14. Chapter 14
Dol Amroth - October 15 FA1
Sunlight flooded through the tall windows, firing the sprays of autumn leaves that crammed the huge silver centrepieces. Oak, beech, birch, chestnut adorned the tables – challenging the oncoming winter with flaming colours, vibrant and intense after the long dry spell. Amroth didn’t think he had ever seen the Great Hall decorated in such a way before, but the foliage display was not the only thing about this wedding that struck him so forcibly as different. The fact that his own nuptials were about to take place made it astonishing enough, but more than that – this was the only wedding he had ever attended where he knew every guest. Even the members of Aragorn and Éomer’s Guards, who clustered at the far end, were familiar to him.
Amroth ran his eyes along the lavishly prepared tables and saw Swan-knights in immaculate dress uniforms sitting together, their ladies arrayed in fine silks. There were senior servants looking a little awed at the prospect of being honoured guests, some anxiously glancing around, nervous as to whether their underlings would manage without them. Down one side sat soldiers, with chattering wives resplendent in their best dresses, determined to enjoy the day. It was a real family occasion. And he knew that after the magnificent spectacle of Lothiriel’s wedding, the intimacy was appreciated. Ephrem had told him so. His father’s steward keen to pass on how pleased the staff were to be able to enjoy the day after they had all worked so hard for the last, very extended, wedding celebration. Not that everyone could sit at ease for the entire afternoon, but all would get a chance to join in at some time. Amroth brought his eyes back to the head of the hall were Faramir was smoothing out long gold and blue ribbons into ordered ranks, laying them onto a table covered with dark velvet. His cousin must have performed many marriages since becoming Steward, but he would be leaving nothing to chance, all would be perfect. Amroth felt he should be entirely relaxed – Faramir was marrying them, his father and brothers stood behind him, his best friend stood next to him, and a great proportion of the people in the hall he had known all his life. But a niggle of unease wormed its way into his happiness – Devoran had no-one, and that worried him.
However, he could do nothing about it: after her grandparents’ deaths she had lost touch with her mother’s kin, and, understandably, Alhael had not been invited. Trying to dismiss his worry, Amroth ran his finger around his embroidered collar; the day was warm. He moved slightly to get himself out of the direct sunlight. Although Oríon didn’t appear to be hot. It would be very different at his wedding. Amroth turned to his friend, who was looking particularly splendid in dark red and had buffed up his neglected sword for the occasion. “It’s going to be cold at Yule,” Amroth remarked.
“It usually is, but I imagine the hall will be warm,” Oríon answered, slanting him an amused look.
“I meant in the tower. It might be a bit chilly when the sun goes tonight,” Amroth went on, “but when you go through this and take Luineth there, it will be the depths of winter.” Oríon, being offered the tower like many high ranking members of their household, had jumped at the chance.
He certainly didn’t look bothered by the threat of cold and his eyebrows rose jauntily. “I gave thought to that, but decided getting married at Yule has one great advantage. I am surprised you haven’t thought of it.” He waited for some reaction.
“Well?” Amroth wasn’t up to guessing games.
“If it’s freezing, Luineth won’t be interested in paddling or collecting shells, will she?” Oríon smirked. “Hopefully the wind will rattle the windows and the spray sweep right over the turret. And she will be happy to spend the whole twenty-four hours tucked under the covers.”
Amroth laughed, which released a little of the tension in him, but not all of it. Luineth would have her whole family to support her. “I hope Devoran is going to enjoy this.”
“Why shouldn’t she? Women love weddings, surely. Especially their own.”
“Yes, but normally they have their family around them. She is alone.”
“Elessar is very a very calming man. I am sure he will keep her composed.”
He knew Oríon sought to reassure him. That was his role today: to support and help deal with the bridegroom’s nerves. Amroth would be reciprocating at Yule, that was if Oríon had any nerves.
“I suppose he will,” Amroth agreed. Aragorn’s offer to take the father’s role had first alarmed Devoran, but she had soon seen the wisdom of it. And, notionally, if she hadn’t recently come of age, she would be a ward of Gondor anyway. “But although Aragorn might be calm, I am not sure about my sister and Éowyn.”
“Amroth, stop worrying,” Oríon sounded a little exasperated. “You are as nervous as a kitten. Devoran will be fine. She and Lothíriel seem to get on well, and Éowyn has a certain serenity since producing an heir for our Steward.”
