Title: A Long and Winding Road

Rating: M

Pairings: Éomer/Lothíriel

Genre: Romance/Drama/Angst

Summary: To flee from a dreadful fate, she is sent into hiding. But how can she hide her heart from the man who also holds her secret?

Disclaimer: The Lord of The Rings is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien and his estate. This is a work of fanfiction, written for the enjoyment of myself and others. No financial profit is made by writing this.

Author's Note: So! I think it's time to serve you, my dear readers new and old, with a brand new full-length Éomer/Lothíriel -story. I've been working on this one for a while now, whenever King and Lioness has given me any peace, but at the moment I believe this new story is going to update about once in a month.

As usual, you may expect some bold moves on my part – though perhaps not quite the level of A Light that Endures – but I will do my best to explain and back up all my choices. In my own view, I'm pretty pleased about my writing in this piece. I hope it will satisfy you as well, my dear readers!

Hope you enjoy, and if you got time, please let me know what you think!

Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together?
Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences.

- Emery Allen

Chapter 1

March 3018, Dol Amroth

On a night of March, the sound of distant thunder woke up Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth.

Usually, storms and tempests of the sea did not disturb her dreams. Rather, she found fierce beauty in them; in her childhood, she had often been lulled into sleep by their wild and strange music.

But that night the storm was not a lullaby to summon her to the land of dreams. Instead, its howling and raging seemed to tear at the very walls of her father's palace, trying to bring it down into the sea. It reminded her of the ghost stories Amrothos used to tell her when they were children: that the voices of those drown at the sea would scream and wail in the wind, pleading for release from the dark waves of their final resting place. Erchirion had laughed at the silly stories, but on a night like this, it was easy to believe Amrothos had it right.

So she tossed and turned, waiting desperately for the morning and dawn's light to chase away the storm winds and usher in a new bright day.

It happened at midnight. Thunder was closer now, rolling from the sea to inland, trying to crawl its way over the city by the sea. Lothíriel lay on her side, listening to the fury of the elements and hoping it would pass already. She thought with pity all who were at sea tonight, for surely Ossë was bent on sinking as many ships as he could, with no intervention from the Lady Uinen.

But then lightning stroke, its light so bright it must have hit in the very garden of the palace. And in that flash Lothíriel saw she was not alone in her chamber.

He stood at her door, his broad frame filling it completely. He was tall as an elf-lord, but younger and wilder, as though he had stepped out from some tale of First Age when the world was new and Men's brief lives burned as brilliantly as the very Sun. He was in full armour, which looked like nothing she had ever seen in her life, and his hair was long and tangled, framing a strong bearded face. The lines of his mouth and jaw were those of a man with iron will, but on his brow he carried burdens and a shadow of sadness. It was a face to stick to one's memory even when so briefly glimpsed, and his eyes were keen and fierce, revealing the ardent spirit inside. In his right hand he held a naked blade, and even in the colour-draining light of the storm she could tell it was dripping with blood.

Rationally thinking, Lothíriel knew she was supposed to scream, to alarm guards of this stranger who had somehow made it past all the gates and defences of the palace, but she did not; her eyes were locked with that of the man and for that split second where lightning made all things clear, she could see no threat on his face. Rather, he looked like he had just asked her a question and was waiting for an answer.

Then the second longer than a lifetime was over and darkness fell, leaving her momentarily blind for the contrast between dark and light, and she gasped. With trembling hands she reached to lit up her lamp... but when the warm light of fire grew and pierced the shadow, the man was gone.

The morning came with such brilliant sunlight and gentle wind that it was hard to believe a terrible storm had raged half the night. When the day's beginning came so fair, Lothíriel was all the more bewildered by the vision of last night. The only way she could explain it was she had been dreaming, though even that did not answer what memory of her life could possibly conjure an image so elaborate. Though she had beheld him only for a second, she was certain she would have been able to describe him in detail.

However, dreams were dreams and she had far more tangible things to concentrate on; so, when she had dressed and braided her hair, she hurried off to join her family for breakfast.

She was the last to arrive in the Prince's private dining hall – a spacious chamber with a long table in the middle, and great windows flooding it with bright sunlight. Father was there, and her brothers, her sister-in-law, and the little Alphros. While all three of her brothers were as tall as their sire, only Elphir and Erchirion took after him in looks. Amrothos was more like their late mother with his curly hair and hazel eyes. As for herself, Father sometimes said she reminded him remarkably of Finduilas, her late aunt.

