Recovering from a devastating war as the city had been, it seemed almost too soon to be having frivolous celebrations, but it was the time-honoured tradition of currying favour at court and Aragorn was as yet an unknown entity, so the occasion to showcase one’s position and status became ever more important. The family most concerned with their position was that of Lady Hannedriel. She had had the ear of Denethor and had such a hold over him that she was regarded as the foremost Lady of Minas Tirith.
As Faramir had noted, she had two unmarried daughters, one of whom had real beauty and she had intended her for Boromir. With news of his loss, followed a month later by Denethor’s death and Faramir’s survival, her hopes were pinned on Faramir, only to have seen this plan thwarted by the upstart bitch from Rohan. With the city saved and the future looking distinctly more promising, she had sat down to look most closely at the options for her daughters.
The young and handsome King of Rohan was in need of a wife and a King trumps a Steward, even if he had been elevated to Prince. But the King had been seen gallivanting with that shameless Amrothian slut Lothíriel, who was clearly in such high favour at the new court that she could not be seen to overtly go against her as she had in the past. The rumour was that none of Aragorn’s circle, which included the King of Rohan, would accept invitations without Lothíriel’s inclusion. The Túrëlilt had been a disturbing spectacle - King Éomer had not been able to take his eyes of the little witch. She had to find a way of inviting Lothíriel but ensuring that she did not accept the invitation, which would give her own beautiful daughter the chance to entice the King, whom she would ensure would be sitting next to her.
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‘What a bitch,’ Gelian cried out when she opened the invitation from Lady Hannedriel as she sat with Éowyn going through all the invitations. ‘Oh, she thinks she is being so clever,’ Gelian continued outraged.
She handed the invitation over to Éowyn, who did not understand what was so offensive. Gelian snatched it back off her and read it out. ‘In celebration of our King’s coronation and great victory blah blah, the Lady Hannedriel invites you to a Felangian Feast blah blah. Look at the postscript – admittance will be restricted to those in Felangian dress, no exceptions. Ha, I doubt this invitation went out to Lord Aragorn with that postscript.’ Gelian quipped.
Éowyn was still looking confused. ‘My dear, Felangian dress for women reveals the full bare back. It is very obviously meant to deter Lothíriel from going…’ Gelian stopped for a moment. ‘Oh, you don’t know that bit of the story. Er, well… that’s not surprising. It’s never mentioned as that might elicit sympathy for Lothíriel and go against the narrative that she somehow caused the abduction and murder of her mother... Erm…’ Gelian appeared in some distress in the telling but continued determinedly, ‘Lothíriel was… flogged… by Pallakir, leaving her badly scarred… on her back. Fortunately, she has very thick long hair, so she will be able to hide it, even though the normal style of wearing your hair Felangian-style is mostly up, leaving only a thick enough strand to pretend to protect one’s ‘modesty’. Have you any idea where she will be today? She is so busy these days I hardly see her,’ Gelian asked Éowyn, who had been shocked by this revelation, one of the many details Faramir had omitted in his version of Lothíriel’s story.
‘Yes, I will be riding out with her late afternoon’ Éowyn replied stiltedly.
‘Right then, I will come with you and we can decide how we will deal with this. You will need to have a gown made up for you. She really is a cunning bitch that one. She knows you will struggle to have a gown made in time and only those rich enough to already have such a dress will be able to attend, which essentially means all her friends and their daughters. The style for men is easily adapted from what they already have, it is only for the women that this is a problem,’ Gelian explained.
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The evening of the Felangian Feast was to be held two days after the coronation. The coronation of Aragorn as King Elessar had been a very moving, almost spiritual event. The day had been dignified, with no dancing and carousing but friendly conversation and singing. The elves had sung their traditional songs of beauty and blessing, the dwarves had chanted a very warm, moving and solemn melody, which resonated deep into the hearts of those present. Lothíriel had sung with her father in Sindarin, the ancient coronation song of the Kings of Gondor, which she had somehow found in the depths of the Great Library of Minas Tirith. Faramir told Éowyn that Lothíriel had always holed herself up there on every visit since childhood so she did not have to speak with his father Denethor. He spent as much of his time as possible with her there and she had read a prodigious number of the ancient texts, so he was not surprised she had found a copy of the song. He was very pleased that she had asked her father to sing it with her. He ardently hoped they could reconcile as he believed they loved each other deeply.
Éomer had the impression that Lothíriel was avoiding him, yet, except for the song she sang with him, she had been conspicuously apart not just from her father and brothers but even from Faramir. Although she had been as prominent in the celebrations as he had been with Éowyn, she had stayed closest to the sons of Elrond and the Dúnedain from the North. In fact every time he looked to find her, she was in the presence of the leaders of the Northern Realms, even King Thranduil who seemed to be most engaged in her conversation. He could hear her laughter ringing out throughout the day and evening, but she was always encircled by the northern kings and their kin.
Meanwhile he was kept busy by the young ladies of Gondor all vying for his attention. Éomer allowed his thoughts to dwell on the conversation he had had the day before with Aragorn and Delwine regarding their proposal to ask Lothíriel to Rohan for six months before she went north. Aragorn had regarded them both enigmatically.
