Lothíriel looked up from her simple lunch, which consisted of no more than a piece of bread and a block of dried cheese, off into the distance. She could still see the peaks of the White Mountains shimmering far away, and make out the outline of the capital city of the Rohirrim underneath them. I will miss this sight so much, she sighed as she recalled fondly watching the rugged peaks from her small veranda almost everyday since she had arrived in this strange land. Once they had finished their meal and mounted their horses to continue the long journey south, they would inevitably disappear from view beyond the horizon soon.
She and Uffe had left Edoras when the first rays of the sun were still barely touching the earth, scurrying through the almost empty city down towards the stables, trying to avoid any human contact possible. There were a few stable boys already tending to the horses down there, but no one paid them much heed; the two of them frequenting the stables together was not an unusual sight. Lady Éowyn had granted her leave to take Elfflead with her, for which Lothíriel was incredibly grateful – she couldn't imagine any other proud Rohirric animal willingly suffering her horrible riding, save for the beautiful dark mare that had put up with her from the start. They started galloping away as soon as the city gate had closed behind them, and hadn't stopped until that moment shortly after noon, to allow their horses to catch a break from the rising heat.
"This isn't exactly a lunch fit for a princess, is it?" Uffe smiled apologetically as he chewed on the hard cheese.
"It is more than I had hoped for yesterday," Lothíriel shrugged and smiled. "Besides, I'm still Méav the healer, remember?"
She had had to remind him not to call her a princess so many times already, she wondered whether after all she had been through, Uffe's loose tongue would end up being the cause of her undoing.
"Right, right," he threw up his hands apologetically. "It's just all so strange to me. I've never heard of a princess that would give up life in luxury to sew bloody wounds and empty overflowing chamber pots."
"Life in luxury gets boring pretty quickly when there's nothing of substance to sustain you," Lothíriel replied. "Besides, I actually love my work as a healer, believe it or not."
"Even the overflowing chamber pots?" he asked with a smirk.
Lothíriel laughed out loud. "Yes, even the chamber pots, Uffe."
"I still don't understand why you never told Éomer-King," Uffe shook his head, his demeanor turning more serious. He had agreed to take on the risk of escorting Lothíriel all the way to Minas Tirith, on the sole condition that she tell him exactly what was going on, and so she reluctantly told him all, barring the more intimate details of her complicated relationship with his King. "You knew he was looking for a queen. He would have married you on the spot if he knew who you really were, I am certain."
"Don't be so naive, Uffe," Lothíriel shook her head with a sad smile. "This world isn't some romantic fairy tale with a guaranteed happy ending. And who says I'd want to be a queen, anyway?"
"You honestly want to tell me you wouldn't?" Uffe crossed his arms and looked at her skeptically.
"My unwanted arranged marriage was not the only reason I ran away from Dol Amroth, you know that," Lothíriel said. "I want to live my life outside of a gilded cage. Not willingly jump right back into it."
"Oh come on," Uffe rolled his eyes. "Queen of the Mark is not the same as Queen of Gondor. Do you really think Éomer-King would order you to sit by the hearth doing embroidery for the rest of your days?"
"I… I don't know," she had to admit.
"We Rohirs aren't so hung up on decorum, I thought you would have known that by now. I guarantee he would let you do whatever you wanted, if it made you happy," Uffe proclaimed with an unusual seriousness in his eyes. "Maybe save for the chamber pots," he winked at her to lighten the mood.
"Maybe," Lothíriel smiled back at him, unsure whether she should put any real weight on his words; Uffe's proclamations were as confident and bold as ever, but he couldn't see inside the King's head any more than she did. It doesn't matter now, anyways. King Éomer has already found his queen.
After a few more hours of riding that afternoon, the sun began its descent as evening was slowly approaching. Lothíriel couldn't wait to settle down for the night; the day was going by excruciatingly slowly, and to top it off, she began to notice a burning sensation on her butt from all the bumping on the hard saddle. How many days did it take us to reach Edoras from Minas Tirith? She tried to recall, but it seemed so far in the past now, her memory was a blur.
You should learn horse-riding while you're in the Riddermark, King Éomer's words rang in her mind all of a sudden. Your journey back home will be much less excruciating.
She immediately tried to force yet another memory of him out of her mind. They were coming back to her whenever her mind was unoccupied; small snippets of their interactions, flashes of memory reminding her of the way he grinned when he made fun of her, the way his nostrils flared when he was angry. The way his lips surprised her with their unexpected softness every time. You were wrong though, your grace, she thought gloomily. Their journey may have been faster on horseback, but she had a feeling it wouldn't be any less tedious, with a nice bruise on her butt to boot.