Though her night had been less than restful, Lothírel entered the hall with smiles and greetings. Once she had bid them good morning and given her father a kiss on his brow, she took her usual seat at the table, though for one reason or the other she did not feel very hungry.

Her father noticed, as was his wont.

"You seem pale and tired. Did the storm keep you up?" he asked her, and she barely had time to nod before Amrothos interjected.

"Well, that's a first. Lothíriel is the only person I know who can sleep tight through a tempest and know nothing", he quipped. She made a face at him but said nothing – for one, she did not think dreams of strange men in her bedchamber were a good topic for family conversations, and Amrothos would have made some crude joke about it.

"I understand her very well. That storm kept me awake as well", Aredhel said, casting a stern glance at her brother-in-law. For one reason or the other, she was the one with most power over Amrothos' more obnoxious moods.

"I suppose it's just the stress of these past few days. I want everything to be perfect when Uncle arrives", Lothíriel said and looked down into her bowl of porridge sweetened with honey, pushing a spoonful into her mouth. She might not feel hungry, but facing the day with an empty stomach would not be a good idea with all the errands she would have to run today. Indeed, this could be what explained her odd dream: she had worked herself into exhaustion, thus giving herself bizarre dreams.

"And you have been working so hard, daughter. Too hard, one might say. While I admit our home has never been tidier or shinier, you must remember to relax every now and then. After all, it's not like we are going to entertain the King of Númenór", Father said, his tone gentle but firm.

"He is the Lord Steward of Gondor, Father", Lothíriel reminded him. That had been the chief thing in her mind while she had been making preparations for the visit of her Uncle Denethor in the city of Dol Amroth. With the frail health of Aredhel, her sister-in-law, Lothíriel had been the head of of the household for two years now, and in her mind, her uncle's visit was the first real test of her knowledge and skills. It had been years since she had last seen her uncle, but she was determined to make a good impression, not least because of her father.

"Why is he coming here now, anyway?" asked Erchirion, the second oldest of Lothíriel's brothers.

"He may be the Steward but we're his family. Why can't he just visit his kin?" Amrothos asked, but his words made Elphir scoff softly. He looked up from his plate of porridge.

"When has uncle ever done anything without a purpose? Not to mention, with all his duties, do you think he'd make courtesy calls even for family?" he stated solemnly. Lothíriel didn't say anything but she agreed with Elphir. Not only was he right about the character of the Lord Steward, she also knew from her Aunt Ivriniel's tales how Uncle Denethor had loved his late wife, Lady Finduilas, who had been the sister of her father and aunt. Apparently, Dol Amroth was a painful reminder of the woman he had lost forever.

But at any rate, if he were to come here on some particular purpose, Lothíriel deemed it would be wise to make sure his welcome was the best they could offer.

"I just wish our cousins could have come too", Amrothos remarked and leant back in his chair, toying with a silver spoon with one hand.

"You know they are very busy with their duties in Minas Tirith, Amrothos", Father said and sipped his tea.

"It's all about duty these days, isn't it? I wish people would sometimes talk about something else", complained the youngest of three princes, but his careless words quickly earned their sire's frown.

"That we do our duty is the reason this realm still stands, though it might not bear the glory and strength our people knew in past. We must not be so thoughtless as to imagine our amusement is more important than that. You would do well to remember this once Lord Denethor arrives, for he has even less tolerance for such nonsense", Father said sternly, making Amrothos blush and mutter something in agreement. The others around the table fell silent, too, and for a while they ate in silence. But Lothíriel staring down at her food could feel the knot becoming tighter in her stomach, and what food she forced in her mouth had no taste.

So when the breakfast came to an end, she was thankful: she could put aside her portion which she had barely touched. There were yet errands to be run before midday, which was the time Uncle Denethor should arrive. Thankfully, she should be too busy to remember her dream and the strange man at her door.

