching with amusement. "That doesn't surprise me," she said lightly. "But I imagine you earned this mark for a reason. What does it mean to you?"
Amrothos grew thoughtful, his hand idly stroking her back as he considered her question. "It's about loyalty," he said finally. "To my family, to Dol Amroth, to something greater than myself. The swan represents honor, beauty, and the enduring strength of our people."
Her touch grew gentler, reverent almost, as she took in his words. "And yet, you carry it so lightly," she said, her voice quieter now. "As though it doesn't weigh on you the way my roles have weighed on me."
He smiled, his gaze softening as he met her eyes. "Because I've learned that carrying it lightly doesn't make it any less meaningful," he said. "It's a part of me, but it doesn't define me entirely. Just like being a mother, or an advisor, or a queen-in-all-but-name doesn't define you entirely. You're so much more than the roles you've filled, Mareke."
Her chest tightened at his words, and she rested her hand over his heart, the inked swan beneath her palm. "You have a way of putting things that makes them seem simple," she said softly.
"That's my gift," he teased gently, pressing a kiss to her hair. "And maybe my curse. But it's yours, if you'll have it."
Mareke smiled, her heart lighter than it had ever been. As she lay against him, her fingers still tracing the swan, she thought of the way he carried himself—unburdened but no less loyal, no less honorable. It was a quality she had come to admire deeply, and one she realized she could learn from.
The swan wasn't just a symbol of his belonging; it was a reminder that strength could be found in grace, and that loyalty could coexist with freedom. And in that moment, Mareke found herself grateful—not just for the man who held her, but for the lessons he would continue to teach her, simply by being who he was.
ooooOoooo
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the open windows of their chambers, casting a warm glow over the disheveled bed and the clothes strewn carelessly across the room. Mareke sat behind Amrothos, her fingers working through his dark hair with a tenderness she hadn't realized she was capable of. He sat comfortably on the edge of the bed, his shirt still unlaced, exposing the swan tattoo over his heart. His usual playful grin had softened into something quieter, a rare stillness overtaking him as she brushed out the tangles from their time spent together.
For most of the day, they had been wrapped in each other's arms, a blissful escape from the obligations and festivities that loomed over them. But now, as the evening approached, duty called again, and they had begun the slow process of preparing to rejoin the world.
Her fingers moved methodically, untangling the knots with care. She had brushed hair before—her own, her son's when he was young—but this felt different. Intimate. Special. Each stroke of the brush felt like a quiet declaration of something she couldn't yet put into words.
Her gaze lingered on his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the faint laugh lines near his eyes, and then… the glint of something silver catching the light. A small hoop earring dangled from his left ear, subtle but undeniably present. She tilted her head, curiosity sparking.
"I hadn't noticed that before," she said, gesturing toward his ear. "The earring."
Amrothos glanced at her, a playful grin already forming. "Ah, my infamous earring," he said, leaning back against the pillows and turning his head slightly to show it off. "You like it?"
"I think it suits you," Mareke replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "But I can't help but wonder—why? It doesn't strike me as... traditional for a prince."
He laughed, the sound rich and carefree. "That's because it's not," he admitted. "It was an act of rebellion."
Her eyebrows rose in interest. "Rebellion?"
"Absolutely," he said, his grin widening. "I got it when I was barely out of boyhood—fifteen, sixteen maybe? My father had been lecturing me about duty and honor for weeks on end. I was tired of being the youngest, always overlooked or scolded for not being as serious as Elphir or as dutiful as Erchirion."
"So you got an earring," she said, her tone amused but intrigued.
He nodded, clearly enjoying her interest. "I wanted to do something entirely my own—something that would make me stand out. My father was furious, of course. Said it was unbecoming of a prince of Dol Amroth."
Mareke smirked, shaking her head. "And did it work? Did it make you stand out?"
"Oh, it did," he said with a laugh. "For weeks, everyone in the palace had something to say about it. My father threatened to rip it out himself, but I stood my ground. Told him it was part of who I was. He eventually let it go—though I think that was more my mother's influence than anything else."
