Chapter 1

She did not know why the men were still discussing the matter. She had told her father that she would not marry Lord Belegorn, and even King Elessar had agreed that it was not a good match given their personality differences. Her Gondorian noble suitor had set his eye out for her, and as soon as he received the assent from her father, had pursued her relentlessly.

Lothíriel was nothing if not flattered; Lord Belegorn was one of the handsomest men at court, and had no lack of ladies to fawn over him. But his arrogant manner, his lack of regard for anyone else's opinions, and his belief that a wife had no other business than agreeing with her husband and bearing him children had made her reject him upon their first encounter.

Her father, Prince Imrahil, however, had seen him as an ideal suitor: high enough in aristocracy so as to be able to marry a princess, but not rich enough to demand too much of a dowry. But Lothiríel knew that if she stood her ground, her father would cave: he loved her too much to betroth her to a man against her wishes.

As it was, however, he was putting up a very good fight.

Just as she was about to open her mouth to speak again, a small cough interrupted her from the door of King Elessar's study. Lothíriel's family had remained in Minas Tirith for a while after the coronation to coordinate future plans with their new king, and in the meantime, Imrahil and Elessar had become such good friends that Elessar felt impelled to personally oversee his friend's daughter's marriage offers.

The small company, which consisted of the king, her father, Elphir, and herself, turned toward the source of the cough. Éowyn was standing there, looking bemused but innocent at the same time.

"I am sorry to interrupt, my lords," she said, inclining her head slightly. Despite growing up under an uncle who could barely look after her, Éowyn had the most impeccable courtly manner. "The queen has sent for the Lady Lothíriel. She has found a tear in the dress she is going to wear tomorrow to meet Éo—the King of Rohan." Lothíriel had a sudden feeling that her friend had purposely changed her address of her brother so as to make him seem more important. Was it just her or had Éowyn let loose a smile?

Her father made an impatient noise in the back of his throat. "Can you not do with the maids?"

Éowyn's face was again sober. "Well, I suppose we could, my Lord Imrahil," she said hesitantly. "It is just that it is an awfully large tear, and Queen Arwen specifically asked for the Lady Lothíriel because she stitches so quickly and neatly."

Lothíriel almost snorted at this, imagining Éowyn trying her hand at stitching the dress. The woman could barely thread a needle, and her stitches usually looked like those of a five-year-old child's.

Her friend persisted. "I am sure if it is just us, we would be up half the night, and—"

"Yes, yes," the king of Gondor interrupted, waving a hand to silence her. Lothíriel thought for a second that he, too, wore a small smile as he turned to her father. "It is already night, my friend, and it does not look like this discussion is leading anywhere. Why not let us sleep on the matter?"

Her father grunted, obviously annoyed, but unable to overrule King Elessar's command. Lothíriel hid a small smile, but a glare from Imrahil made it disappear again.

"Until tomorrow, then," she said, adding gravity to her voice. "I beg your leaves, King Elessar, father." With a nod from the king, she sprang away, glad to join Éowyn and leave the men behind.

Quickly, the other woman led her to the queen's chambers, where Arwen was sitting before her boudoir, brushing her long, black hair with a silver brush. On one of the chairs lay a beautiful blue gown that had a large tear on one of the sleeves.

Upon closer inspection, Lothíriel could tell that the tear was too neat, ripped singly, as if a pair of scissors had snipped through. Smiling knowingly, she gave the queen a curtsy.

"Good evening, my lady," she said, a bit too formally. Arwen smiled at her and glanced at the ladies-in-waiting around them. With a wave of her hand, they were gone. Lothíriel relaxed a little when it was only the three of them in the room.

"Thank Eru," she breathed, flopping down into one of the chairs. "I thought my father was going to go on all night." Wearily, she picked up Arwen's gown. "It was a good excuse, but it is a pity we had to ruin one of your gowns, Arwen."

The queen laughed and put down her brush before taking a seat on her bed. "No matter. Besides, we had to look busy, and you always work wonders on gowns. I am sure no one will be able to tell tomorrow."

She handed Lothíriel the needle and thread. "Hop to it!"

The other woman made a face but realized that she rather sew than listen to her father talk about Lord Belegorn.

"So who was it this time?" Éowyn asked, joining the queen on the bed. "Another noble lord? Handsome and rich enough for a Princess of Dol Amroth?"