The family of Prince Imrahil gathered again at midday. Lothíriel barely made it to the courtyard at the assigned time: she had been busy making sure all would run smoothly and that in the kitchens preparations were going as planned, and afterwards she still needed to switch dresses to a more formal attire. Her brothers, unaware of all the work and time that went into managing the household, were fond of making fun of her being late to the official events. But perhaps today's breakfast had impacted their mood just as well, because they were not joking at all when their company gathered in the courtyard of the palace.

Her horse, a chestnut mare named Summer, was saddled ready for her, and she smiled fondly when she thought the animal looked slightly confused. Summer always seemed so when Lothíriel rode her using the side-saddle; while riding astride was her dearest hobby when she was able to get away from her duties, she knew that was not how she could appear to welcome her uncle into the city.

"Are you certain you are well, daughter? You don't have to come with us to the harbour if you don't feel good", came Father's voice from nearby. He was arrayed in silver and blue of their House, just as herself and her brothers, and his raven-dark hair was combed back behind his ears. He had never remarried after her mother had died, though that was not for the lack of hopeful attempts from noble ladies of the realm.

Lothíriel smiled slightly at her father, "I'm fine, Ada. I'm not going to stay back when Uncle comes – it would be rude of me not to be there to welcome him."

Though it had been years since she had last seen the Steward of Gondor, she knew his reputation, and did not think for one second that her absence would go unnoticed by Lord Denethor.

Father's face softened and he reached to give a kiss to her cheek.

"You have done very well, daughter. I am proud of you", he told her and she had to look away to hide her embarrassment.

"I do my best", she told him, busying herself with checking on the buckles of Summer's saddle, though she knew they would be secure.

At Father's signal, the company mounted their horses, and the Prince's family was surrounded by a dozen Swan Knights – some of the finest of warriors in Dol Amroth. Sunlight gleamed on their armours and helmets and soft wind caught at the hems of their blue raiment, on which the silver swanship of Amrothian line was depicted. Often she had watched them from afar and admired them, but now on this morning, she could only think of how different the very air of these men was to the warrior she had dreamt of last night.

She shook herself to be rid of these silly musings and urged her mare to move, and in formation the company rode through the gate of the palace. Though spring had not yet warmed the air, otherwise the day was truly a fair one, and the Sun in the sky was not accompanied by any clouds. It would have been a wonderful weather for riding along the shore, but Lothíriel suppressed that idea. She would be too busy for riding trips as long as Uncle stayed in the city.

So they made way through the city, and by the streets some common folk stopped to watch them pass; on an occasion, Father would lift his hand into a greeting, and crowd would cheer at him. But she received some exclamations as well, and there was one young-looking man yelling: "Hail the Princess Lothíriel, the fairest of ladies in Gondor!"

Though she didn't think he could have seen many noble ladies of Gondor if he thought her the fairest of them, she did smile and wave at him, for whether he was wrong or not it was polite to acknowledge him.

They arrived in the port, where more Swan Knights had already cleared the dock where the Steward would be landing. Many people from the city had gathered, for it was not every day the Lord Denethor visited the southern parts of the realm. In fact, Father said the last time his brother-in-law had stayed in Dol Amroth had been when Lady Finduilas still lived.

"Look! There he comes!" Amrothos said to his sister, pointing at the ship which had started to approach the harbour. She grew larger as she neared and Lothíriel admired the vessel's grace – a testimony to the importance of her passengers. The princess also spotted the standard of the Steward's House, flying proudly in the sea wind.

Less than ten minutes later, the Steward's ship reached the dock, and the cries of gulls were joined by shouts of sailors as they prepared for landing. The deck of the ship was alive with noise and bustle, but even stretching her neck Lothíriel could not yet spot her uncle.

When the ship was securely fastened, silver trumpets sang to announce his arrival, and then Lord Denethor made his appearance. He stood as tall and straight as she remembered him, but his face and greying hair silently spoke of his many burdens. His face was proud and strong rather than kind, and his grey eyes were sharp and cool. His array consisted of dark colours and heavy robes, and only here and there an occasional silver embroidery might lighten his appearance.

But if Uncle's face was that of a stern man, it did melt into a smile when Father approached to greet him. They exchanged an embrace as brothers might and spoke their greetings quietly, resting hands on each others' shoulders.

Then Father spoke, raising his voice: "Please, come and meet my family! You have occasionally met my son Elphir when he has visited Minas Tirith, but rest of my children have much grown since you last saw them."