She studied him for a moment, her gaze softening. "It's funny," she said quietly. "You've always seemed so carefree, but I think you've spent a good deal of your life proving yourself, haven't you?"
His grin faltered slightly, replaced by a more thoughtful expression. "I suppose I have," he admitted. "Not that I'd ever let on, of course. My charm and wit are far more entertaining than the truth."
Mareke reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against the earring. "Well," she said softly, "it suits you. The rebellious sailor-prince."
He chuckled, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her fingers. "I prefer to think of myself as a charming rogue," he teased. "But I'll take it."
As she continued to brush his hair, Mareke couldn't help but smile, the glint of his earring now a symbol of the man beneath the charm—a man who had always sought to carve out his own path, even within the constraints of his noble birth. She felt a quiet sense of satisfaction at knowing she was part of the life he had chosen for himself.
Amrothos closed his eyes, a soft sigh escaping him. "You're spoiling me," he murmured, his voice low and content. "I could get used to this."
"You're already spoiled," Mareke replied lightly, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness. Her fingers lingered in his hair, her movements slow and deliberate. "You're far too comfortable letting someone else take care of you."
He chuckled softly, his head tilting back slightly to glance at her. "Can you blame me? I've never had someone quite like you."
She didn't reply immediately, her focus remaining on the task at hand. But her touch grew softer, her fingers brushing against his neck as she smoothed his hair into place. For a moment, she allowed herself to simply feel—his warmth, his presence, the quiet trust that had settled between them.
"You're quiet," he said after a moment, his voice laced with curiosity. "Should I be worried?"
Mareke set the brush aside, her fingers still lingering in his hair. "No," she said softly, her voice steady. "I'm just... thinking."
"Dangerous," he teased, his grin returning. "Should I brace myself?"
She shook her head, her lips twitching into a faint smile. "Not this time."
He turned slightly, just enough to catch her gaze, his expression softer now. "You don't have to say anything, Mareke," he said gently. "I'm patient, remember?"
Her chest tightened at his words, the unspoken weight between them both comforting and overwhelming. She wasn't ready to say it yet—not because she didn't feel it, but because she needed to be sure. Sure that this was real, that it wasn't just a fleeting moment in the midst of change.
Instead, she leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "Thank you," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"For what?" he asked, his tone genuinely curious.
"For being patient with me," she replied. "For giving me time."
Amrothos smiled, reaching up to take her hand and pressing a kiss to her fingers. "Take all the time you need, Mareke," he said, his voice warm and sincere. "I'm not going anywhere."
She smiled faintly, her hand lingering in his. Though the words she wanted to say remained unspoken, she knew he understood. And as they rose to prepare for the evening ahead, Mareke felt a quiet certainty growing within her—a certainty that, in time, she would be ready to say what her heart already knew.
ooooOoooo
The evening's festivities were well underway when Mareke entered the hall, her crimson gown flowing effortlessly around her. The subtle smile she wore was one of contentment, though she carried herself with the same quiet dignity that always marked her presence. As she moved toward Amrothos, who was already deep in conversation with a group of guests, she felt the familiar weight of gazes following her.
Standing nearby were Elphir and Erchirion, Amrothos's older brothers. As princes of Dol Amroth, they bore themselves with the grace and authority of their station, but their shared lineage with Amrothos brought with it an irreverent streak that often showed at the most inconvenient times.
Erchirion was the first to speak, his voice pitched low enough to ensure only Elphir and Mareke could hear. "Well, look at that," he said, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Our dear brother's wife looks positively radiant. I wonder what could have caused it."
Elphir, ever the more composed of the two, smirked but made a show of keeping his expression neutral. "Indeed," he murmured, his tone dry. "Marriage must agree with her."
Mareke arched an eyebrow as she approached them, her lips twitching into a faint smile. "Is there something you'd like to say directly to me, my princes?" she asked, her tone calm but laced with amusement.
Erchirion chuckled, bowing slightly. "Forgive us, Princess Mareke," he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "It's just that you seem... remarkably well-rested for someone who spent all day tangled with our youngest brother."
"Elphir," Mareke said, turning her gaze to the eldest, "do you often let your younger brother speak so freely?"