‘While that will displease many in the North, I can see that it makes sense,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘especially as I have a feeling that Dol Amroth will need her closer than they realise on their return home. We could do with her being more on hand here in truth, but the lady is determined to go north. If you can find a means of persuading her, I will support you whole-heartedly. I would advise asking Lady Éowyn to broach the matter with her and make it known that Faramir too is concerned at her lack of understanding the courtly dynamics of Gondor. There are matters afoot which you will miss as you will have returned to Rohan by then but Lady Lothíriel’s standing in Gondor is going to change considerably, although the exact outcome remains to be seen.’
Éomer had not known what to make of his last comment but it had caused him some concern. He had hoped that Faramir might be able to shed some light but Faramir just grimaced, telling him it was complicated and not everyone was going to understand, much to Éomer’s annoyance.
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Éowyn was caught up in a flurry of activity ahead of the evening of the much-anticipated Felangian Feast. They had the reputation for being wild events, the dances were so sensual that even the Song of Lúthien was considered tame. But it was above all an event for the elite, as few could afford the rare cloth of which the traditional Felangian costume for the ladies was made, nor indeed, the risk to their reputation in the wearing of it.
Made from a sea moss which could only be found along the coastline of Dol Amroth, it was known as Mithrellas Weave, and it glittered gold and silver depending on the light. These dresses were looked upon as heirlooms in aristocratic circles. Fortunately for Éowyn and those friends of Telari and Gelian’s, who like them, hailed from the best families of South Ithilien and Harondor, who otherwise would not have been able to attend, Lothíriel had a large reel of it in the stores at her father’s house in Minas Tirith which had been set aside for her wedding, however, it was hers to use as she wished. As ever, Lothíriel turned to Galador for help as the only person she knew with the most exquisite taste, the technical design skills and, most importantly, the connections with the best tailors in Minas Tirith. Already he was admired in those circles, owing to the spectacular creations he had designed for Lothíriel; he did not disappoint. Éowyn, Gelian, Telari and three Harondorian ladies who were chosen to accompany Lothíriel to the Felangian Feast were about to become the female equivalent of the Swan Knights.
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After much anticipation, the evening of the Feast arrived. Even though he had been warned of the somewhat scandalous dress code for the Feast, Éomer was still shocked when Éowyn descended from her quarters in the dress Galador had designed for her. While he had never seen her looking so lovely, he had not seen so much of her skin exposed since they were children. As he gazed at her open mouthed, she told him not to worry as all the ladies would be as scantily clad, this being the point of the Felangian theme. Unconvinced that any man would be able to control himself adequately, he begged his sister not to introduce the concept in Rohan.
When he saw how exposed her back was, the truth of Éowyn’s explanations of the undercurrent of ill will at court towards Lothíriel struck him forcefully. That Lothíriel’s hair was even longer and thicker than Éowyn’s fine blond locks was some comfort. She would easily be able to draw a veil over her back with her hair, as Éowyn had done, although not as much as Éomer would have liked. It was therefore with some trepidation that Éomer escorted his sister to their first famed Felangian Feast.
The celebrations were due to start before sunset on the hottest day of the year so far. With Éowyn wearing only a thin cloak to cover herself, they walked together to the imposing townhouse of Lady Hannedriel on the opposite side of Minas Tirith on the fifth tier of the city. It was a stunning setting, just below the large Amrothian residence. This was one of the few sections of the city which had received no damage during the siege as it had been on the opposite side to the main gate and backed on to the cliff face where the source of the city’s main water supply cascaded from the cliff face into the city’s underground reservoirs. The Feast was to be held in what was one of the largest courtyard gardens of the city, outside of the Citadel grounds.
Lady Hannedriel greeted them both enthusiastically, deftly separating Éowyn from her brother, whose arm was swiftly taken by her daughter Annedriel and taken to greet a select group of leading men of the city, while Éowyn was led away by a cousin of Lady Hannedriel’s late husband to the opposite section of the garden from her brother. As soon as Éowyn saw Faramir arrive on his own, however, she gracefully made her excuses and walked over to meet him.
‘Where is Lothíriel?’ they both asked each other simultaneously, ‘I thought she was coming with you,’ came their replies in unison.
Éomer saw them both looking worried from afar and similarly disengaged himself from his party. All three were walking towards the entrance when an increase in murmuring suggested the arrival of someone of importance. It could only be their new King Elessar. They saw Aragorn’s head appear over all the others around him as he most charmingly thanked the hostess for her kind invitation. Prince Imrahil was close behind him and they could just about see the heads of King Bard and Legolas. Inseparable as ever from their two greatest friends, it was assumed that both King Thorin and Gimli would be found with the new arrivals behind the throng.
The murmuring intensified, Aragorn turned to make way for six ladies, dressed in the same lovely shimmering cloth, all wearing their hair high up with the slimmest of plaits covering their bare backs. The effect was tantalising. Last of all to arrive through the crowd and the most visible due to her height, was Lothíriel, only it was not until she came fully into view that Éomer and Faramir realised quite the cause of the commotion at the entrance. She had evidently not worn any cloak on her way to the townhouse. Her dress had been cut back to expose her full back to the waist, not just plunging to below the shoulder blades, and her hair was swept fully up, with no attempt made at modesty.
She smiled wickedly at Lady Hannedriel and said in a loud clear voice which projected far into the crowd, ‘I must thank you, my Lady, for giving me such an opportunity to prove that the events of eight years ago which remain deeply etched on my body, were not, contrary to the many rumours that have circulated about me over the years,’ she paused for a moment savouring her words, ‘pleasant for me, and to show to all that I, at least, have nothing to be ashamed of. It was indeed, most kind and considerate of you.’
