Chapter Text
“You said you’d be here an hour ago. I’ve been waiting, you know?”
Lothíriel had expected this exact reproach from the moment she’d noticed just how dark it had already become from the window of her solar. She did promise to be there as soon as they had finished supper, but sometimes, palace life wasn’t easy to escape.
“I’m sorry, Lina,” she huffed a breathless apology to her friend - she had been running to make up for lost time - and took her offered hand to clamber up from the awkwardly narrow trapdoor just behind her bed.
The apology wasn’t really needed, she knew. Lothíriel had never been exactly punctual - the flow of time simply never matched with the rhythm of her life, and by now, she had resigned herself to the fact that it would always be one of those reluctantly-accepted vices a princess could allow herself. Lina had always complained, but she still waited for her by that trapdoor whenever they had agreed to meet, never once letting her down.
“Important palace business, no doubt,” her friend rolled her eyes in pretend mockery.
“Midsummer’s Eve preparations,” Lothíriel explained matter-of-factly, dusting off her skirt and pulling out a stray piece of a spiderweb that was clinging to her hair.
She regarded herself in the mirror on the wall. Hair tied up in two long braids that ran from her scalp all the way down her back; a simple dress of beige linen with short sleeves, tied at the waist with an unassuming brown leather belt. No jewellery, no perfume, no rose-coloured blush powder on her cheeks.
This may be your most inconspicuous outfit yet, Lothíriel mused in quiet satisfaction. Midsummer was always a busy time, and although palace guards and household staff rarely ventured this far down towards the docks, one could never be too careful.
Lina opened the door of her room, grabbed Lothíriel’s hand, and started pulling her down the familiar long corridor lined with many doors, each with its own small lantern hung on a hook on the wall. Red for occupied, white for vacant. Lothíriel tried to ignore the grunts and moans that always filled this space as they made their way towards a large, ornate door at the very end.
Beyond it lay a different world - a world filled with raucous laughter, the clinking of cup against cup, and the occasional brawl that erupted when a particular woman caught the eye of more than one potential customer. It was the least proper place in the world for a princess to be, really, and the sights she had witnessed within its walls over the years still sometimes filled Lothíriel with cringing discomfort, but she had come to like the transgressiveness of her presence here. She had loved the fact that not a single soul in this establishment - save for her long-time friend - knew that the Princess of Dol Amroth was among them.
Lina was still grabbing Lothíriel’s hand and guiding her towards the exit that led out into the alley beyond. They had agreed to go to the city beach that night to watch the waxing moon that was about to reach its full size exactly tomorrow - on Midsummer’s Eve. A very auspicious and uncommon event, if her father’s astronomers were to be believed.
Instead of walking directly outside, Lina stopped by the bar, and asked the barmaid for two mugs of mead.
“Change of plans?” Lothíriel asked with a raised eyebrow.
Lina sighed and gave her an apologetic smile. “The matron expects business to be very good tonight. I might not be able to stay with you too long.”
“How come?”
As if the universe wanted to answer in her friend’s stead, the large entrance door was flung open and a handful of men staggered inside, clearly in various stages of drunkenness. All the heads in the room turned towards them in unison, and the hubbub quieted down perceptibly. No wonder - Dol Amroth hadn’t caught sight of the Rohirrim for many years; certainly not for as long as Lothíriel could remember. Their merchants and horse-breeders rarely ventured farther than Minas Tirith or Pelargir, and she had never seen a diplomatic visit take place in her lifetime.
That is - until now.
Lothíriel’s mood soured considerably at the sight of the straw-blonde heads pushing their way through the crowd, each bearing the embroidered stallion of their land proudly on their chests. She would lie if she tried to convince herself they weren’t impressive - tall like giants, much taller than the average Dol Amroth inhabitant, with the broad shoulders and cocky smiles of seasoned warriors.
I wonder whether my intended looks anything like this. It may compensate for the fact that he’s twice my age, she thought with no small measure of sarcasm.
“You know, I hate my job sometimes, but…” Lina whispered in her ear sheepishly. “I have a feeling tonight might not be so bad.”