Elphir inclined his head, his smirk growing slightly. "Rarely, Princess. But in this case, I fear it's unavoidable."
Mareke's smile didn't falter, though her dark eyes gleamed with sharp wit. "I'll take that as a compliment," she said lightly, tilting her head. "Though I must say, it's fascinating to see how much sailors notice from afar."
Erchirion laughed outright, clearly pleased with her response. "You're sharp," he said, shaking his head. "No wonder Amrothos is so smitten."
Elphir, meanwhile, gave a slight bow. "On behalf of our family, allow me to formally apologize for my brother's lack of decorum."
"Not necessary," Mareke replied, her smile softening. "I've spent years dealing with bold men. I'm more than capable of handling your brother."
As she moved past them toward Amrothos, Erchirion leaned closer to Elphir, muttering, "She's a good match for him."
Elphir nodded, his expression more serious now. "Better than I expected. He'll need her steadiness."
Mareke reached Amrothos just as he turned toward her, his grin widening when he saw her. "And what mischief have my brothers been causing now?" he asked, clearly amused.
"Nothing I couldn't handle," Mareke said smoothly, slipping her arm through his. "Though I think they're rather pleased with how content I look."
Amrothos laughed, leaning closer to whisper in her ear, "Good."
ooooOoooo
The music in the hall shifted from lively to tender, then back again, creating an ebb and flow of energy that seemed to mirror the joy of the celebration. Mareke had danced more that evening than she had in her entire life, and it was entirely Amrothos's fault. He had hardly let her leave the floor, his infectious energy and endless charm pulling her along no matter the tempo of the songs.
When the musicians began a lively tune, Amrothos grinned down at her, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. "This one's for us," he said, grabbing her hand before she could protest.
"Amrothos, we've already danced—" she began, but her words dissolved into laughter as he twirled her abruptly, his exuberance impossible to resist.
"You married a sailor, Mareke," he teased, spinning her again and pulling her close before whisking her into the next step. "We dance until the stars fade."
She shook her head, laughing helplessly as he guided her through the intricate turns and steps, his movements light and effortless. His joy was infectious, and before long, she was caught up in the rhythm, her earlier protests forgotten.
Amrothos twirled her madly, spinning her under his arm with such exuberance that her skirts flared around her. She gasped, her hands gripping his arms as he caught her mid-spin and pulled her back into his embrace.
"I'm exhausted," she said breathlessly, though her wide smile betrayed her amusement.
"And yet, you keep saying yes," he replied with a wink, dipping her low before sweeping her back upright and into another turn.
As the music shifted into a slower, more melodic tune, Amrothos's pace softened, his hands resting lightly on her waist as they swayed together. Mareke's laughter faded into a quieter smile, her gaze meeting his as they moved in time with the music.
"I haven't danced this much since…perhaps ever."
"Then I'm doing my job," he replied, his grin softening into something more tender. "You deserve nights like this, Mareke. Nights where you don't have to think about anything but the music."
Her chest tightened at his words, and she leaned into him slightly, her fingers brushing against the back of his neck. "Thank you," she said softly. "For this. For everything."
Amrothos smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead as the music carried them. "Anything for you," he said simply, his voice filled with sincerity.
ooooOoooo
The morning of her departure was quiet, the kind of stillness that felt heavy with unspoken words and unexpressed emotions. Mareke stood with Adnan in the shaded courtyard of the palace, the faint desert breeze ruffling her robes. She had already bid farewell to the others—kings, queens, and nobles—but this goodbye was the hardest.
Adnan, now a young king in his full stature, looked at her with a mixture of pride and reluctance. She reached up, her hands resting gently on his shoulders, her gaze searching his face. "Ibni (my son)," she said softly, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. "It feels like I am leaving a piece of my heart with you."
Adnan's lips twitched into a faint smile, though his dark eyes glistened with emotion. "You've been my strength for twenty years. I wouldn't be the man I am today without you."
"And you'll continue to be that man," she said, her hands tightening on his shoulders. "You are a king now, Adnan. Wise, strong, and beloved. Your people look to you, and I know you'll never let them down."