No one present misunderstood the sarcasm of her last words, least of all Lady Hannedriel, whose face had snapped into a frozen look of vengefulness, before she forced herself into a false smile. Lothíriel bowed graciously and moved on to join her father whose arm was waiting for her. Imrahil had insisted on partnering his daughter in a show of support he felt he had signally failed to give her when she had needed it before.
Lady Hannedriel knew, as well as Lothíriel, it would be Lothíriel who would remain the centre of attention the entire evening as everyone there would be drawn to look at her scarred back, the sight of which could not fail to elicit a sympathetic reaction.
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Gelian and Telari both made a beeline for Éowyn with the broadest smiles on their faces. Gelian had come in with Aragorn, an unexpected honour, and one which perturbed the many would-be courtiers amongst the gathering. Their new King was showing distinct favour to those families which had been closest to Ecthelion, Denethor’s father.
‘Did you know they were going to do this?’ Faramir asked Éowyn, as Gelian approached triumphantly. Gelian answered for her, ‘No, she did not, Faramir. None of us wanted her or you to be caught up in this as it’s not fair on Éowyn, nor also on you, Éomer King. This is a Harondorian affair and it will be dealt by us without involving wholly innocent bystanders! Lothíriel was most insistent, so our apologies for not letting any of you in on the plan. You do look lovely, my dear. Faramir is a very lucky man indeed. And how is your luck, Éomer? Has Lady Annedriel been sufficiently thrown your way yet? I believe you will be seated next to her at supper, so I do hope that she has managed to tone down her rather irritating laugh. Please save all our ears and do not be witty tonight, although she is so dull-witted that she will laugh even when there is no humour…’
The tables were most tastefully and extravagantly arranged outside in the main courtyard, which was dotted with plants and fountains, leaving the centre open for the dances to come. Imrahil and three of his children had been seated as far away from the table of honour as was decently possible given Imrahil’s status within Gondor. His son Erchirion, however, and his wife Amedlan, Lady Hannedriel’s niece, were both sat with her aunt on the main table, closest to the centre, but the gaze of most of those present was drawn the most exuberant corner of the courtyard, and to Lothíriel, her back openly displayed to the gaze of her detractor.
King Thorin broke protocol first and left his own seat at the table of honour to join Lothíriel. It was a grave lapse in etiquette only the northern lords could possibly have considered. He drew up a chair and sat himself most pointedly next to her. King Bard quickly followed suit, leaving Aragorn, Éomer and Faramir in the difficult position of having to maintain their places. Lady Hannedriel quickly indicated to some of her supporters to fill the two vacated seats to keep up appearances. While she struggled not to let it show openly, Aragorn sensed Hannedriel’s hatred of Lothíriel intensify, causing him some doubt as to their strategy. His instincts had told him early that Hannedriel was an even more formidable enemy than some of his advisors supposed and not just for Lothíriel.
Aragorn’s musings were interrupted by the shrill sound of a laugh, so grating it made him wince. Lady Annedriel was indeed a great beauty but had certainly not inherited her mother’s intelligence and sophistication. Mindful of Gelian’s remark, Éomer had been trying to keep his conversation with Annedriel as boring as possible, an easy task given her level of intelligence. Only Gelian had just walked past them and catching his eye, winked naughtily at him making him laugh involuntarily, startling Annedriel into laughing along with him.
As Lothíriel’s own arousing laughter drifted over, he found himself smiling wistfully towards her table. At least he could see Éowyn was having a wonderful time on Imrahil’s table when his sister gazed back over to him with a sympathetic smile.
‘Is it true that your sister will be married to Lord Faramir, Sire?’ Annedriel asked him coyly, following his gaze.
‘As there has been no official announcement, it would be wrong of me to comment,’ he said curtly.
‘Oh, but amongst friends as we are, surely there can be no secrets…’ she persisted.
‘Most of the friends we have in this city are sitting at the far table over there with my sister, my Lady and I am proud to call them such,’ he replied emphatically.
It was at that point that a messenger came to Aragorn and whispered into his ear. He looked slightly startled and indicated to the man to go to Imrahil’s table. Éomer thought that he would deliver the message to Imrahil, but instead the man went to Lothíriel and handed her the missive. The keenly observant Éomer could see both Faramir and Imrahil looking intently at her. For her part, she pretended that the missive contained nothing of importance. Had he not been paying such close attention Éomer might have missed her slipping unobtrusively away from the Feast soon afterwards. Imrahil, who could not fail to have noticed her absence from his table, looked most pointedly at Faramir, who threw a questioning glance at Aragorn. Seemingly busy diverting Lady Hannedriel’s attention away from Lothíriel’s departure, Aragorn ignored them both.
It was sometime later, as a troupe of musicians marched proudly into the large dining hall and began to play, announcing the commencement of the dances in the central courtyard of the gardens, that Lothíriel re-emerged. With no king as her partner this time, but the dashing figure of Lord Delantir, they were just in time to follow the first two lead dance partners, Lady Hannedriel with King Elessar and her daughter with King Éomer, onto the central wooden platform which had been positioned slightly raised so that all could see the dancers. Even the most enthusiastic of dancers in the gathering felt compelled to remain off the platform once Lothíriel and Delantir had swept dramatically onto it. As anticipated, the scarring on her back proved an irresistible draw to the eyes of Gondorian society. Even those not wanting to look, could not help themselves, and as they began to dance Lothíriel and Delantir so bewitching that both Aragorn and Éomer stopped their own dances to watch as they twirled gracefully together in a new style of dancing which only two such supreme athletes could hope to make possible.
