Across the Grass Sea

dawn in dol amroth

The sounds of the castle and grounds coming alive filled the halls as I walked down the northern corridor towards my quarters. I stripped off my riding gloves as I swung open the door. Peace washed over me at the sight directly outside my window- the reflection of the trees and sky clear on the bay with the sun at its peak directly above. But the serenity didn't last long. "Oh, my dear sweet Elbereth! Lothiriel!" My door swung back open and the shrill voice that seemed to master all of Dol Amorth rang out across my room. Estile, my governess and the castle's head housekeeper was not one to observe courtesy unless she was reprimanding me for not doing just that. 

"That stench is invading my nostrils again. I told you Lothiriel, and I'll remind you once more! The stables are not your place at such an early hour. You must leave it for the men and the horses...Lothiriel! Do you hear me, child? And what is this?! Blood?!" Estile had been ruling the halls of the White Tower ever since my father was a boy. Now more than ever, as both he and my brothers were off fighting with the rest of the Swan Nights, she took comfort in likening me to the scoundrel he had been in his youth and frightening us the rest of the time into order and obedience. While she had taken to the running of the household and her caring of me with a renewed effort since the absence of the watchful eyes of my father and my brothers Elphir, Amrothos, and Erchirion she had always assumed a motherly role when it came to me. But at this moment Estile's shrieks of disdain seemed to fly in one ear and out another as I turned towards the door. 

There, another young woman stood in the threshold, watching with a bemused smirk as Estile dragged me towards the washbasin and scrubbed at the residual deer blood beneath my fingernails. As my hands were rubbed raw in the icy cold of the washbasin, I continued to assess the woman standing at the threshold. She looked about my age and was brown-skinned and tall, and seemed to find the sight of me-a woman of the same stature as her being coddled by a woman nearly half our height-extremely amusing. Her dark brown eyes twinkled with muffled laughter and she surreptitiously covered her mouth with her hand as Estile's antics grew in volume. "LOTHIRIEL?" I started and snapped out of my study of the girl and noticed Estile's frantic eyes and the angry crush of her mouth. "For the love of Valar, girl...you must bathe and dress. There will be much work for you in the infirmary today and rations to prepare for men riding back to Ithilien. While I set about feeding them, Rheeya here will assist you." As quickly as she had flitted into my chambers she was already halfway out the door and sending poor serving girls scurrying around the halls in search of grain, linen, and dried apples for the men's mounts. My hands, now free of the blood and grime of the morning activities, got to work unlacing my boots. 

"You really don't need to assist me in this, I manage quite well on my own and of course with words of encouragement from dear olde Estile..."

Casting a quick glance at the bow resting conspicuously behind the door and the muddy boots dropped at my feet she replied "I can see that my lady...but as it happens I have burnt nearly every batch of bread since we started at dawn, so I doubt Estile is eager to have me back in the kitchen or anywhere near it, actually," She drifted further into my room, her eyes searching for something for her to set her hands to work doing. "I also believe I heard her mumbling something about how she thought we would be well matched."

My interest was piqued by this considering Estile had always made a concerted effort to make me recognize how different I was from other women my age. Always an attempt to encourage me to exchange the boots for silk slippers or the bow for an embroidery needle. "Well-matched in what way?"

"Something about how 'neither of us can take direction or mind authority...'" I chuckled at that.

"Yes, well, you'll have to get used to that, Estile has been nagging me with that line ever since I can remember." I sized her up once more. Her accent didn't sound Gondorian or even similar to any of the other Numenorian dialects I had ever heard on the streets of Dol Amroth which was unsurprising considering she didn't look as if she could have been from anywhere in Gondor. She was of a darker complexion than anyone I would have normally seen on the streets of Dol Amroth. She was also much shorter than the average Dol Amrothian person with thicker brows, and deep brown eyes framed by impossibly long lashes that seemed forever crinkled in a mixture of amusement and concentration. It wasn't until she turned her back to me to retrieve my shift from the dressing room that I noticed that her hair was cropped short, falling right below her chin, highly unusual for Gondorian women who prided themselves on a sheeny mane falling as far down their backs as possible that made for the intricate braids piled on top of their heads. She stood in front of my bureau sorting through day dresses which had sat gathering dust for so long, I hardly remembered them.