He lead the Steward to his offspring, who had stood nearby waiting. While her brothers bowed, Lothíriel curtsied, smiling at her mighty uncle. He regarded them keenly, as though he could judge their characters just by looking.

"Your family is flourishing, Imrahil; your sons look as strong as your daughter is fair. I believe the promise I saw in their childhood is now being fulfilled", Denethor said benevolently, even smiling as he spoke. While he could not exactly be called a handsome man, the effect of the smile on his face was spectacular, as it even managed to reveal something gentle about his features. Then his eyes came to rest on Lothíriel and the smile sobered slightly, and a long moment passed by as he watched her. But even as she was thinking she might blush, he looked away once more.

"We are honoured, Lord Uncle", Elphir said as their advocate, and again the four siblings bowed at the mightiest man in the realm.

Father spoke again, inviting Denethor to ride with him to the palace, and Lothíriel let out a small breath now that the Steward's attention was away again. She had not remembered how unsettling it could be to stand before him, though she was fairly pleased with how she had been able to keep her calm. At any rate, she was happy to stay behind when Father and Uncle rode up ahead, leading their entourage. It was over twice as large, for Father's Swan Knights had been joined by the Steward's own guards. Idly she thought this was a company that could have fought a battalion of orcs and survived.

On the way back to the palace, there were more common folk watching them pass, but less cheering than before. Lothíriel guessed it was because while her father was a beloved ruler, Lord Denethor commanded rather their fear than their affection. She could very well see why that was.

In the courtyard of Father's palace, stablemen and servants were already waiting, and an orderly chaos broke out when the entourage arrived. Glad that the formal part was over for the time being and she could concentrate on what she knew well, Lothíriel left Summer in the care of one stableman and watched as her sire lead Lord Denethor inside. Most likely they would be holed up in Prince's study until dinnertime.

"Elbereth, I had forgotten how frightening our uncle can be. Sometimes I just can't believe he fathered Boromir and Faramir", Amrothos said as he came to a halt next to his sister. It was hard to imagine anything dampening his spirits in this way, but she wasn't surprised Lord Denethor had that precise skill.

"Well, Father always said they are more Aunt Finduilas' sons than Uncle Denethor's", she said and shrugged, though she did understand what her brother meant. It was slightly terrifying to imagine being brought up by the Steward.

Her brother made a face and patted her shoulder absent-mindedly.

"I do so look forward to dinner tonight", he muttered, making her cringe as well.

"You do? At least you're not the one who has had to plan that dinner", Lothíriel muttered and picked up her skirts. She had still plenty of things to attend to before the dinner could be served.

"My poor sister", Amrothos said dramatically. "What powers did you offend to deserve such a lot in life?"

She snorted and turned her back at him, deciding his foolish words did not deserve an answer. However, at the time of his air-headed comment, Lothíriel had no idea of how many times she would come to ask herself that very question.

As evening fell, the family of Prince Imrahil gathered once more in the dining hall. Usually, their meals together were not very formal occasions, and Lothíriel herself might make an appearance windblown in her riding attire. However tonight, even Amrothos' manners were mild and quiet.

"There's something about our uncle that makes me feel like laughing out loud in his presence would be a very bad idea", he muttered to Lothíriel when they entered side by side.

"Stop whispering to me!" she told him and organised a serene smile on her face. In the hall, she cast around one last look to make sure all was in place, and once she was reassured, she invited the company to take their seats about the long table. Father and Lord Denethor claimed places at the heads of it, while the Prince's children took seats around them. At her signal, the leading table servant opened the doors and the smells of food filled the hall as pots and dishes were carried in.

To her great relief, the dinner went by smoothly, and their guest appeared to be on a good mood – in fact, Lothíriel did not think she had ever seen Lord Denethor smile so much. Even the conversations remained pleasant, without a barest mention of wars or troubled tidings, which came more often than not these days. If battles were mentioned, it was entirely about victorious ones in the past, and Father and the Steward reminisced on some of their finest hours as warriors.

When the dessert was served, Lord Denethor shifted on his seat and fixed his eyes on her, and meeting the gaze she could see some warmth there. It eased her mind somewhat, and she smiled at him.