Soon they had the whole platform to themselves and they shamelessly used it to the full. Only Aragorn’s presence prevented Lady Hannedriel stopping the music, as she had tried before Aragorn blocked view of her command. Knowing well that she was being purposefully humiliated, her determination to destroy this bitch of an Amrothian whore only deepened further. She secretly revelled in the fact that her servants had intercepted the message Lothíriel had been given. They had first assumed it had been meant for Aragorn, how much more satisfying had it been to learn that it had been destined for her greatest enemy. She was not going to be so easily outplayed.
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As soon as the music stopped Aragorn applauded loudly, leading the other spectators to do the same as he went over to ask Lothíriel for the next dance. Out of consideration to his hostess, Éomer felt it appropriate to stay with Annedriel as they had not had their full dance, but it was obvious that he was watching Lothíriel and Aragorn as they spoke together rapidly during their dance. King Bard was positioning himself to be her next dance partner, but her father was also circling. As her dance with Aragorn ended, he skilfully guided her to the waiting arms of King Bard.
With his apologies, Aragorn escorted Lady Hannedriel a second time onto the platform, explaining that after Lothíriel and Lord Delantir’s first dance, he felt that he should step in to calm things down or no one else might dare go to avail themselves of the delights of such gracious entertainment. The second dance over, King Bard led Lothíriel off the platform to sit down with King Thorin and they were speaking animatedly with each other in Dwarvish when Imrahil approached them. ‘Father,’ Lothíriel greeted him with an open smile. Imrahil was not smiling and asked his daughter stiffly if he might have the next dance. ‘Of course, Father. I would be honoured,’ she answered, her confusion turning to suspicion as she held out her hand for him to take.
It went very much against the etiquette of the evening that a father should dance with his daughter at a Felangian feast, but the evening had already been so far removed from convention that for once Imrahil did not care. He grasped his daughter close to him and went straight to the point.
‘What is going on, Lothíriel? And don’t pretend to me that nothing is, as it has been obvious to all of us that you are doing something for Aragorn, about which even Faramir is ignorant. I need to know,’ he whispered at her forcefully.
‘Father, you will have to ask King Elessar. It does not pertain to Dol Amroth, so you have nothing to fear in what I am doing. Please do not interfere,’ she shot back urgently.
‘You are still my daughter and therefore whatever you do does involve me,’ he said fiercely. Their dancing had become markedly more charged as they whirled around each other. ‘I am not letting you leave here until you tell me what is going on,’ he stormed.
She whipped out of his arms before the end of the dance and walked off, straight into the arms of Éomer, who had tried to place himself as near to them as possible. ‘Please don’t, Éomer King,’ she had started to protest but he was determined, and she found it impossible to resist him. Her body melted at his touch and she found it all too easy to match his slow interpretation of the sensual dance which followed.
‘You are proving difficult to get hold of, my Lady,’ he said light-heartedly to open the conversation.
‘You have hold of me well enough now, Sire’ she retorted archly. She immediately regretted her words as he backed away slightly from her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she followed with quickly, ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’ Éomer thought he had seen a faint blush on her cheeks, and she moved herself back closer to him.
‘Are you alright, Lothíriel?’ he asked gently. ‘You seemed to be in discord with your father.’
‘I’m afraid that is our usual state of communication, Éomer, as I believe you have witnessed already,’ she said sadly.
‘I will do anything I can to help, you know this, I hope, Lothi,’ he said with an intensity as well as informality which surprised her. She did not answer him but looked up to study his face as the music for the dance slowed to a close.
He held on to her hand and said, ‘One more? Since the normal rules of engagement are being challenged tonight, I think that would be acceptable, and you would have the added gratification of upsetting our hostess even more than you already have,’ he said with a provocative smile.
She laughed impishly, grasped his other hand and said playfully, ‘Well, let’s make this a dance she will remember, but after this I must leave. I can see that Aragorn is making his excuses and he is my escort back.’ And with that they both performed the Dance of the Swallows, making no pretence of their delight in each other’s embrace, sensuously gliding through the moves.
This time they had both managed to keep themselves sufficiently in check that she had not run away from him and he walked her off the platform to join Aragorn, presenting her to him with a bow, which Aragorn returned with an amused smile. With Éowyn and Faramir already at Aragorn’s side, ready to depart with him, Éomer was only too glad gave his thanks to the hostess. At the moment he looked up into Hannedriel’s eyes as he raised his bowed head, he thought he saw a deep maliciousness reflected in them, but it was not the look of a defeated adversary but one who was about to savour the delights of victory.
Puzzled, he joined Aragorn’s party to walk up towards the Palace. ‘It is such a lovely evening, we will walk back with you to your lodgings, Éomer,’ Aragorn announced. ‘Lothíriel, Faramir and I have another engagement down in the Delantine quarter we need to attend tonight, and you are on our way.’
As Aragorn seemed intent on speaking to Faramir, Éomer found himself happily walking beside his sister and Lothíriel, listening to Éowyn’s appraisal of the evening.