"But I'll miss you," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I've always had you by my side, guiding me. It feels... strange to think of you being somewhere else."
Mareke smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. "You won't lose me," she promised. "Amrothos and I are not tied to Dol Amroth. Harad will always be home. If you ever need me, for anything at all, I will be there as quickly as I can."
Adnan nodded.
Her chest swelled with pride, and she pulled him into a tight embrace, holding him as she had when he was just a boy. "You are my son, my king, my greatest joy."
When they finally stepped back, Adnan reached for her hand, his grip firm and steady. "You deserve this, Mother. A life for yourself. Be happy."
"I will," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "But only because I know you'll be there, strong and steadfast."
As Amrothos approached from the waiting horses, his usual easy smile tempered with respect for the moment, Mareke turned to him. He greeted Adnan with a slight bow, his demeanor unusually subdued. "You have my word, Adnan," Amrothos said, his tone serious. "She'll always have the freedom to come back to you. And I'll take care of her until then."
Adnan studied him for a moment before nodding. "Good," he said simply. "See that you do."
Mareke shook her head at their exchange. She turned back to Adnan, her hand lingering on his cheek. "Be well, my son."
"And you, Mother," he said, his voice steady now. "May your journeys be filled with joy."
ooooOoooo
As the ship gently swayed at the docks of Minas Tirith, Mareke stood at the edge of the gangplank, her gaze fixed on the Anduin's shimmering waters. The vessel, sleek and elegant, bore the proud swan emblem of Dol Amroth, its sails fluttering in the breeze. Mareke had traveled many ways in her life—by horse, camel, and even cart—but never by boat. The thought of boarding the vessel stirred an unfamiliar mix of curiosity and trepidation.
Amrothos stood beside her, his grin unrelenting as he watched her. "What's this?" he teased, crossing his arms. "The fearless Mareke hesitating at the sight of a little water?"
She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "It's not the water that concerns me," she replied, her tone measured. "It's the boat. I've never been on one before."
His grin softened, and he extended a hand toward her. "Then let me be your guide, my princess. There's nothing to fear. The Anduin is as calm as a desert breeze today."
Mareke regarded him for a moment before placing her hand in his. His grip was warm and steady, and she allowed him to lead her up the gangplank. The wooden boards creaked under their feet, and she resisted the urge to look down, focusing instead on the ship's elegant design and the crew bustling about their tasks.
Once on deck, Amrothos led her to the railing, his hand still resting lightly on hers. "See?" he said, gesturing to the wide, tranquil river. "Not so bad."
She glanced out at the Anduin, its surface reflecting the sky like a moving mirror. The city of Minas Tirith faded into the distance as the ship pushed off, the sails catching the wind. The sensation of the boat beneath her feet was strange, the gentle rocking both unsettling and oddly soothing.
"It's... different," she admitted, her voice thoughtful. "The movement takes some getting used to."
Amrothos chuckled, leaning against the railing. "You'll be an expert by the time we reach the Bay of Belfalas. Sailing is in my blood, after all. I'll teach you everything you need to know."
Mareke smirked, her confidence returning. "Do you intend to turn me into a sailor, Amrothos?"
"Why not?" he replied, his grin widening. "You'd make an excellent sailor. Graceful, strong, and commanding. Any crew would love you."
She laughed softly, shaking her head. "I'll leave the sailing to you, my charming rogue."
Amrothos reached for her hand again, his expression softening. "You'll enjoy it, Mareke. There's nothing quite like the freedom of the open water. It's different from the desert, but just as beautiful."
She looked out at the river again, the sound of the wind in the sails and the gentle lap of water against the hull filling the air. For the first time, she allowed herself to relax, the unfamiliarity of the experience giving way to a quiet sense of adventure.
"If you say so," she said, her tone light. "But if I fall overboard, I'm holding you responsible."
Amrothos laughed, his eyes shining with amusement. "I wouldn't let that happen. I've waited too long to have you by my side to lose you to the Anduin."