“I hope stallions are not the only creatures they know how to ride well, if only for your sake, Lina,” Lothíriel quipped back at her.
A couple of years ago, she would not have imagined those words escaping her mouth - or even grazing her thoughts - in her wildest dreams. Her governess would have a stroke if she saw her right now. It would all be absolutely unimaginable for a princess - except here, she had never been a princess.
Lothíriel knew the evening was over before it even began - she noticed Lina already trying to catch the Rohirrim’s eye, and the stern matron of the place observing her girls closely from the corner of the room, making sure they’d make the most of this never-before-seen clientele. Lothíriel herself tried her best to avoid the men’s gaze - her dress and modest hair, in complete contrast to the other women’s deep cleavages, revealed backs and freely flowing locks, should have been enough of an indicator that she did not work there - but one could never be careful enough.
Her eyes trailed along the group, until they landed on the last one of them.
He was different from the others - he never stepped further than the entrance door, and ignored his companions’ attempts to beckon him closer to the bar. He was like a fish out of water - clearly not in his element, looking around at the crowd with a frown on his face, his eyes darting towards the door as if he was waiting for the first opportunity to open it and escape back where he had come from.
Lothíriel’s eyes must have been pinned on this curious man for a little too long - as if he could feel her gaze from across the room, he turned his head abruptly, and looked right back at her.
She should have dropped his gaze. She really should. But…
Looking back, Lothíriel didn’t remember what exactly it was that forced her to keep staring at him. She just knew it was some bizarre otherworldly pull; some force beyond herself that made her eyes lock with that man, in particular, in the midst of so many others. She wondered whether he had been gripped by a similar impulse - he was staring right back at her, brows still furrowed, but no longer as stern as before.
“Are you listening to me?” Lina pulled her back to the real world, where the roar of the crowd was once again as deafening and merry as before.
“I-I’m sorry,” Lothíriel mumbled, blinking a few times to shed that strange pull that had taken control of her own eyes. “What were you saying?”
“I said I will have to work tonight, after all. I can’t come with you, although I wish I could.”
Of course, she understood. It was disappointing, but a living had to be made, one way or the other. Lothíriel wished Lina didn’t have to work for it quite like that, but…
Oh well. Time to go to the beach alone, I suppose.
A quick kiss goodbye to Lina later, she was on her way towards the door, doing her best to avoid droplets of ale that were flying through the air at each drunken clinking - or rather, smashing - of cups together. He was still standing there, unmoving and utterly unconvinced of this place, but no longer looking at her.
He was probably just wondering what a girl who’s clearly not a worker is even doing here, Lothíriel tried to brush off her incomprehensibly quickened heartbeat.
Upon closer inspection, he was quite handsome. Very handsome, if she were honest with herself. Lothíriel had never been too keen on the polished, immaculate style of Gondorian male nobility, and this was just… the complete opposite. He had an air of something wild about him; something unkempt and unpredictable.
Inevitably, she had reached the exit, and he was still there, standing tall like a lone sentinel in a sea of depravity. He watched her as she emerged from the group of people that crowded the door - watched her when she stood right in front of him, looking up at him expectantly.
“Please, excuse me,” Lothíriel addressed him politely when he showed no signs of stepping aside.
“Hm?” he mumbled at her, his eyebrows raised, as if he had no idea what she wanted from him.
“Uhm… I would like to leave. You’re blocking the door.”
It was as if he had only noticed his position then - he quickly turned around to confirm there was indeed a door behind his back, and then turned back to her with an uncomfortable cough.
“Of course. My apologies.”
With that, he held the door open for her, and let her pass outside onto the busy alleyway beyond.
By another bout of magic - or whatever it was - Lothíriel felt herself stop in her tracks, irresistibly compelled to turn around and look at him one last time. And so - she did.
He was smiling at her.
A humble, unassuming thing barely visible through the beard that covered his face. Yet, unmistakably there.
That was the exact moment the fate of Lothíriel of Dol Amroth had been sealed, although she didn’t quite know it just yet.