‘Gelian and the others will stay until the very end to counter any evil gossip, at Aragorn’s request,’ she informed Lothíriel.
‘That is most thoughtful of him,’ Lothíriel answered cautiously.
‘Why did you disappear from the Feast? Everyone was intrigued and kept asking me where you had gone,’ Éowyn asked boldly.
Lothíriel looked down at her feet and answered quietly, ‘As a friend, I do not want to ever lie to you, either of you, so please would you accept that I cannot answer that. Everything will become clear to all in the next few days, I must ask for your patience and forbearance. I am going to become extremely busy and I’m not sure how much I will get to see you both before you leave for Rohan and for this, I am truly very sorry. You have both been the best friends I could hope for,’ she told them earnestly, hesitating slightly before continuing. ‘Depending on how things go in the next few days, I might not be seeing you for a very long time. Please don’t press me on the details,’ she ended with great sadness in her voice.
Both Éomer and Éowyn were shocked into silence. They had not expected this, they were fast approaching their lodgings where they would be forced to say their goodbyes, but it was all too sudden to take in. They had both slowed their pace deliberately, desperately wanting to ask more but feeling they had no right to do so. Lothíriel had been most clear. Her demeanour had become decidedly less buoyant, she almost looked dejected and tired.
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Aragorn turned first and both he and Faramir quickly moved to insert themselves between the two ladies and a group of fast approaching men. Éomer too stepped up tall beside them, regretting his lack of sword at his side. Four tall men came striding towards the lights of the house. It was Imrahil and his three sons. He had a grim look on his face.
‘I demand to know what she is planning, Aragorn. She will tell me nothing other than refer me to you, and you will tell me,’ he raged. Aragorn raised his hand to show peace.
‘They have to know, Lothíriel, it is time they understood,’ Aragorn said calmly.
‘No,’ she answered determinedly. ‘Aragorn, please. We had an agreement that no one would be told. I do not want this… I do not need…. please, do not do this to me, after all I have done. Do not put me through this,’ she pleaded.
‘Put you through,’ Erchirion exploded, ‘Put YOU through. You bring disgrace to our family seemingly at every turn, as if your dancing tonight wasn’t enough…’
‘Quiet, Erchirion,’ Imrahil shouted to his middle son.
Aragorn acted immediately. ‘Éomer, may we please enter your house? This is not a conversation we can have on the street.’
Éomer bowed his acquiescence and made to lead the way inside.
‘Erchirion,’ continued Aragorn firmly, ‘You will not speak to your sister again in that way.’
Lothíriel was rooted on the spot shaking with silent fury. Aragorn had to take her by the arm and force her into the house. Lothíriel was ashen faced and now rigid with shock.
‘I would like to know why my daughter was seen kissing a man in the Gardens of Athelion, a man who is a known pirate,’ Imrahil began as soon as they were all inside, addressing himself first to Aragorn. Turning harshly to his daughter, he continued, ‘Or do you deny it? It has been alleged that he is your long-term lover. Lothíriel, what have you done? Our sources tell us that you have been leaving Dol Amroth unguarded, constantly indulging yourself with him while we have been at war.’ Imrahil raged at her.
Aragorn interjected, ‘Imrahil, it is not as you believe.’
‘Lothíriel, answer me,’ her father demanded of his daughter, ignoring his King.
Lothíriel had remained trembling but stationary. ‘Is this what you think of me, Father?’ she asked emotionally. ‘Is this what you think I am capable of?’ she said, the disbelief evident in her demeanour.
‘Lothíriel,’ pleaded Aragorn, ‘you must tell them the truth now. They have a right to know.’
Lothíriel shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. ‘Nothing has wounded me more than this, nothing,’ she rasped, breathing heavily.
‘You must tell them, or I will. It is time they knew,’ Aragorn argued.
‘No,’ she shouted in anger, ‘they no longer deserve to know. They are dead to me,’ she ended vehemently.
She walked to the open window and putting her hands to her mouth, gave a hooting cry of an unknown bird, which was soon answered by a return call. Aragorn looked up suddenly, recognising the cry and he walked over quickly towards her. She indicated for him to stop his approach and holding herself to her full height proudly, she told him, ‘You know where I will be. Do I have your authority to proceed as planned?
Aragorn inclined his head and said, ‘I leave everything for you to decide and deal with as we discussed, we will bring forward all arrangements and improvise.’
‘The boys must be away from Minas Tirith at dawn, Aragorn. After this, I cannot guarantee their safety,’ she said.
Imrahil was watching this with increasing frustration. ‘Lothíriel, what have you got yourself involved with? If you don’t tell me, how can I help you?’ he asked desperately.
‘That is the wrong question to ask, Father,’ she answered despairingly. She turned to him, her grief etched on her face. ‘I am sorry, Father, that I have not been the daughter you so wanted. I am sorry that I cannot be feminine and lady-like, I am sorry that I see things so differently from others. But I am not that daughter you dreamt of, and I never will be. I will always be a disappointment to you. I am sorry,’ she said tears streaming down her face, as she turned away and jumped out of the window into the garden below, vanishing into the darkness.
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Both Éomer and Éowyn had gasped and both surged forward to see how she had fallen but Aragorn stopped everyone. ‘She is fine, physically at least. And she will be safe,’ he added.
‘How do you know? What is going on here, Aragorn?’ Imrahil demanded.
