Black Eyes

Preliminary skirmishes

Then she gave an inward sigh. In her heart of hearts she knew of course that it didn't really matter even if she were ugly, bowlegged and bad tempered. The only important issue was whether she was young enough to bear children and at twenty years of age she unfortunately fulfilled that requirement.

There was a soft knock at the chamber door and with a last horrified look at her charge Lady Idril pulled herself together and went to answer it.

"Is she ready yet?"

Lothiriel recognized her father's deep voice. So her guard of honour had arrived to escort her to the ball. Or was it to make sure she would not make a run for it? Giving her dog a last pat on the head, she went to join them at the door.

"Yes, I am ready," she answered her father herself and swept past him into the corridor, "Let's go."

For a moment Prince Imrahil looked at her thunderstruck then an expression of deep disapproval crossed his features. He had never been slow and unlike poor Lady Idril realized at once what plan she had in mind.

"Lothiriel!" he exclaimed, "What have you done to yourself? You will change into something more suitable at once."

By his side, her hapless lady-in-waiting was again wringing her hands. "She just wouldn't listen to me, my Lord Prince!"

Prince Imrahil totally ignored her, his attention being focused on his uncustomarily recalcitrant daughter.

Lothiriel lifted her chin. "If you say so father, but Aunt Ivriniel won't be pleased when I tell her I wasn't allowed to wear the gown she gave me."

That gave him pause. Even he did not take on her aunt without a really good reason.

"And more than that, we will be late," Lothiriel added. She would make sure they were. Her eyes met her father's and after a moment he pursed his lips in displeasure and gave a curt nod.

"Very well," he said, offered her his arm and turned to lead the way, nearly forcing her to run to keep up with his long strides.

Thanks to the advantage of surprise she had won the first skirmish, but Lothiriel had no illusions that her father was beaten, he was far too canny a warrior not to regroup quickly. After a few steps he slowed down, in control of his temper again.

"Lothiriel," he said warningly, "you will remember what you owe your station as a princess?"

"Of course, father," Lothiriel answered with her eyes downcast, "I always do." It wasn't as if she was ever allowed to forget, was it.

"We owe the man our lives and the survival of Minas Tirith."

"I know." And she was grateful for it, she just did not want to be the one to have to pay the price.

Her father gave an exasperated sigh. "Please, Lothiriel, just give him a chance, I'm sure you will come to like him."

They had covered this ground before; the battle lines had long since been drawn. "It doesn't matter one way or the other if I like him, does it," she shot back, "since you have already come to your decision."

He looked pained at her words and usually she would have relented, but ever since he had returned from King Théoden's funeral two months ago she had been seething with rage inside. It had been that or panic, so she had opted for the former. As if reading her mind, he stopped and took both her hands in his.

"I'm sorry that I was unable to consult you on this, daughter," he said earnestly, "but I was just too far away."

"There are fast couriers and the way under the mountains is open now," she reminded him, "it would only have taken a few days for my answer to reach you." And it would have consisted of a single word - no.