As the ship sailed further down the river, Mareke leaned against the railing, her hand still in his. The journey ahead was unknown, filled with new experiences and possibilities, but for the first time in years, she felt ready to face them.
ooooOoooo
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the Anduin in hues of gold and crimson, Mareke stood at the railing, watching the water ripple in the soft evening light. The gentle rocking of the boat had grown familiar over the course of the day, soothing in its rhythm. She had even started to find a certain peace in the journey, her earlier unease fading into quiet curiosity.
Amrothos appeared at her side, his grin soft in the fading light. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he asked, leaning against the railing beside her.
"It is," she admitted, her gaze lingering on the horizon. "I didn't think I would enjoy this, but there's a calmness to it I didn't expect."
Amrothos chuckled, his hand brushing lightly against hers. "The Anduin is kind," he said. "But there's more to boats than just calm waters and sunsets."
She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? And what would that be?"
He straightened, his grin taking on a mischievous edge as he offered her his hand. "Come with me, and I'll show you."
Curiosity piqued, Mareke placed her hand in his, allowing him to lead her below deck. The cabin was modest but comfortable, with a wide bed nestled against one wall and lanterns casting a warm, golden glow over the space. The faint creak of the ship and the sound of the water lapping against the hull created a cozy, intimate atmosphere.
Amrothos closed the door behind them, his grin softening as he turned to her. "The best thing about boats," he said, his voice low and teasing, "is that they're perfect for certain... activities."
Mareke arched an eyebrow, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. "Certain activities?"
He stepped closer, his hands finding her waist as his voice dropped further. "Making love on them."
Her breath caught at the warmth in his gaze, the playful edge tempered by something deeper. "You truly are a rogue," she murmured, though her tone held no reproach.
"And you love it," he replied, his grin widening as he leaned down to kiss her.
The kiss was slow and deliberate, the faint motion of the ship adding to the sensation of being untethered from the world. Amrothos's hands slid to her back, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss, his touch confident yet tender.
Mareke let herself be swept up in the moment, her earlier doubts and reservations melting away. There was something uniquely intimate about the setting—the gentle sway of the boat, the soft creak of the wood beneath them, the quiet isolation of the cabin. It was as though the world had narrowed to just the two of them, their connection unbroken by anything beyond these walls.
When he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, Mareke couldn't help but laugh softly, her arms wrapping around his neck. "You're far too pleased with yourself," she said, her voice breathless.
"Can you blame me?" he teased, laying her down gently before leaning over her, his grin softening into something more tender. "I've got the most beautiful woman in Middle-earth in my bed. I'd say that's cause for celebration."
She rolled her eyes, though her smile didn't falter. "Flatterer."
"Truth-teller," he corrected, pressing a kiss to her neck before meeting her gaze. "Let me show you."
As the evening unfolded, Mareke discovered that Amrothos's claim about the magic of making love on a boat wasn't without merit. The gentle motion of the ship, the closeness of the cabin, and the depth of his attention made the experience unlike anything she had ever known.
She was straddling his waist, his hands on her hips.
"See?" He murmured, though his eyes were closed. "You have to do very little work up there."
Her body rolled with the rhythm of the boat until they were both gasping for breath, the peak having come slowly and deliciously.
When they finally lay tangled together, the lanterns casting flickering shadows on the walls, Mareke rested her head on his chest, her fingers idly tracing the swan tattoo over his heart. The sound of the river outside mingled with the slowing rhythm of their breaths, creating a quiet harmony that made the moment feel timeless.
"You were right," she murmured, her voice soft but content.
"About what?" he asked, his fingers brushing through her hair.
"Boats," she said simply. "There is something magical about them."
Amrothos chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I knew you'd come around."
And as the ship rocked gently beneath them, Mareke let herself drift into a rare and quiet happiness.
ooooOoooo
The shift from the steady flow of the Anduin to the vast, rolling waves of the Bay of Belfalas was immediate and unforgiving. They had been on the open sea for less than an hour before Mareke was gripping the edge of a small basin in their cabin, her knuckles white and her stomach twisting violently with each rise and fall of the ship.
Amrothos stood nearby, a mix of concern and poorly concealed amusement on his face as he watched her. "You're handling it well," he offered gently, though his grin betrayed him.