‘She is safe because I recognise the call of the one who waits for her below. You know of whom I speak, Imrahil. I trust him with my own life and have done so on many occasions, believe me. And if she does not wish to be found, and I do not believe she does, you will not find her.’ Aragorn explained.
‘You have done Lothíriel a grave disservice,’ he went on, controlling his anger. ‘Everything she has done has been to protect you, Dol Amroth and Gondor in that order. I have stood by and watched how you have allowed yourselves to be poisoned by your envy and naivety, but I will stand by no more. Who followed her tonight to witness this meeting – a meeting I might add that I sanctioned? Who told you these lies?’ He glared at Imrahil’s sons, who could not return his gaze. ‘Even I have been in the city long enough to know that Lady Hannedriel will have had her followed and had her version of this story transmitted to you, Imrahil, by her nephew-in-law, your son. Even I know of her vitriol and bile against your family.’ Aragorn scorched a red-faced Erchirion with a glare he could not endure.
‘The man Lothíriel met tonight is my new Lord Commander of the Fleet of Gondor and Lord of Pelargir, a man to whom we are most indebted.’ Aragorn explained. ‘It was he who brought us the news of the battle plans of the enemy fleet of the Corsairs of Umbar, all through your daughter. He has been her go-between for the last six years between our allies in Umbar who have ever sought peace with Gondor, and value a trading relationship over the war mongering Sauron offered. Our main ally Prince Ottakar, the new leader of Umbar, will arrive tomorrow, four days earlier than expected and this is the message we were fortunate to receive tonight through our intermediary. These will be very delicate negotiations and they will not succeed without your daughter’s help. She is the key to all of this. Without her we could not have won this war and you, you do not value her unique skills at all,’ Aragorn descried uncharacteristically irate.
He turned to Imrahil’s sons and told them, ‘I must order all three of you and your families to return to Dol Amroth at dawn. You will not be safe here. Do not ask me why. I will not explain myself to you. But Erchirion, you will not go back to your wife or any member of her family or their household and tell them anything about what has been said tonight. You will tell them only that the man she met tonight was my messenger, she was sent to greet him at my express order because she speaks his language, and their formal greeting can look like a kiss if misjudged by the onlooker. Is that understood? If I hear of any rumour detrimental to your sister regarding this you will be banished from the lands of Gondor and Arnor forever, do I make myself clear?’ he commanded through gritted teeth.
‘Why would Lothíriel not confide this in me?’ asked Imrahil uncomprehendingly.
‘From what I have already observed in your relationship, you simply would not understand nor indeed believe her,’ Aragorn answered speaking more rapidly. ‘Imrahil, you are stuck in this image of her as this traumatised girl you couldn’t protect. She feels you resent her because she protected herself and denied you your role. I understand how frustrating it must be for you, but can you not see her for what she is? She is more than capable of taking on a role most men couldn’t succeed in. We need her, I need her. You have no idea what she has managed to achieve for us and yet she would deny you, and all of us here, this knowledge because she doesn’t want to cause any further ill feeling in your family, so resented is she for her abilities…’
He was interrupted by loud banging on the front door. Erchirion, glad of the excuse to do anything to get away from Aragorn’s ire, went to answer it and was flung to one side by an enraged Galador, followed by Delantir. Those who knew Galador were shocked, he had never looked so threatening, nor even so manly. He grabbed Erchirion and almost lifted him off the floor. ‘What have you done?’ he screamed, as Elphir quickly tried to prise him off his brother. ‘I haven’t seen her like this since Cirion’s execution. It’s always been you…’ he continued bitterly, as Elphir managed to separate them.
‘You resented her from birth. She has done everything for you, only you have your balls so trussed up by my bitch sister you cannot see the damage my family is still doing to yours. Do you know where my father is? He’s locked up. He embezzled so much from Dol Amroth’s coffers that you were almost bankrupt until she took over the finances, only Lothi wouldn’t let that fact become public to protect you. You have no idea what my family has done to yours and I won’t let that bitch of an aunt of mine do this to her again.’
‘That’s enough, Galador,’ shouted Imrahil.
‘No, Imrahil, no. Your sons need to know what she has done for them, for all of you. Your spoilt, insufferable sons who are not worthy of her.’
‘I said enough!’ roared Imrahil who lunged at Galador.
Delantir inserted himself between them and took the brunt of the attack steadfastly. ‘You will not touch him, my Lord,’ he said defiantly, as Aragorn and Faramir both moved to restrain Imrahil.
‘You,’ Galador said pointing accusingly at Erchirion, ‘you were only able to marry my sister because Lothíriel gave up her big estates on the coast to you. Lady Ivriniel had been so disgusted by your actions, all three of you, that she had disinherited you all in Lothíriel’s favour and yet because Lothi knew you wanted to marry my sister and couldn’t unless you inherited, she gave these up for you. You ungrateful shit. And you, Amrothos, she gave you the big estates near Ethring. Everything you have is hers by rights and this is what you do to her.’ Galador was working himself into a fury which astounded those who knew him.
‘She negotiated the arms and supplies for the war effort which meant Gondor could keep fighting. Could none of you work out where the metal and wood were coming from? Do you think Belafas alone can supply that amount? She had to go to meet the supplier in secret, she went by ship. Have you any idea how hard that was for her – to get back on a ship full of men after what she had gone through. And you accuse her of having a pirate lover? How dare you!’ he screamed.