"Lothíriel", he called her name and toasted his glass of wine.

"Lord Uncle", she answered, bowing her head before returning his gesture.

"Your father tells me you had planned this dinner, in addition to the upkeep of myself and my entourage", he said and considered her in a way that somehow reminded her of when they had met him at the docks, though perhaps he did not consider her quite as keenly now.

"Yes, my lord. I have been managing his household for two years now", she answered, feeling the eyes of her brothers on herself. She did not turn her own gaze away, though.

Her answer made Denethor lift up his eyebrows.

"From such a young age? Your manners and prowess compliment your father, Lothíriel", he said and lifted his glass once more.

"I do what I can to help", she stated. Her uncle nodded quietly, as though he had just received an answer to some question that had long been in his mind.

"Indeed, Imrahil, you can be proud of your daughter", he said, moving his eyes away from the princess once more. She breathed silently, wondering what that exchange had just been about.

"And that I am, my lord", Father smoothly retorted and flashed a quick smile at his daughter. She returned it, deciding she could stop worrying about the success of tonight. She was already thinking Lord Denethor had nothing more to tell her, when he suddenly looked back at her again.

"Lady Lothíriel, may I ask a favour of you?" he inquired, making her look at him quickly.

"Of course, Lord Uncle", she said before even having time to ponder what could he want from her. His smile, however, was reassuring.

"If it does not interfere too much with your daily labours, I would much appreciate if you had time to show me around in the gardens tomorrow after breakfast. I'd like to see if it still looks the same as the last time I visited Dol Amroth", he said, and for a moment his words had her in stunned silence. The Lord Steward of Gondor, interested in gardens and flowerbeds?

She felt someone kicking her under the table – Amrothos probably, seeing he sat next to her – and Lothíriel shook her head to clear out her confusion.

"Of course, my lord. I'd be happy to show you around", she said quickly.

Denethor's smile widened slightly and he nodded once more in satisfaction. His attention turned back to her father and she looked down at her half-eaten dessert. She may be his kin, but she knew how rare it was for a lady to receive such attention from the Steward of Gondor.

Once the dinner was done, and Father was about to go and escort their guest to his chambers, he stopped briefly by his daughter. Resting a hand on her shoulder, he spoke softly, "You did well, Lothíriel... I do not remember when I've last seen him smiling so much. Thank you."

"It's nothing, Father", she whispered back, and she smiled when he reached to kiss her brow before telling her good night.

It was late already by the time she finally retired into the quiet of her own chamber, her mind too restless to consider sleep. The day had been a long one and it had given her much food for thought... but one question in particular was burning her mind. For as Lothíriel sat by her window and gazed out to see the calm night sky, so quiet compared to the storm that had kept her awake only twenty-four hours ago, she had to wonder.

What precisely had fuelled her dream of last night, and what did it signify that the strange man should appear to her on the eve of her uncle's visit?

Next morning at the time of breakfast, Lothíriel had already been up and about for a couple of hours. She had again slept fitfully, though no visions of unfamiliar men had made appearances in her bedchamber, and risen with the sun to make sure things would run smoothly in the household. As she didn't know how long the Steward would be requiring her, she had wanted to make sure her absence would not halt the running tasks of the palace's maintenance.

Lord Denethor continued to be on a fine mood, and when they had finished eating breakfast, he gracefully asked if she were available for the promised stroll in the gardens. She curtsied at him and conjured up a smile, though she was not entirely delighted with the idea of having to be alone with such an intimidating man. But she kept her silence and lead the way to the gardens of her father's palace.

As it was March, the gardens were not exactly in their brightest glory. Nonetheless, it was still rather beautiful and peaceful, and the trees and the adornments were a sight to see even before spring. The gardens had been the pride of her mother and in her memory, the place had been kept the way she had ordered it years ago. Because of this, it was the gardens were Lothíriel would feel closest to her late mother.

It also provided her with a way to start a conversation and end the awkward silence that had grown between herself and the Steward, who looked a bit like he had forgotten her presence; she guessed this was as much a site of memory for him as it was for her. Sometimes, it was difficult to believe a man like him might once have loved someone enough to mourn them so deeply.

"Does it look at all like it used to be, my lord?" she asked him, making the Steward glance at her sharply. There was steel in that look, but it quickly softened again.