"Get. Out," Mareke said, her voice strained, but dangerous, as another wave of nausea overtook her. She barely spared him a glance, her focus entirely on keeping her stomach from betraying her further. "Now, Amrothos!"
His grin faded, replaced by genuine worry as he took a cautious step back. "Mareke, I'm just trying to—"
"I said out!" she barked, her hand gripping the edge of the basin as though it were the only thing keeping her tethered to the world. "Unless you want me to throw this basin at you, leave!"
Amrothos raised his hands in surrender, backing toward the door. "All right, all right, I'm going," he said, his voice tinged with nervous humor. "I'll... see if there's something I can get to help."
When the door closed behind him, Mareke let out a shuddering breath, mortified by her outburst but too consumed by her seasickness to dwell on it fully. She rested her forehead against the rim of the basin, the rocking of the ship feeling anything but gentle in her current state.
By the time Amrothos returned, carrying a steaming mug and wearing a subdued expression, she had managed to pull herself together slightly—though she was still pale and visibly exhausted.
"Don't throw anything at me," he said cautiously, setting the mug down on the small table near her. "It's ginger tea. It might help."
Mareke turned her head just enough to glare at him, though the effect was somewhat diminished by her pallor. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" she muttered, her voice weak but accusatory.
Amrothos crouched beside her, his grin returning but tempered with genuine affection. "Not at all," he said, though the twinkle in his eyes betrayed him. "You could still throw something, after all."
Mareke groaned, leaning back against the wall and covering her face with one hand. "I can't believe this," she muttered. "I've survived sandstorms, political intrigue, and battlefields, but a boat... a boat has undone me."
Amrothos chuckled softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. "The sea takes some getting used to," he said gently. "But you'll conquer this, too. You always do."
She lowered her hand, her gaze meeting his. "I was awful to you," she said quietly, her voice filled with both regret and embarrassment. "I snapped at you like... like a madwoman."
"And yet," he replied, his smile softening, "I'm still here. Because I know you didn't mean it, Mareke. You're human, not invincible."
Her expression softened, though she still looked hesitant. "I hate this," she admitted. "I hate feeling weak."
"You're not weak," he said firmly, his hand resting lightly on hers. "You're seasick. There's a difference."
She huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head. "I must look pathetic."
"You look like someone who's going to feel much better once she drinks that tea," he replied, his grin returning as he handed her the mug.
Mareke took it reluctantly, the warmth of the mug grounding her slightly. "If I don't throw this at you first."
He laughed, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. "If you do, I'll deserve it. But I think you'll find me a much better target when you're feeling stronger."
Despite herself, Mareke smiled faintly, sipping the tea as Amrothos settled beside her. Though she still felt far from well, his presence made the ordeal slightly more bearable. For now, she let herself lean on him, finding comfort in the man who, seasickness or not, remained unwaveringly at her side.
ooooOoooo
When Mareke finally mustered the strength to step out onto the deck, the cool sea breeze hit her face, offering a reprieve from the suffocating closeness of the cabin. She still felt weak, her legs unsteady beneath her, but she was determined not to let the sea—or her own body—defeat her.
She wasn't prepared, however, for the sight of Elphir and Erchirion lounging casually near the railing, their expressions lighting up with barely concealed amusement as soon as they spotted her. The brothers exchanged a glance that could only mean trouble before turning their attention to her.
"Well, well," Erchirion began, his grin wide and utterly unapologetic. "Look who's finally joined us. We were beginning to think the mighty Princess Mareke had been bested by a little rocking boat."
Mareke narrowed her eyes, though she lacked the energy for her usual sharp retorts. "Careful, prince," she said, her voice dry but lacking its usual bite. "Mock me at your peril."
Elphir smirked, far too composed to outright laugh but clearly enjoying himself. "Recovering, are you? You've missed quite the spectacle, Mareke. Amrothos has been pacing the deck like a worried husband all day."
Erchirion barked a laugh at that, leaning casually against the railing. "In all seriousness," he added, his tone mockingly solemn, "we were concerned. We've never seen someone take to the sea quite so... dramatically."