‘This malice comes from my family. I know it all too well. And don’t think your family comes out of this well either, Faramir. We all know the ultimate source of this. When I was a child, I heard my parents boasting to another man about why my aunt had so much power at court: it was because she convinced Denethor that Amahlia desired him but was shy and the idiot believed her. He was so desperate to marry her. The fool! He tried to force himself on her. Do you remember the scar he had on his neck? Amahlia gave him that scar as she defended her honour with one of her hidden daggers. It was my aunt who patched him up and hid the scandal and you wonder why Denethor hated Lothi and her mother so much.’
Galador’s words ripped through Imrahil like jagged splinters of ice. He knew Galador well enough to know this was no falsehood. So much had Amahlia hidden from him, but this… Why had she hidden this from him? He groaned at the memory of her attempt to persuade him to let her stay in Dol Amroth instead of accompanying him to Minas Tirith that first time. He had coerced her to come for the sake of his two nephews, who wanted to meet their beloved uncle’s new wife and see their cousins as a family. He had not understood nor appreciated the extent of her kindness in acquiescing.
Faramir had gone pale. ‘I believe you,’ he said addressing himself directly to Galador haltingly. ‘I now understand an incident I witnessed when I was a child. It would have been around that time, when Amahlia was living with us at the Citadel as my father’s hidden ward…’ He paused as the implications of his memories washed over him. ‘I am sorry. I did not understand its significance at the time but to my shame and that of my father, I believe this explanation would corroborate what I saw. My love,’ he said turning to Éowyn, ‘if after all you have heard, you wish to renounce me, I will understand. I remember this - him leaving covered in blood from Amahlia’s quarters, the wound to his neck. I remember this. I just did not understand,’ he said in shock. ‘My father was a more dishonourable man than even I had thought. If you do not wish to be associated with me and my family, I reluctantly will accept your decision.’
‘Please, can everyone calm themselves,’ Aragorn said as Éowyn went to clasp Faramir’s hand and tell him not to be stupid, his father’s acts were not his. ‘It is late and we will all need to reflect on what has been said tonight but tomorrow we have Prince Ottakar arriving and we need to make the right impression. Much depends on these negotiations – for his sake as much as ours...
Elphir, Erchirion, Amrothos, there is more to be discussed within your family, but you will leave at dawn for Dol Amroth. Erchirion, you will only tell your wife what I have permitted you to say, or I will banish you from my realms. I will brook no disobedience on this.
Imrahil, I know this has been painful, but I must ask you to leave Lothíriel alone to fulfil what she must do. There is still much I need to explain to you, but it will have to wait. Faramir, you already know what I have asked of you.
Éomer and Éowyn, I apologise that you have had to bear witness to this, and I must ask for your absolute silence on everything you have learned tonight. Lothíriel is very sensitive about who knows. Her ability to negotiate favourable terms for us will be undermined if her status in Gondor is questioned, which is why she agreed to this attempt at rehabilitation. It was not something she enjoyed doing.
Delantir, Galador, how are preparations at your end? I know she is relying heavily on you both to deliver the necessary entertainments.’ Aragorn said commandingly.
‘We will have to work through the night, but we will just about make it and, my friends and I have sufficient skill to improvise the rest, Sire. We will not let this fail,’ Delantir answered with determination.
‘Galador,’ Aragorn turned to Lothíriel’s best friend who was still fuming after his tirade, ‘this wickedness against Lothíriel must end, I need you to come with me now. You can return to her as soon as you have explained more to me, because I know there is much more I need to understand.’ Galador responded to Aragorn’s firmness and assented with a respectful bow, his devotion to Lothíriel overcoming all awe he may otherwise have felt in Aragorn’s presence.
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Lothíriel’s ‘shadow’ had been waiting for her in the garden below the window. He had caught her easily as she jumped knowing, as he had been for many years, that he would be there for her. Only weeks after her mother’s death, her father had received visitors from the North. They had been taller than the average man, dark haired, with noble bearing but hardy from decades of toil. She was still traumatised and unsure of herself around men. She was unwilling to speak to them. She would communicate only with Faramir and Galador, but could not speak of her experience, even to them. The men had been kindly and treated her softly with such great respect that she had been wary of their motives. Her father told her that they were there to give her her inheritance from her maternal grandmother who had recently passed.
Lothíriel had not even known that her grandmother had still been alive. She had always assumed that as her mother had been a ward of the Steward of Gondor that both her mother’s parents were dead. These men from the North gave her father deeds to lands which had been lost in South Gondor, the province between South Ithilien and Harad, more commonly known as Harondor. They gave to her some more exotic heirlooms: an Elven sword of great beauty, made of mithril, more suited to a man’s stature but exceptionally light and possible for a woman to wield; some delicately wrought and unusual mithril jewellery; and two mithril daggers of great elegance – a woman’s weapon, which were secretly sheathed in elaborate bindings designed for the forearms.
The day after she had received these gifts and proudly wearing her new prized daggers bound to her forearms, she was walking on her own in the gardens of the Palace grounds where she usually went on balmy days to read whatever manuscript or book she could take with her. A scruffy man, his face obscured by a hood even in the heat of the day, appeared out of nowhere in the heavily guarded Palace grounds. Despite the trauma of her kidnap, this man did not instil fear in her. His manner was too hesitant and kind. He bowed to her deeply and spoke in a melodic voice which soothed her. He had not come to harm her, he told her, but had come as an emissary from her grandmother, to give her a private message which was never to be repeated to anyone else as there were many around her who were not to be trusted.