Thankfully, they soon arrived at their destination for that evening – a small town off to the side of the Great West Road, with a relatively large inn directly in its center – good business now that the war was over and weary travelers looking to put their head down for the night had been crossing these lands in increasing numbers. They dismounted and led their horses towards the small stable provided for the guests.
"I hope we can get a room," Uffe said as he was tying his stallion to a wooden pole. "It seems to be quite crowded tonight."
He was right – the space was filled with many different horses already, munching on grass and neighing nervously here and there in the cramped space.
"There are a lot more people traveling around the country now," Lothíriel shrugged. "Worst case scenario, we grab a quick supper and sleep outside."
"A princess sleeping outside on the ground?" Uffe laughed out loud.
Lothíriel had to shush him loudly. "Granted, I have never done it before. But the sky is clear and it's so hot I wouldn't even need a blanket, so why not?" she winked at him and made her way towards the inn.
She could tell the space was indeed incredibly crowded as soon as she had opened the door and heard the hubbub of people inside talking, clinking their mugs and laughing loudly. Uffe had finished tying up their horses, and so they both entered together and immediately made their way to the bar, eager to try and secure a room from the proprietor, before someone else could beat them to it.
Lothíriel turned her head to observe the strange crowd that had gathered in this faraway place. To her surprise, she saw quite a few dark heads poking out from the usual sea of straw blonde, their tunics different variations of black and blue, most common in Gondor. She only had a split second to wonder why so many Gondorians had found themselves in a small roadside town in Rohan, before she bumped into someone blocking her way and nearly knocked them over. It was a woman, frowning at her and rubbing her arm.
"I'm so sorry," Lothíriel apologized immediately.
"Next time, watch where you're going," the woman retorted, clearly annoyed. She was wearing a beautifully embroidered dress of red satin, complemented by clearly very expensive gold jewelry. A noblewoman?
Lothíriel had to do a double take of the lady in front of her. She was almost sure she recognized her.
Lady Erthil? What in the world is she doing here of all places?
Lothíriel's eyes followed her as she retreated back into the crowd of people, utterly confused. A subconscious sinking feeling spread in her stomach, but she dismissed it reluctantly. Her eyes must have been playing tricks on her; Lady Erthil would not be caught dead in Rohan, she was sure.
"Méav, come on," Uffe tapped on her shoulder and nodded his head in the direction of the bar. "Unless you really can't wait to sleep outside tonight."
They pushed through the people sitting on the tall stools at the bar and waved over the proprietor, busy refilling one mug after the other and handing them to the serving maids, who had been running up and down the large room distributing the drinks to any raised hand they noticed on the way. He shook his head at them immediately, as soon as Uffe opened his mouth to inquire about a room. "There are no more rooms left. We are hosting royal guests tonight," he motioned his head towards the crowd of people.
Uffe and Lothíriel eyed each other uncertainly before the meaning of his words clicked. Lothíriel stood rooted to the spot, her back to the room, unable to force her body to turn around. Her frightened heartbeat echoed in her ears, loud and incessant.
"They were supposed to be days away," she whispered to Uffe, who was searching the room behind her with eyes wide open. He had assured her staying at this public inn on their first night would be safe enough, with the large party returning to Edoras not expected to arrive for at least another three days. The plan was to look for scouts on the road that would invariably precede them to check for any dangers, and once they encountered them, they would hide away until the host passed by and they could return to the frequented road.
"Some of them must have ridden ahead," Uffe whispered back. "This can't be nearly all of them, and the carts and wagons wouldn't have made it all the way here so quickly."
"Let's get out of here. Now," Lothíriel grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back to the door, out into the courtyard and towards the stables, fixating her eyes on the ground the entire time, too nervous to even take another look at the crowd they had passed by. As soon as they reached their horses, she immediately began unfastening Elfflaed's reigns from the long wooden pole she had been tied to, which her shaking fingers rendered unusually difficult.
"Uffe?"
A deep familiar voice echoed from behind them out of the blue.
Oh crap.
"My king," Uffe turned and greeted him with a shaky voice and quickly bowed his head to his liege.