"Some things remain as I remember them, Lothíriel. But much has changed, as I knew to expect. It has been a long time since I last strolled in this garden", he said at length. The princess thought to ask about her aunt Finduilas, but Father had said it was painful for her uncle to remember his late wife, so she decided not to pry.

"Many things have changed indeed, and not just here", Lord Denethor went on and looked ahead before turning his eyes at her once more. "You have changed too, Lady Lothíriel. Last I saw you in Minas Tirith, you were a child. Now you have become a woman."

"It has been many years, Lord Uncle", Lothíriel said warily, unsure of where this conversation was headed.

"Indeed it has. But at that time I did not see what promise you held... you see, as I look at you now, you bear great resemblance to my Lady Finduilas, who was the fairest of roses that grew on our southern shores", said her uncle, and her first thought was to argue that what similarity there was between her and her late aunt was only in their appearances, and even then she did not have her aunt's famous grace. But be it as may, according to Father, hers and Finduilas' characters were entirely different. However, before she could speak, she realised this was probably supposed to be a compliment on the Steward's part, considering how he held his late wife as the prime example of accomplished womanhood.

"Thank you, my lord", she merely said, hiding her hands inside the wide sleeves of her gown. It was more lavish than the clothing she'd use in her daily chores, but the presence of the Steward called for some formality.

They walked in silence for a little while, until Lord Denethor spoke again.

"You have already shown you are quite capable mistress of the household. What of the rest of your upbringing? I trust your father has provided you with an extensive education?" he inquired.

"Yes, Lord Uncle. I have been schooled since I was small – I am fluent in Sindarin and Westron, and I can read and write in Quenya. I know the histories and genealogies of Gondor and Arnor and also of Rohan. I also joined my brothers for their lessons in arithmetic and politics, and..." she explained, but her answer was interrupted by the man striding next to her.

"Politics? Your father schooled you in politics?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"It was my grandfather's wish, my lord", she said and lowered her eyes.

"That is unusual, Lothíriel, though perhaps I should not be surprised. Late Prince Adrahil was well known for his love of knowledge..." Denethor spoke, his voice slowly trailing off as his brow furrowed in deep thought. Then he made another question, "What other skills do you have?"

"I am a fairly good rider, my lord, and I know some archery", she answered, deciding not to mention she could beat her brothers horseback any time she wanted, as it wouldn't do to boast. Still, she couldn't help but wonder what was the purpose of these questions, though she didn't know if it would be wise to ask. She would have to talk about this with her father... perhaps he had some insight she did not possess, as he had known Lord Denethor for most of his life.

"You are indeed an accomplished young woman, Lothíriel. Your father can be proud, having raised such a daughter", he said, interrupting her musings. She bowed her head.

"Thank you, Lord Uncle", she said simply and glanced at him. On his face she could see a strange smile, and for one reason or the other, it made a shiver run down her spine.

She was starting to feel Elphir had been more right than he realised when he had suggested this was everything but a visit by courtesy.

The week Lord Denethor visited in the court of Prince Imrahil was as busy as Lothíriel had imagined it to be. A guest of such high standing was no small matter, and his presence caused a dozen occasions of various magnitudes. There were picnics and hunting trips and even a short cruise near the coast, all of which had taken tremendous time of planning. Altogether Lothíriel felt she'd be relieved when her uncle headed home again.

Most nights she made it to bed exhausted to the bone, but before falling asleep, she did wonder to herself if dreams might grant her another sight of the strange man who had appeared in her room the night before Denethor's arrival, if only to solve the mystery of why should he emerge in such a way only to vanish again. However, that week she slept without seeing any dreams, which oddly disappointed her. Maybe a man so peculiar could only be conjured by a force as elemental as thunder and lightning.

Then at last came the final day of Lord Denethor's stay in the city by the sea, and it was also the day that would turn Lothíriel's life upside down.

Much of it went by in a chaotic blur, as she ran from one place to the other making sure all would run smoothly in the night's ball, to which many of the noble families of southern Gondor had been invited. In her haste, she remained blissfully unaware of what was to take place only in few hours, and it was also the reason she sensed nothing wrong about a servant's announcement that her father had requested her presence before the beginning of the ball.