The door opened at that moment and Lothíriel and Éowyn slipped into the hall. Both straight away looked towards him, grinning in the way women did when they conspired together. Lothíriel went to join Éomer, who was talking to Sergion, and Éowyn sat down next to Meren. Faramir bent his head and said something to Alphros, last minute instructions on passing the ribbons, no doubt. Although the lad had performed the task for Éomer and Lothíriel capably. Happy that Alphros knew what he was doing, Faramir left the ribbons alone, flashed Amroth a reassuring smile, and stood waiting, looking towards the doors.
Sensing the moment was near, the guests gradually ceased their conversation and heads turned his way. Amroth fixed his eyes on the doors, willing them to open.
“Last chance to run,” Erchi whispered from behind him.
But he didn’t want to run. He wanted Devoran with an intensity that frightened him. But he also wanted to see a smile on her face, and to know that she was happy.
“She’s coming,” Oríon indicated the trumpeters who were lifting the long shining instruments to their lips.
How did they know? He had seen no signal, but as the first note rang out, the doors swung wide. Immediately Amroth realised why the hall glimmered with golden leaves. Devoran glowed with the colours of autumn, from her gleaming hair to the rich dress. She shone like a treasure horde, enticing and tempting. He wanted to dip in and seek for the precious jewels.
“Now I know why you made me chase her through the mountains,” Erchi murmured appreciatively. His father and Elphir chuckled, Oríon whistled quietly through his teeth.
Amroth made no reply, his mouth had dried, and he could do nothing but stare at her. Devoran faltered slightly, nervously looking around at the daunting spectacle of a hall full of people standing up in her honour with their eyes fixed on her. But Aragorn leaned close to whisper something, and Amroth saw him squeeze her arm. Devoran pulled herself up and her eyes flew straight to where her future husband was waiting, surrounded by his family. Smiling, Amroth took a step forward, holding out his hand. Devoran blazed her way towards him, confidently, the King of Gondor at her side, her head held high.
Her confidence lasted through the ceremony. She had no trouble speaking her vows, looking straight into his eyes, her own soft and trusting. Even Alphros’ disgusted ‘yuck’ when Amroth took her in his arms and kissed her to claim her as his wife, didn’t disturb her poise. Although it amused those around. She sat through the meal with a smile on her face, laughing at the innuendos from his brothers and only blushing lightly during his father’s speech. It was only later, when they took the long path that wound down to the beach, and he gathered her up against him so she wouldn’t slip from Aero’s back, that he felt the first tremor of her nerves.
“Relax,” he whispered, “I won’t let you fall.” Although he didn’t really think falling from his horse was what was bothering her. “We are lucky, it is going to be another beautiful evening.” Colour streaked across the western sky, a few filets of cloud dark against the horizon. The air was still warm, a year when summer seemed reluctant to yield its pleasures and winter hesitant to advance.
Devoran nodded, but she didn’t say anything. Amroth wanted to laugh. He did not even mind that she was now obviously anxious, finding the thought of gently seducing his own wife extremely pleasing. Surely he could push away all memories of the dreadful attack on her. The guard would be turning back shortly, as soon as they reached the causeway. Not before time. He desperately wished to kiss her, somewhere nice, one of those lovely creamy bits. Think of something else.
He could not deny that he was truly looking forward to the rest of the evening, introducing her to pleasures she knew nothing about. However, the good thing was that he just as eagerly anticipated their wedding trip. He knew that she was going to enjoy it, and that pleased him. They would have fun because they made each other laugh and just delighted in being together. He was so looking forward to showing her Ithilien. And he knew that she would also take great pleasure in the delights of Minas Tirith. Whenever he visited the City, he seemed to be the centre of gossip. Well, he would definitely give them something to gossip about this time: the fact that he was so obviously in love with his own wife.
He was also hoping to take her to Rohan next summer; they could make a detour through the Vale. His father thought that by then she would wish to visit her parents’ grave, and he was always right. Amroth trusted that Aragorn would have thrown her brute of a cousin out before they got there. He laughed to himself, the hardest part would probably be persuading her to brave the tunnel and the dreaded spiders. It was the only doubt she had shown about his original plan to get married in Edoras. That was it! He knew exactly how to make her laugh and relax.
“In a moment the guard will leave us, and I am going to kiss you,” he whispered.
“Well, you will have to hold on tight or I will slip right off.” She laughed nervously. “I am not sure all this silk was such a good idea.”
“It looks beautiful and so do you.”