Lothíriel had to close her eyes for a moment to regain composure, trying to put off turning around and facing him for as long as she could, but she knew it was inevitable. At last, she forced her body to turn with considerable effort of her will and lifted her eyes to look up at him. He seemed to have noticed her for the first time then, his face a mixture of shock and confusion.
"What are you doing here?" King Éomer asked in disbelief, eyeing her up and down, as if he wanted to ascertain she was really standing in front of him.
Lothíriel had to fight a sudden urge to jump into his arms and kiss him; the emotions she had been trying to suppress ever since his departure, convincing herself they had to be hidden away deep inside to make forgetting him easier, hit her like a wall of bricks. He himself looked at her so tenderly for a moment, she could swear he was fighting a similar impulse, but his features rapidly hardened and his eyes became cold and strangely distant.
"Your grace," she gave him a deep curtsy, her knees shaky when she bent them. "I have finished my work while you were away and Lady Éowyn gave me leave to return to Minas Tirith. Uffe is kindly escorting me back home."
He seemed unconvinced for some reason, regarding them both with suspicion in his eyes. Lothíriel couldn't help but wonder why he seemed so angry. Her return to Gondor had been a long time coming; surely he had to understand why she would wish to be gone by the time he had brought his future queen back home, after everything.
"So what is your plan now? To run away again?" he asked coolly, his lips pursed in anger.
There's no way, Lothíriel barely had time to think before he added: "I apologize, where are my manners? My lady," he bowed his head deeply in her direction, never breaking eye contact.
Lothíriel tried to say something, but the only thing she managed was to open and close her mouth like a fish out of water, trying to gulp the familiar liquid but finding only air instead. There were a thousand questions whirring through her mind at once; her desperate brain was trying to convince itself this could not be happening, that she must be misunderstanding somehow. Or maybe it was just shock, like when someone dear dies unexpectedly and the brain can't process that reality just yet.
King Éomer must have understood the unspoken question that remained stuck between her lips, and said: "I had an interesting chat with Prince Amrothos about his long-lost sister," he said through clenched teeth. "She seems to have born a striking resemblance to you, and used to be very passionate about healing people, of all things. That's quite a coincidence, don't you think?"
Lothíriel was feeling strangely numb, as though she had been hit over the head with a log. She was reminded of all the conversations and interactions with the King that made her every move and word feel observed, investigated and doubted; the way she thought he could read her very thoughts. Amrothos' revelation about his long-lost sister must have only been the last puzzle piece that nudged him in the right direction, she was sure.
Her worst fears have just come true, and yet, the only thing that truly caused her pain was imagining the betrayal he must be feeling. You don't happen to be a lady or a princess by any chance? She still vividly remembered the vulnerable look in his eyes when he asked her that question, and the disgusting bald-faced lie she gave in return. No wonder he's so mad. He must hate me now.
"Uffe," King Éomer turned his head to the young Rohir. "Leave us."
Uffe eyed them both uncertainly, but he knew that a direct command like that from his king could not be disobeyed. He gave him a quick bow of his head and disappeared in the direction of the inn. Lothíriel watched his back as he was walking away, desperately using every opportunity to not have to look at the King again. She had to turn back eventually, though, and as expected, found him glaring at her with the familiar intensity his gaze always seemed to emanate.
"You have been lying to me this whole time," he said slowly and quietly, as if he was trying hard to keep his voice calm. "Why?"
"I had no other choice," she almost whispered back.
"No other choice?" he scoffed and shook his head, baring his teeth in a frustrated smile. "You had many choices, princess. And you have chosen to make me an unknowing accomplice to a lie so big it could threaten the future of my kingdom," he hissed in a low voice.
"I did not intend to make you an accomplice to anything," Lothíriel protested, shaking her head. "I was only trying to protect myself."
"Protect yourself, huh?" he scoffed. "Have you thought about anyone but yourself in the process?"
The numbness of her brain was slowly disappearing and she began to grow more and more frustrated by his words. His anger was justified, she had to admit that, but the unfounded accusations he was throwing her way infuriated her. "And why shouldn't I think of myself? This is about my life, my future."
"See, this is where you're wrong, princess. It was never just about you. A person of your station has a responsibility to your land, your family, and those below you – you can't do whatever you want and expect the world to just keep turning as if nothing has happened."
Is he really giving me this lecture right now? Lothíriel thought in disbelief. "And why not? Who decided that just because I was born the daughter of a prince, I had to be his puppet my entire life?"
"Because your actions have consequences, Lothíriel!" he raised his voice in frustration, resonating in the quiet yard around them.