So, when she was done dressing and had received reports all was running smoothly, she made way through the halls for the Prince's study, where he had asked her to join him. When she knocked at the door, his voice called her to enter.

Lothíriel stepped in, glancing quickly about the chamber in which generations of Amrothian princes had made their plans and policies. A massive desk sat near the great window, from where one could gaze at the sea, and on walls there were maps of lands near and far, plans and drawings of ships, nautical charts, and a dozen other such things. Near the window there was a bookshelf, which held the Prince's own reference library, and across the desk stood two chairs for guests. One chair was occupied by Lord Denethor himself, while Father stood staring out of the window, his back turned towards her.

"You asked to see me, Father?" Lothíriel spoke, her voice mildly curious, as she could not guess what was the reason for her presence here – and why it warranted Lord Denethor should be here, too.

"I did indeed", he said and the colour of his voice immediately caught her attention. The last time she had heard him sounding so unhappy had been just after Grandfather had died. As he turned, she could see the deep frown on his face, and it did nothing to console her. He continued, "Your uncle here has something he'd like to tell you."

Lothíriel turned quickly towards the Steward, who sat motionless, though he wore a smile on his face – that same strange smile she had seen in the gardens.

"Lord Uncle?" she spoke warily, growing more uneasy with every passing moment.

"Child, I suppose you may have wondered about my presence here in your home city at this time – I know it is a common understanding I do not lightly leave Minas Tirith and my many duties there. However, the task that brought me here has overrun others in importance, and after this week I deem it is the right time to speak my intention to you", he started, sounding a bit like he was speaking to a large audience. Meanwhile, Father looked like a man who is being stabbed but tries to smile nevertheless.

"And what is it, my lord?" Lothíriel asked, looking back at the Steward again, though she didn't feel like she really wanted to know what he had in mind.

Uncle leant back in his chair and looked at her closely.

"As Imrahil's daughter I'm sure you are well aware of the circumstances in our world, and your schooling in politics must have left you with certain understanding of how the situation grows more dire with each passing day. Here in Dol Amroth your eyes look to the sea and beyond, and often it is the sea where your challenges come from", he continued, and she had to fight an urge to tell him to get to his point.

It was as if he knew what she was thinking, because he continued, "Your father has sent me reports of corsairs increasing their attacks on our shores. It has troubled me long, but I believe I have been able to solve this dilemma to all our satisfaction. You see, the corsairs have agreed to consider a peace between our peoples, but only if a particular alliance is made. That is, of course, the marriage between yourself and one corsair lord Bartas, who is very powerful among Umbarian people."

For the longest time, all Lothíriel could do was just stare at her uncle, wondering if this was some kind of a jest. But then, Lord Denethor was not exactly known for his sense of humour, and for a joke this was bizarre. So, uncertainly she looked at her sire for support and explanation, "Father?"

His face was dark and the usual glimmer of his grey eyes was smothered.

"I'm afraid it is as your uncle says, daughter. Your hand has been promised to an Umbarian pirate", he said grimly, and his choice of words made Lord Denethor scoff softly.

She did more than just scoff. When her voice finally came out, it was in a shriek.

"No! I will not agree to it!" she said, jumping back from these two men she had trusted, whom she thought she could rely on...

"Lady Lothíriel", said the Steward, his voice holding mild annoyance now, "It has already been negotiated and agreed on. The date of your wedding has been set as well, and it will take place at the end of June."

"Father! Did you allow this?!" she shouted, taking another step back.

"No, daughter – I only heard of this today, for your uncle did not see fit to ask my opinion -" he started, casting a sharp glance at his brother-in-law, who ignored him. The Steward stood up on his feet.

"You were born the Princess of Dol Amroth, Lothíriel, which makes you the highest-ranking lady of your generation, and so you must be ready to bear burdens others cannot. I was under the impression you were raised to understand your duty to your people and land", he said sternly.

"I was not raised into thinking duty is being sold to our enemies like cattle!" she yelled at him, her mouth bitter with the taste of rage and betrayal.

"Princess Lothíriel -" Lord Denethor started, but she did not let him finish.

"I will not do it! You may rest assured of that!" she snapped, and then she ran.