Her grandmother had wanted to come to her since she had been born, but she had been too ill to travel such a distance. Through her mother and grandmother before her, Lothíriel’s lineage and destiny were feared by the enemy and the family had needed to stay in hiding for many centuries. He had come to tell her of the prophecy which had been made about her family, to explain why her grandmother had been hidden from her. Lothíriel spoke easily to the man, finding her lost voice, and bade him to sit with her as she felt safe with him. He gave her his name when she asked it as Finglor.
She listened to him attentively showing no emotion. His voice penetrated her whole being and held her enthralled. She understood much of what had confused her in the past, fragments of whisperings overheard, strange events she had witnessed but which had never been explained to her. He sensed some guards arriving and swiftly left before she could ask him more questions, but she said to his departing figure, please come to me again. And from that moment, she found her voice return, and hope and trust rebuilt in her mind. Later she found out from him that he was not welcome in Dol Amroth, but he came back to her intermittently, always discreetly so that no one knew of their friendship, only Galador, whom she trusted beyond all others.
Finglor taught her how to fight with the sword, he taught her how to defend herself, wield the daggers with even greater accuracy, how to hide and to track others unseen. As she grew older, he trusted her with some of the story of his past, which had made her own suffering seem insignificant. She had not felt alone from that moment and he gave her the confidence and strength to take on the tasks in the years before the war was won, and he was still there for her through her efforts to win the peace.
A man of few words, he simply held her close to him and guided her to where she needed to go; she was too numb to do anything but follow in mute shock. Galador and Delantir, coming in search of her on the news of Ottakar’s early arrival, had met them on the path to the Delantine quarter which was dominated by Delantir’s own residence. One glance was all that was needed for Galador to understand she was in a state of severe trauma, and he demanded answers as he in turn held her tightly to him. As Finglor explained what he had overheard of the tirades inside, something in Galador had snapped. The anger that should have justifiably been felt by Lothíriel flowed into him. If she was too much in shock to act and defend herself, then he would. He, the mildest of men, would kill for her if she needed him to. Such a change came over Galador, such a rage, that without needing Finglor’s prompting, Delantir had run after him, fearing he would kill someone or be killed trying.
Delantir had met Galador on one of his visits to Minas Tirith many years before. Delantir had been fourteen, but the almost twelve Galador had seemed so much more mature and worldly. He had been fortunate, as the young and naïve Delantir had much to learn in order to protect himself. Delantir’s family had owned the quarter around their residence for centuries and his ancestors had had a scandalous yet commercially successful history, the key to which had been their support of what might be deemed the pleasure district of Minas Tirith, in the houses they owned around their large mansion.
Delantir’s memory of his father was hazy. To his only child he had seemed distant and cold; to his wife, supremely selfish and unworthy of her. Delantir’s mother had been a plain, resentful woman, his clearest memory of her was the look of uncharacteristic happiness on her spiteful face on being informed of her husband’s death when Delantir was only ten - an untimely and also suspicious death. The loss of his father had catastrophic consequences for his son. His beloved aunt, his father’s sister, had been summarily ordered out of the house by his mother. If his relationship with his father had been distant, that with his mother had been non-existent; only his aunt had given him any affection and she had done so in abundance. He never forgave his mother for forcing their separation and abandoning the only one who loved him to an uncertain fate.
Meeting Galador, and subsequently Lothíriel, four years later had been another turning point in his life. They gave him the reassurance and support he needed to become himself, not what his mother demanded. They had given him not only hope, but a strategy for survival. Life with his mother was unbearable, but with guidance from his two devoted Amrothian friends he learned to value himself while masking what he was, a necessity given the increasing risks to men of his persuasion. He became their hidden lifeline in the city and his friends gave him a foundation of trust and love on which he developed a network of like-minded men and women, not only those with particular preferences for their own sex but all those who could feel the city, its art and creativity being subverted by unseen influences.
His mother had been much courted by Lady Hannedriel and her faction on his father’s death, and his vain, stolid, insufferable mother had lapped up the attention. His inheritance was on a par with Hannedriel’s and he was of marriageable age to her two daughters. Counselled by Galador and Lothíriel never to reveal his true intentions, he had witnessed the political games Hannedriel’s acolytes played as they had attempted to seduce him to their side. He proved a fast and intuitive pupil of the art of diplomacy. Fortunately for him, Hannedriel was convinced he would be a perfect match for her youngest daughter, Margelith, and he was astute enough to play along until he was in full control of his inheritance and his destiny. The day of his twenty first birthday, he gave his mother an insultingly small annuity and banished her from his house. His beloved aunt returned to him the same day, the two women passing each other at the entrance, both in disbelief at their turn of fortune. Only then did Hannedriel have a suspicion that Delantir might not the handsome but dumb and malleable aristocrat she had assumed. A suspicion that grew over the intervening years to loathing as she began to uncover his true nature.
Many in the city blamed her for the increased persecution of those of his persuasion, a feeling Delantir shared with reason. Galador had never confided in him the full story which explained his aunt’s undue influence over Denethor but what he had just learned had made him even more determined to break her stranglehold on the city and make the next few days a worthy success for his new King.