His anger was palpable, and yet it was completely overshadowed by something else in her mind – it was the first time he had ever called her by her real name. She caught herself desperately wishing to hear him repeat it, whisper it in her ear; to see him smile at her at least once more. The memory of how tender he could be almost physically hurt her; the overwhelming sadness at the realization that she would never experience it again extinguished her growing anger like a candle flame.
"You may not realize it, but the Mark would be fucked this winter without Imrahil's generosity. The fact that I have harbored his fugitive daughter for so long..." he lowered his voice close to a whisper. "If he was a different kind of man, the Mark could be in big trouble right now."
Lothíriel was caught off-guard by his words. So this was not just about her lying to him; he thought she put his entire country in jeopardy. "He couldn't hold you accountable for something you weren't privy to," she dismissed his argument.
"He could rightly hold me accountable for dishonoring a princess," he said through clenched teeth, keeping his voice low.
"Dishonoring a princess?" Lothíriel repeated slowly, hurt by the horrible way he had phrased it. He made it sound so ugly, as if she was a hideous mountain troll that lured him into her arms by putting on the mask of a young woman, and now that he saw her true form, he felt only disgust. Where had all the affection and tenderness gone? Had she only imagined it in her stupid infatuation? She had to steady her quivering voice before she added: "Would it be any less dishonorable if I was still only a healer?"
"It would be... different," he said, his anger somewhat cooling off.
"Different how? It's still me, I am that same person, Éomer," she tried to explain desperately. His name, unspeakable for her until now, felt sweet on her tongue. The King seemed to be taken aback by it; his features had softened and he seemed almost saddened when he finally tore his gaze from her and shook his head. "Don't play a fool, Lothíriel. You know the difference."
Of course, she knew. Getting a lowly healer with child would be an inconvenience that could be taken care of, but if it came to light that he bedded a princess and Valar forbid sired a bastard, their reputations would suffer irreparable harm.
"Well, you needn't worry about that, your grace," she muttered towards him. She had bled less than a week after he was gone, so an unwanted pregnancy was out of the question.
He suddenly took a few steps closer to her and grabbed her hand. He opened his mouth and was about to say something, when the door of the inn opened, flooding the yard in a sudden beam of light. It had grown almost dark while they were talking. A sweet voice called from afar: "My king?"
The King let go of her hand as if it was a burning ember and backed away. Soft steps rustled on the dry grass as the lady in the red dress made her way towards them, flashing him a bright smile. "Is everything alright, my lord? I have been looking everywhere for you."
The King shifted uncomfortably when she approached, all traces of emotion hidden behind a stone mask his features now emulated. "Lady Erthil," he nodded his head to her curtly. "I was just… bidding welcome to Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth."
So it really is Lady Erthil, Lothíriel thought in wonder only for a moment, before the dots connected in her mind and she understood. There was only one thing that would convince her to find herself in Rohan – a crown. Lothíriel thought she had worked through the pain this whole affair had caused her by now, but seeing the King's chosen betrothed in person ripped that wound right open again. She could swear she detected a flash of remorse in King Éomer's eyes before he dropped his gaze on the ground.
Lady Erthil eyed her up and down, one eyebrow raised. Lothíriel's sweaty Rohan-style riding clothes and disheveled hair certainly didn't make her look very royal. "It is my utmost pleasure, my lady," she gave her a deep curtsy.
"Lady Erthil," Lothíriel curtsied back reluctantly, incapable of adding any more niceties to her greeting.
"I apologize for my curiosity but… how does the Princess of Dol Amroth find herself in this place?" she asked innocently.
The King had answered for her before Lothíriel even had a chance to try and hastily come up with an excuse. "The princess has spent time in the Mark at my sister's invitation. She was kind enough to ride out to meet her father and brother after many months away."
Lothíriel looked up at him in astonishment. My father and brother? They're here now? She couldn't believe her ears. She was so close to getting away, back to her old life in Minas Tirith, away from the ever tightening web of lies she had woven around herself here in the north. All the effort it took to avoid Lord Deorwine's trial, to convince Lady Éowyn to release her… it was all for nothing. Her family would have arrived to Edoras sooner or later, and the King of Rohan, of all people, already knew who she really was.
"How kind of you to spend the whole day on the road just to see your family, my lady," Lady Erthil gushed, giving her best impression of being touched by the King's words. "Come inside with us, I am sure they are eager to see you, Princess Lothíriel."