They reached the start of the causeway; it stretched out to the tower, stone piled upon stone to raise it above the water for a few hours each day. Silver fish splashed in the pools left by the receding tide. Their scales, catching the rays of the sinking sun, glinted red. Gulls wheeled and dived, squabbling nosily to snatch a meal from the open larder. Amroth gave all the activity no more than a glance, his mind on other things tonight. He acknowledged his captain’s salute. Gidon had been with him from the start of his pursuit of Devoran, and the man gave him a hearty wink before he turned his horse. As the Guard departed, Amroth guided Aero carefully onto the start of the causeway, the horse’s hooves kicking up fine spray as they clipped across the stone. The gulls circled around, screaming obscenities at the intruders spoiling their supper. Halfway across he eased Aero to a halt, the horse looking around curiously at the expanse of shimmering water. It lapped against the stones gently now, but soon the tide would reclaim the pathway with unstoppable power, locking them together, undisturbed, until the pull of the moon drew the seas away from the land again. Amroth had one arm around Devoran’s waist, holding her close, the reins looped through his fingers. The other hand he used to push aside her mass of hair. Over the summer the sun had turned her creamy skin to pale gold, but hidden flesh still had the hue of ivory. He placed his lips on the little bone behind her ear, gently caressing with his tongue.
A tremor ran right through her body, but to his relief, rather than pull away she pressed her body harder against him. “That tickles.”
He chuckled. Such an innocent. “It’s meant to.”
A squeeze of his knees and Aero moved on, soon reaching the rocky steps that led up to the dry land of the island. Not large – a small cove with a sandy beach, some tussocks of grass, and the tower. Looking out across the bay, it was nothing more than a room on top of a stable. But it served as a welcome bastion of privacy and peace for those who rarely managed to escape the ministrations of servants.
Amroth rode Aero right under the arch into the stable. Everything needed had been left ready, and the horse, having been exercised that morning and washed and groomed for the ceremony, only needed his tack removed.
“Stay where you are,” Amroth said as he slid down. As soon as his feet hit the floor he reached up for Devoran. She put her arms around his neck happily enough, but her whole body trembled.
“Devoran, surely you are not frightened of me?”
She shook her head, “No, I am just a bit nervous.”
Hardly surprising after her experiences. Amroth pulled her head onto his shoulder and smoothed down her hair. “Devoran, there is no race or competition, there is just you and me, and I love you.” She relaxed against him and he put his lips near to her ear. “As soon as I have settled Aero, why don’t we go for a paddle.”
“A paddle?” Her head shot up. Probably the last thing she had expected him to want to do.
“Yes. There is a lovely sunset. The beach is very pretty and the water will still be warm. We might not get another chance if the weather breaks.”
Devoran looked down at the rich gold material of her dress. “It sounds nice, but I do not think that I should paddle in this.”
“Well, you must be wearing something under it, and it won’t be for long. A fire will be burning upstairs if we get cold.”
“The undergown will have to come off as well or the pleats will spoil,” she said a bit dubiously.
“Nothing under that?” Well, he could hope!
“I am wearing an undershift, but it’s not at all decent.”
“Don’t worry, it will not offend me, and I am sure Aero won’t object.” Amroth thought he made a good job of keeping a straight face. She started to laugh; he had been counting on her sense of humour and squeezed her hand. “Let me put Aero in the stable, and I’ll help you with the dress.”
Amroth led Aero into the stall and quickly divested him of saddle and bridle. Immediately the horse buried its head in the feedbag and he left him eating.
Devoran was watching him with a wicked little smile of her face. “You don’t want to get that tunic wet. And before I take my dress off, you must remove your shirt.”
“My shirt?” Not that he had any objections.
She nodded. “Remember the woodpile.”
“Ah yes, my shirt it is then.” She had told him that during her lonely times she used to go there and think of him. Quickly he unbuckled his sword, and removed his tunic. Whilst he was doing that, Devoran slipped off her overdress and folded it over the wooden partition. But she watched him intently as he pulled off his shirt, her eyes dark in the dim light. As soon as the shirt joined the dress, she spun around and lifted her hair so Amroth could undo the laces of the undergown.
“Lothíriel said you would be doing this.”
“I bet she did not think that I would be taking it off in the stable.” Wanting to keep the atmosphere light he made a great effort to refrain from kissing that lovely creamy skin quite every time he exposed another piece of flesh. She was right, she was not wearing much, a silky shift, which ended just below her knees and was laced at the front to her waist. So enticing, his breath came out in a deep sigh, but if he started kissing her now they would never get as far as the beach, and he very much wanted the fun. Keeping his eyes averted from temptation, he took her hand.
“Come on, before the light goes.”