The weather outside suited well her mood. On the other hand, there was also something comforting about the soft patter of rain against her window; she sat on the window board, knees against her chest and her forehead pressed against the cold glass. It all seemed like a strange nightmare, and she was desperately hoping to wake up... to realise it was just her imagination coming up with insane things. However, as moments ticked by, she became more and more aware of the terrible future her uncle had designed for her.

The men of her line had been fighting pirates for many generations. Every day, she would see ships setting sail or returning to the port of Dol Amroth. Sometimes, they would not return at all. She knew the wrecked villages and towns along the coast, like dwellings of ghosts – and people who came begging at the gates of Dol Amroth, for they had lost all they had to corsairs. So many lives had gone into the endless fight between the pirates and Gondor... there was hatred beyond human comprehension between her people and the corsairs, and only a man far from inland might believe it could be amended by marrying her off to some pirate lord.

Angry tears filled her eyes and her blood boiled once more as she thought how Father could have allowed this. She could not think he would believe in such an alliance even for a moment, and yet he had not tried to stand up for her? That was not the father she knew and loved.

Lothíriel hugged her knees tightly and closed her eyes, trying to fight her despair. Banging at the door had died, and she guessed it had been her brothers; maybe it had been the Steward's idea all along to announce the damned plan in the ball, and he had expected her to play the part of the blushing bride. She could not do this – she wouldn't walk into such a fate willingly. But what could she do if not even her father would protect her?

Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth had known from the beginning something was afoot; as his first-born had guessed, the Steward of Gondor did not visit for courtesy. He had known this from the moment Lord Denethor had sent messages about visiting the home of his brother-in-law, and in his mind he had entertained several different scenarios of what it could be. At any rate, he had not thought it would be so serious, and because of that, he had not spoken of his doubts even to Elphir his heir.

He had not guessed he would be so unpleasantly surprised... and yet a part of him was not at all so, because he had known for a long time that Lord Denethor was a proud, calculating man – even ruthless sometimes. And as the shadow kept growing, so did the burden his brother-in-law had to carry on his shoulders.

Desperate times breed desperate men, my son, Prince Adrahil had said long ago. How right the had been!

Imrahil had endured the ball, but only with serious effort and gritting his teeth against the anger he felt. It was too soon to react or do anything – acting rashly was the last thing he wanted, because Lothíriel's life and freedom were at stake, and she was the one who would pay for his wrong move.

She had not attended the celebration, for which he could not blame her. Consequently, she was not present when Lord Denethor made the fateful announcement... or to see the outrage on the faces of her brothers. As the Prince of Dol Amroth arrived in his study and fell to sit in his chair, he knew there would be hell to pay in the morning. The only reason they had not cornered him yet was because they were smart enough not to cause a scandal before the nobility of the realm.

Wearily he poured himself a glass of wine, thinking of this hopeless situation and what he could do. He knew he could not let Lothíriel walk into a fate so bleak, and yet... what choice did he have? The Steward of Gondor was the mightiest man in the land, and what he said went by. And if Imrahil tried to publicly oppose him, dreadful things might follow, for the shadow of war grew darker and steeper with every day and the realm was already struggling to survive.

Imrahil could hide his daughter, yes... but Denethor would expect that, and he would turn all the Prince's holdings upside down to find her. Was there a place in Gondor where she might be safe? He seriously doubted that.

A place in Gondor... no. The world was still wider than that.

The idea occurred to him as though a lightning had struck. He moved so fast, he nearly spilled his wine. He put it aside on the table and quickly pulled open the lowest drawer of his desk. There, under various objects and parchments, he found the small chest.

Most objects inside the chest might have made an outsider wonder why the Prince Imrahil would own such sentimental things. A curl from his wife's hair, sea shells she had picked up for him, small shiny stones Lothíriel had found from the beach when she had been a small girl, the treasure map Amrothos had drawn many years ago... it didn't matter what anyone would have thought, because all these little things stood for memories he had fondly kept in his heart. But now he was looking for one particular object, kept safe here for a long time, and the meaning of which only one person other than him would understand.

Then his fingers felt the smooth surface of what he had been looking for and he lifted it up to see it. And there it was, just as he remembered it from many years ago: the small rearing stallion of mearas, carved from light wood, and given to him as a token of friendship that would last forever.

Now had come time for him to find out if that promise still held true.

To be continued.