Lothíriel shot the King a pleading glance as a last-ditch effort to find any reason at all why she couldn't go inside with them, but he said nothing. The look he gave her almost made it seem as though he felt sorry for her, which she found even more infuriating than his anger.
You are royally fucked, Lothíriel. Literally.
And so, she slowly followed them into the light coming from inside the inn, bracing herself for the inevitable. The crowd inside instinctively parted to allow King Éomer to pass as they were making their way towards one of the tables in the back. Lothíriel was certain it was full of the noblest company, yet she barely took note of any of them before her eyes landed on the familiar face of her father in their midst. All of a sudden, Lothíriel was back in her nightmare; back on that slippery rocking ship, whipped by the rain and the wind. It was a premonition, she realized, Imrahil's dark eyes observing her in the same stern way he did in her dream, reminding her of who she really was, telling her Méav was dead now, gone for good.
Imrahil had slowly stood up when he saw them approaching. He seemed equally as mortified as her, lips tightly pursed; none of them said anything and only stood there waiting, staring each other down like two knights about to charge each other in a jousting match, the air heavy with expectation.
"Lothíriel?"
A familiar voice cut through the tension, coming from her right. Lothíriel barely managed to turn her head before her brother Amrothos charged her like a bull and hugged her so tight he almost squeezed all the air out of her lungs. He let go of her after a long while, still clutching her arms and staring at her as if he was looking at a ghost. "It's really you. What on earth are you doing here?"
Suddenly, Lothíriel became aware of all the eyes around the table staring at them. She fought a strong urge to free herself from her brother's grasp and start running, overcome by a myriad of emotions at once; fear, resentment, sadness, even a love she remembered she bore her youngest brother. This time around, fleeing was not an option anymore, she knew. Her mind was in too much of a turmoil to cause a scene in such a public place; she had to lie and pretend yet again.
"I came to bid you welcome to the Riddermark, Amrothos," she managed to force the words out of her mouth, her voice squeaky and strained.
He seemed mystified at first, but he understood her intentions quickly enough. Airing out their dirty laundry in front of two kings, among others, would be extremely unwise. "How thoughtful of you, Lothíriel," he replied stiffly. He was not quite as experienced in the art of deception as his younger sister.
"You must be tired after the long journey, daughter," Imrahil joined their little theater performance, his voice as deep and stern as Lothíriel remembered. "You shall take supper in our room tonight. Let me show you the way."
He didn't ask whether she was hungry, or whether she really wanted to retire already despite it being barely dark outside. It was a command, and no matter how much Lothíriel hated the way he spoke to her, she did desperately want to leave all those staring pairs of eyes behind. She was barely ready to face her father, but nowhere near ready to face the rest of the world as the Princess of Dol Amroth again. And so, she reluctantly nodded and gave a deep silent curtsy in the general direction of the entire table, unwilling to lift her eyes from the ground.
They made their way quietly up the stairs and down a short narrow hallway, her father in front and Amrothos behind her, as if they were worried she might escape again. The room was furnished far too simply for the likes of a prince, but it was probably the best they could find on the way. The ceiling was so low she could almost touch it with her fingers; her father had to duck his head as he passed through the low doorway. A fire had already been started, crackling merrily in the hearth by the window. The small room felt so cramped and stuffy to Lothíriel, as if its four walls were about to collapse on top of her. She took a deep breath to steady her racing heart, reminding herself it was only her exasperated mind playing tricks on her.
"You know, the whole journey from Minas Tirith I have been thinking about what I would say to you when I saw you again," Imrahil broke the intense silence first.
"I have been thinking about that same thing for three years," Lothíriel said, keeping her face as neutral as she could.
"I still don't quite know. But I suppose it makes no difference what I say to you."
"No difference?" Lothíriel stared at her father in disbelief. "It makes all the difference in the world, don't you think?"
"It doesn't change the facts – you are back now, for better or for worse, and we need to deal with it," he said coolly; his flaring nostrils were the only part of his face that betrayed even a hint of emotion.
For better or for worse? "It almost sounds like you are sorry we have met again," Lothíriel insinuated quietly.
"Do you really think me so heartless?" he eyed her intently. Lothíriel thought she saw a flash of remorse in his eyes, but it was gone so quickly she couldn't tell for sure.
"You tell me, father. You see your only daughter again after three and a half years, and all you can say to me is that I am a problem you need to deal with," she said, her voice quivering despite her best efforts to stay calm. All of the old resentment and pent up frustration of her past were trying to crawl their way out of her throat.