Little wavelets lapped at the edge of the beach and they ran towards them, the wet sand squidgy between their toes. The water was dark, but it was warm and silky. He led her deeper until the water reached her knees, and then pulled her into his arms, nuzzling into her neck. She was warm and silky, too. “Does the water feel nice?”
Devoran nodded, shivering slightly as the chill of the air got to her. Goose-bumps appeared on her arms and she snuggled closer into him. They wouldn’t stay out long, but he just had to do this.
“If you feel a little tickle on your feet, do not worry, the octopuses come into the shallows at night and wave their tentacles around. They love to suck your toes.”
Devoran left the water with the speed of an arrow. Her arms went around his neck, her legs wrapping tightly around his hips. Although he had been expecting it, she nearly had him over; he could hardly stand up for laughing.
Still chuckling, Amroth carried her out of the water, trying to catch her lips with his, but she jerked her head away angrily.
“You beast, you absolute beast!” she hissed, trying to squirm out of his arms. But Amroth held on tight and after a moment she started laughing, and he took the opportunity to kiss her. Salty and sweet, a kiss of exploration and promise.
“Amroth,” she murmured when they came up for air, “I have no wish to spend my wedding night rolling on the sand. Please take me to bed.”
“Devoran, it will be my pleasure.” He loved the way she was always so direct, “But I think we had better collect your dress on the way, as I do not quite trust Aero to refrain from eating it.”
The dress was recovered intact, but she bundled it up as Amroth insisted on carrying her up the stairs. He marched into the room and put her down in the middle. “I will just put a few more logs on the fire.” His eyes roved down the lacing of her shift. “You may wish to know that I have definitely decided which bit to nibble first.”
Devoran grinned at him, and pushed him towards the log basket. “Go on, I don’t want to get cold.” An eyebrow rose at that, but he went dutifully. She suddenly felt very happy, all the nerves had gone and she wondered how many others had had to wash sandy feet in a bucket in the stable. She looked around the room she had heard so much about. Hisael and Ana had taken great care: the huge bed in the alcove was topped with a colourful quilt and her pretty new robe hung on one of the posts. There was a marble topped table with food in earthenware containers, so they wouldn’t go hungry. The room was lit by candles in sconces, the glow from the fire and the last red rays of the sun peeping in through the open shutters. All intended to make their wedding night a time of bliss. But first she had something to do. Devoran flung her wedding dress over the screen, and picked up the modesty gown that had been left there. Giggling to herself, she held up the unbelievable garment. It was made of plain linen, and was like a cloak sewn up the front with slits for her arms, supposed to enable her to get undressed underneath without showing any flesh. Devoran nearly laughed out loud, wondering what Amroth’s reaction would be.
She draped it against her just as Amroth finished with the fire and turned around. His eyebrows drew together in a surprised frown.
“Whatever is that?”
“It is a ‘modesty gown’. I am told it is tradition for Gondorian brides. I can take my clothes off underneath it and do everything else required,” she declared, trying to suppress her laughter.
Amroth stared at her for a moment, stunned. Then stepped towards her and in one fluid movement, took it from her hands, scrunched it into a loose ball and tossed it straight out of the window. Without a word he swept her up into his arms and headed for the bed.
“Oh, that is interesting,” she said, schooling her voice to stop the laughter, “Lothíriel said Éomer threw hers on the fire.”
“I should darn well think so.”
Éomer had had a good day. In fact he had probably enjoyed Amroth’s wedding more than his own. He remembered being so impatient to take Lothíriel away, that he had barely eaten anything and had resented the speeches. But today he had taken pleasure in the food, the conversation with his friends, and even the dancing afterwards. Lying on the bed, resting his head on his arm while watching his wife brush her hair, was good too. She had not done up her robe, giving him an excellent view of her breasts. They were already fuller than they had been, and her belly was no longer flat, but nicely rounded.
He stretched; it would be even better when she joined him. “I thought brushing your hair was your maid’s job?”
“It is, but I gave her the night off. And anyway, Hulde has never felt the same about it ever since you came into my dressing room half naked and told her to ‘go away’!”
“I had not been home for three days,” he excused himself with a grin. “And don’t make out that I frighten her, because I don’t. Her brother is bigger than me.”
“But he is not her king,” Lothíriel retaliated. “You don’t realise how intimidating you can be.”
If he wasn’t careful his good day would end in a row. “If I promise to be polite to your maid, will you get into bed?”
Luckily Lothíriel smiled indulgently. But instead of getting up she leant on the table, propped up her chin with her hands, and sighed. “It must be lovely in the tower; do you remember our wedding night?”