Mareke straightened as much as she could, willing herself to ignore the lingering nausea. "If the sea thinks it can defeat me, it has sorely underestimated my resolve."
"Spoken like a true sailor," Elphir said with a faint chuckle. "Though I imagine Amrothos would've happily tended to you until we arrived in Dol Amroth if he thought you'd allow it."
Mareke sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "He's already been insufferable enough. Let's not encourage him."
Erchirion grinned, crossing his arms. "Oh, we don't need to. He's plenty insufferable all on his own. But I must say, Mareke, it's impressive how quickly you've managed to... bounce back."
"Barely," she muttered, though a faint smile tugged at her lips despite herself.
"Joking aside, we're very glad to see you upright again. The crew has been worried."
"And Amrothos hasn't stopped talking about you," Elphir added with a smirk. "I think we're all relieved that you've survived—if only to spare us his fretting."
Mareke rolled her eyes, though her smile lingered. "I'll survive, but only if you two stop teasing me long enough to let me catch my breath."
"Fair enough," Erchirion said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "We'll give you a reprieve—for now."
As they returned to their earlier conversation, Mareke allowed herself a moment to enjoy the breeze, her spirits lifting despite her lingering weakness. The teasing, while relentless, was oddly comforting, a reminder that she was becoming part of something larger—part of a family that, despite their quirks, already felt like somewhere she might belong.
As the ship crested the last stretch of open sea, Mareke stood at the bow, her hands gripping the railing tightly. The cool breeze carried the scent of salt and the faint promise of land, and her heart began to race with anticipation. She had spent her entire life surrounded by the golden sands and vast deserts of Harad, and while she had marveled at Minas Tirith, she wasn't prepared for what lay ahead.
When Dol Amroth came into view, she felt her breath catch.
The city rose like a dream from the edge of the sea, its white stone walls gleaming in the sunlight. Turrets and spires reached toward the sky, their graceful architecture reflecting the elegance of the Swan Knights who called it home. The harbor was bustling with activity, ships of all sizes dotting the sparkling waters, their sails a patchwork of colors against the deep blue. Waves lapped gently at the shore, and beyond the city, rolling hills of green stretched as far as the eye could see, dotted with villas and lush vineyards.
"It's beautiful," she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else.
Beside her, Amrothos leaned casually against the railing, his gaze fixed on the city with a fondness that only someone who had grown up there could possess. "It is," he agreed softly. "No matter how many times I see it, it still takes my breath away."
Mareke turned to him, her eyes wide with wonder. "I've never seen anything like this," she admitted. "It's... it's like something out of a story."
Amrothos smiled, his usual playful grin tempered by something softer, more genuine. "You've seen Harad's deserts, its endless beauty and fierce strength. Dol Amroth is different, but no less breathtaking. And now," he added, his gaze shifting to hers, "it's your home too."
Her chest tightened at his words, her fingers brushing the wood of the railing as she turned her attention back to the city. "Home," she repeated softly, as though testing the word. It felt strange on her tongue, unfamiliar yet comforting.
As the ship drew closer, the details of the city came into sharper focus. The banners of the Swan Knights fluttered proudly atop the walls, and the harbor was alive with the sound of sailors calling out orders, merchants bargaining, and the hum of a city that thrived on its connection to the sea.
"You'll love it here," Amrothos said, his voice filled with quiet confidence. "The people are welcoming, the food is unmatched, and the sunsets over the bay are something you'll never forget."
Mareke smiled faintly, though her thoughts were still caught in the sheer majesty of what lay before her. "It's overwhelming," she admitted. "Beautiful, yes, but... so different from what I've known."
Amrothos reached for her hand, his fingers curling around hers with reassuring warmth. "You don't have to let go of what you've known, Mareke," he said gently. "Harad will always be a part of you. But Dol Amroth can be part of you too, if you let it."
As the ship sailed into the harbor, Mareke felt a mix of awe and trepidation settling in her chest. The city was unlike anything she had ever imagined, a world away from the life she had known. But as she looked at Amrothos, his hand steady in hers, she felt a glimmer of hope that this new chapter might hold something beautiful—not just in the city before her, but in the life they were about to build together.
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Happy reading,
Avonmora