"And what would you like to hear?" he said through clenched teeth. "Should I tell you about the anguish you have caused us all? About the disgrace you have cast on our family? Or how you put the future of the entirety of Dol Amroth at risk in pursuit of your own self-interest?"
His voice crescendoed gradually as he spoke. Lothíriel felt as if she was sixteen again, scolded by her father for one of her many teenage transgressions. His questions were only rhetorical, and after a meaningful pause, he added: "I could say all that, and yet I doubt you would understand."
"As much as I doubt you would understand why I did what I did," Lothíriel tried to mirror her father's coldness in an attempt to mask just how vulnerable she was feeling, but her words came out shaky and weak.
"How could I ever understand that!" Imrahil snapped at her angrily. Lothíriel flinched as if he had struck her, even though he stood on the other side of the room.
"Father," Amrothos shot him a loaded glance. "Let's remain civil."
Imrahil only scoffed and ignored him, his fiery eyes immediately returning back to Lothíriel. "I hope you enjoyed your little holiday from your royal duties, while the rest of us were bending over backwards trying to save Dol Amroth. Save mankind."
Does he think I spent the war sitting in an armchair, sipping wine? An exasperated laugh escaped her lips at the ridiculousness of his accusation. "And you think I did nothing?" Lothíriel asked in disbelief, her own voice coming out louder than before, despite her best efforts to calm down. "I haven't slept, or eaten, for days saving people's lives! The things I have seen in the Houses of Healing were on par with the battlefield, believe me."
"Alright, alright!" Amrothos interjected and stepped in between them before their father could open his mouth again to respond. "That's enough. Both of you."
Lothíriel half expected Imrahil to scold Amrothos for his impudence, but he only eyed him warily, nostrils flaring. "This conversation is pointless and is leading us nowhere. We should all settle down, take a break and continue when we're all thinking rationally again, alright?"
Amrothos' eyes were darting back and forth between their father and Lothíriel, as if he was trying to spot who would jump at the other's throat first. He was right, though; they were behaving the same way they did when she was sixteen, as if all those years hadn't changed them at all. It was ridiculous, and yet Lothíriel knew neither of them were willing to make any concessions at this point; the resentment and bitterness she felt – they both felt – were too fresh and too sudden.
"Fine," Imrahil acquiesced coldly. "There isn't much more to talk about anyway. Now that you are here, you will join us to attend Théoden-King's funeral. We will deal with the rest once we're back in Dol Amroth."
Lothíriel couldn't suppress another frustrated laugh escaping her mouth. "Do you really expect me to just play princess again as if nothing had happened?"
"Do you have any other grand plan?" Imrahil raised his eyebrows. "Will you find another name and pretend to be a milk maid this time? Or a peasant?"
Lothíriel hated the mocking way he spoke to her, but all she could bring herself to do was glare at him indignantly. She was even more angry at herself for being unable to stand up to him, even after all this time. It was a bitter mouthful to swallow, but her father had it right this time – what else was there for her to do? She had attempted to flee her fate twice by now, and both times had led her to end up exactly where she had started. Maybe this was destiny telling her that it wasn't a force to be toyed with at her whim.
"Running away is not an option anymore. The sooner you accept that fact, the better," Imrahil said through clenched teeth. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back downstairs before they take note of my long absence."
Of course, your biggest worry is your reputation, Lothíriel thought bitterly. She wished she had enough courage to tell her father in his face, but instead, she just watched him as he turned his back to them and walked out into the hallway.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Lothíriel was overcome by a strong wave of despair and helplessness the likes of which she hadn't felt in a long time; maybe ever. She slumped down on one of the hard beds closest to her and began to cry uncontrollably, her body desperate for a release of the myriad of emotions she had pent up inside her. Amrothos sat down beside her and was saying something softly, but she barely heard him over the sound of the blood rushing in her ears, and her own incessant sobbing. They were probably words of comfort, but she knew they would give her no consolation even if she had heard them. In that moment, she hated Uffe for suggesting they spend the night at that inn; hated the King for noticing them and coming out into that yard to confront her; hated her father for being exactly the same as she had remembered. But most of all, she hated herself for keeping her secret from King Éomer all this time. She was so scared to lose the life she had built for herself if he ever found out, she never even considered he may have been her only salvation all along. And now, she had lost both her life, and her love.
You should have told him when you had the fucking chance, you idiot.