Did he! She’d not fussed with her hair then. “Of course. And I will tell you, my love, that not for one moment did I notice anything reserved about you.”
She laughed, looking at him mischievously. “Ah, then you remember Amroth’s definition of a lady?”
“I do, but I am sure he will cope. After all, he has had plenty of practice.”
That provoked a scowl, but it didn’t last long. “Do you think they will swim naked in the sea?”
“Well, if they do, then I just hope it is a lot warmer than when we did it.”
“You were quite warm afterwards, if I remember!”
“Yes,” he smiled at the memory, “but then we had to go in again. That sand gets absolutely everywhere.”
She flashed him a grin. “What would you have done if Amroth had turned up at Edoras with Devoran, asking you to marry them?”
Éomer laughed, almost wishing they had. “Locked them in separate rooms and made them wait six months. At least that is what I told Amroth, I owe him a few.”
Lothíriel sighed, looking dreamy again. “I am really glad he is so happy, she certainly seems to suit him. I think he adores her.”
“I agree. But I also think that some of the attraction is that she is totally alone, so therefore she now belongs completely and utterly to him.”
“What do you mean by that?” Lothíriel looked surprised.
“He’s used to sharing other people’s wives, but he’s extremely unwilling for anyone to share his.”
“Éomer, I am sure he was not as bad as you make out. Most were widows.”
Éomer shrugged. “If you say so.”
“Well, I suppose there were a few,” Lothíriel conceded the point. “And it is unusually perceptive of you to realise that.”
“It is, and if you do not hurry up and get into this bed, your unusually perceptive husband is going to come and grab you.”
“You must not grab ladies in my condition,” she retorted, nose in the air.
“In that case, your unusually perceptive husband is going to come and grab you gently.”
A cool breeze sneaked through the open window, bringing with it the tang of the sea, and the low roar of the returning tide. But the fire kept the room warm and under the covers it was warmer still. Amroth intended that the temperature would soar. But there was no rush, only a desire to prolong the exquisite sweetness of loving a woman and holding her in one’s arms. He gazed down the length of Devoran’s slim body, creamy and inviting, his and his alone, to treasure and protect.
Amroth smiled into her eyes; there was no anxiety there now, only expectation and need. With a deep sigh of satisfaction he ran a finger across her flat stomach.
Devoran sat right up, eyes sparking alarm. “What was that!” she exclaimed.
He’d never had that reaction before! But then he heard a pitiful bark. Bark? No! It couldn’t be! Not now! The barking became frantic, and he heard scratching at the door below. Amroth groaned in frustration. This could not be happening!
“It’s Drummer!” Devoran cried, starting to climb over him to get out of the bed.
“No,” Amroth pushed her down, “stay in the warm. I will go.”
“How did he get here? Who let him out?” He’d strangle his brothers! And Éomer, him having something to do with it wouldn’t surprise him!
Amroth couldn’t answer because he didn’t know. Damn the dog! He would kill him!
“He must have followed us,” she went on. “You know he hates not to know where we are. I expect Alphros went to bed and he got lonely.”
“Lonely!” Amroth stalked to the window, shivering slightly in his nakedness, and shoved his head out. Drummer was under the window whining plaintively, tongue lolling out of his mouth. He looked exhausted. Catching sight of salvation, the miscreant thumped his tail on the step. Even in the half light Amroth could see he was soaking wet and shaking with cold. “He looks half drowned. He must have started to cross the causeway, but the tide comes back fast. The last bit would have been under water.”
“Oh, Amroth, he’ll get a chill,” Devoran wailed. “You’ll have to bring him up by the fire.”
Would he hell! “Drummer is not coming up here. I draw the line at that on our wedding night. He’ll have to go in the stable and Aero can sort him out. I’ll tell him to trample him to dust if he makes a noise.” Amroth snatched up his breeches and struggled into them. He looked round at Devoran. Naked and delectable, sitting in the middle of the bed. But instead of looking adoringly at him as she should be on her wedding night, she glared in his direction.
“You won’t let Aero hurt him?”
“No,” he relented, “of course I won’t.” Her face relaxed and a smile quivered. Amroth continued to watch her for a moment. His scrutiny made her snatch up the quilt, but she let it fall again when he quirked a brow in amusement. With sudden inspiration he lifted the cover on the food and grabbed a piece of chicken. That put a smile on her face.
“Don’t go away!”