Lothíriel looked up from her work. "Please do not start! It was Lord Belegorn. If ever there was a man more arrogant and chauvinistic, I have not met him."

Éowyn and Arwen gave her sympathetic looks. "I understand it is frustrating now, Lothi," Arwen said. "But love will come."

The woman made a disbelieving sound through her nose. "You mean true love?" she said the word with as much disdain as she could muster.

Éowyn's eyebrows shot up. "There are good men in this world. You just need to wait patiently."

Lothíriel was not convinced. "It seems as if I am always waiting. And for what?" she threw up her hands. "Why must I be the one to wait? I have done quite enough of it, thank you. Perhaps it is now my Prince Charming's turn?"

Arwen sighed. "We are not saying to wait for him to drop into your lap," she retorted, rolling her eyes. It was not often that Arwen spoke so plainly. "But you cannot expect to have him at your fingertips right when you want him."

The other woman bit her lip. "But what am I waiting for?" she asked. "I have been kissed already." When the other two exchanged glances, she could not help but continue. "Yes, I have! And it was nothing special. I did not want to. He forced himself onto me, and that is what will continue to happen when I am married."

Arwen gasped at this and leaned forward on the bed. Touching her hand to Lothíriel's arm, she said, "He forced you? Did you tell your father or brothers?"

"Yes," the woman said. "I did, and I never saw him again."

The other two gave a single sigh of relief. Then, after a pause. "It is not all like that," Éowyn said. "When you find someone you love, he will be gentle."

But Lothíriel remained unconvinced, and she sewed the sleeve vehemently. For a moment, Arwen realized just how young her companion was. While Éowyn was only twenty-six herself, she had seen war, and it had aged her mentally. Arwen had seen thousands of years go by, and it was at times like these, that she remembered what it was like to be young and naïve, to only be twenty, and not have seen much of the world.

That was not to say that Lothíriel was stupid or unaffected by the war. However, while Éowyn had been directly connected to it, Lothíriel, like many women of her status, had stayed away, safely tucked in her beautiful home of Dol Amroth.

"What occurs between a man and a woman," Arwen said, choosing her words carefully, "is very different when you are with someone you love, Lothi. It is enjoyable."

"Yes," Éowyn agreed. "If he truly loves you, he will see to it that you are also pleasured."

Lothíriel made a face. "If you say so," the woman mumbled and continued to sew.

Éowyn and Arwen could only exchange a knowing glance before steering the conversation somewhere else.

"Your brother is arriving tomorrow?" Arwen asked Éowyn.

The other woman nodded. "Yes. He will bring news of the state of Rohan with him. It will be good to hear of our economy from his own mouth."

The queen rubbed her chin. "Let us know what you need. Trade between Rohan and Gondor need to be strengthened in order for both countries to prosper."

Éowyn nodded again. "As always, we have an abundance of horses and hay, but not much else. This winter will be hard, I am afraid."

Lothíriel jumped into the conversation. This was finally something she was interested in. Talking about men all night seemed to have dulled her intelligence, but this shook her out of that ennui. "Dol Amroth has been stocking up on grain since before the war, and our soldiers always need horses."

She had been in charge of governing Dol Amroth while her father and brothers were away at war, and she had found that she had a knack for balancing books. Some of the counselors were even shocked at how she was able to predict the increase and decrease of prices on certain items in the market.

Arwen shook her head. "A good thought, but it has always been difficult to establish a route between Dol Amroth and Rohan. We have yet to build enough ships to go by the sea, and the roads around the mountains to the river take too long. The grain may not get to them in time."

The other woman sewed as she thought. "We must find another path," she said, finally. "But either way, the old routes have to be opened some time, and now is a good time as any." She picked up the dress and looked at it in the light. The tear was nearly invisible. "All done here," she said, handing back the dress to Arwen.

She turned to Éowyn. "As for the grain and horses, I will think on it some more. Perhaps I can find a small route that goes through the mountains instead of around them."

"Let my brother know," the other woman smiled. "I only have a general understanding of the conditions in Rohan. I have enough to do in Ithilien, thank you very much!"

The conversation continued late into the night, as the women discussed the state of their lands, and Lothíriel thanked Eru once again that her impending marriage was not mentioned once.