As he stepped out of the door, Drummer launched himself. With his mind still on Devoran, Amroth had forgotten to forestall the dog’s enthusiasm and order him down. Dripping paws landed on his shoulders and the slobbering tongue raked his face, sand showering everywhere. “Get off, you hairy great monster!” He pushed him down. Drummer made a dive for the half open door and Amroth had to grab his wet scruff to haul him back. “Oh no, you don’t. There is no way I am sharing Devoran with you tonight.”
He held Drummer with one hand, holding out the piece of chicken with the other. “You can have it when you’re in the stable.” Drummer was torn between finding Devoran, and an extra supper. Amroth helped him make up his mind by pulling him around to the stable entrance. “In there!” He’d lost his patience.
He put the chicken on a ledge out of reach and opened the door to the stall, shoving Drummer in. Aero looked up from his meal unconcerned. The horse knew Drummer well and Amroth suspected he would probably be glad of the company. It was tempting to just throw the chicken in and leave, but Drummer was soaking wet. What could he dry him with? His shirt was still in the stable, but he baulked at that. Oh yes, that bloody garment he’d chucked out of the window. With a resigned sigh he went back outside and retrieved it. The thing was hideous! Whatever had Devoran been thinking?
Amroth wrapped it right over Drummer and started to rub him dry, all the while Drummer tried to rub himself against his legs, transferring his wet to him. “Stand still you horrible animal!” This was his wedding night, and he was fighting with a wet dog! He gave up; Drummer would have to dry in the straw. Amroth fixed the latch and looked back over into the stall; Drummer was mesmerised by the piece of chicken. “You don’t deserve it!” Liquid brown eyes pleaded starvation. Amroth gave him the chicken.
He wanted nothing more than to get back to Devoran, but he was damp and covered with sand. The shirt would have to be sacrificed. Amroth drew a bucket of water from the barrel and splashed it over his torso. Bloody freezing! Even an energetic rub down with the shirt didn’t warm him much.
When he got back upstairs, cold and a bit irritable, he closed the window, leaving only a small gap. With a thin moon and a brightness of cold stars, the temperature had dropped drastically. Devoran had retreated under the covers with only her head showing.
“Is he all right?” she muffled from the depths of the quilt.
Amroth struggled to regain his sense of humour; they had all night, and the rest of their lives. “He’s fine, tucked in the straw and munching on chicken. Although I am sure he’s already had supper.”
Devoran chuckled, and Amroth tugged off his breeches. With a sigh of pleasure he slid in besides her, pulling her warm body against his cold one.
“You need to get warm,” she murmured.
Too true, he did. And with no more interruptions! Amroth pushed her hair back from her face and let his lips gently brush against hers. But as he teased her with his tongue, she pushed him away slightly.
“Amroth, I have been thinking. Drummer had better come on our wedding trip.”
“He won’t like being left behind. What if he tries to swim after the ship?”
“I’ll make sure he’s locked up.” Chained in the guardhouse would be good, or even the dungeons!
“But he will miss us,” Devoran pleaded, “and he will love it in Ithilien. Your house in the City does have a garden so …”
Amroth groaned, stopped her appeal with a finger against her mouth, and proceeded to nibble along the edge of her ear. “Yes, Devoran, Drummer can come.” Right at his moment he would promise her anything. Just anything!
A/N For those who have not read Tide of Destiny Part 1, this is Amroth’s definition of a lady that comes during a conversation about his horse with Lothíriel.
“I will call her ‘Lady’, for she is just how a Lady should be.”
“Oh, and how should a Lady be?”
“Beautiful, proud, spirited, and just a little reserved.”
Heartfelt thanks to my wonderful beta, Lia. As always she has been with me every step of the way.
Part three – ‘Swansong’. Coming this winter.
At the end of her life Lothíriel remembers the important happenings during her life as Queen of Rohan.
Mithrandir’s prophesies are played out, and we look in on Amroth and Devoran.
Thanks for reading, and a special thank you to all who have reviewed or commented on any of my stories. LBJ
Original Characters in this chapter.
Devoran - Daughter of Duinhir, Lord of Morthond.
Princess Meren - Elphir’s wife
Hisael- Senior maid in the Palace. Once maid to Lothíriel
Ana - Junior maid.
Sergion - Previously the Captain of Lothiriel’s Dol Amroth Guard. Friend to Imrahil.
Oríon - Long time friend of Amroth – Son to Sergion
Luineth- Daughter of a shipbuilder from Pelargir. Met Oríon at Lothiriel’s wedding.
Ephrem - Prince Imrahil’s steward.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.