Imrahil's Daughters

Chapter 12

Dol Amroth, three months later

Lothíriel dipped her hand in the bucket of cold water from the well, hoping to ease the pain. No matter how many times she got stung by a bee, it still hurt. Fëanor the cat sat and watched her, showing very little sympathy. But then she didn't deserve any. "You're lucky," she said.

The cat flicked his tail, but displayed no other reaction. He had a remarkably self-satisfied expression, perhaps not surprising when one considered the number of little Fëanorians currently cavorting about the castle. Amrothos had long since run out of names for them.

Sighing, Lothíriel rose and flicked off excess water from her fingers. Then she pushed open the door and went inside her tower. The thick walls kept out most of the summer heat and she welcomed the cool shade. Fëanor had followed her inside. He now jumped up onto the comfortable chair by the window and rolled up into a tight ball.

Listlessly, Lothíriel sat down by her table and regarded her swollen hand. Involuntarily her gaze got drawn to the two faded puncture marks on her palm, the only visible reminders of those three fateful days. The snakebite had healed well. She stared down at the two red dots, idly wondering if she should find some plantain to crush and put on her hand, but couldn't really be bothered. Who cared, anyway?

The door creaked open and Fëanor lifted his head, only to drop it again.

"Lothíriel?" her aunt said, peering in.

"Hmm."

Ivriniel came over. "What happened?"

"I got stung by a bee."

"Have you seen to it?" her aunt asked.

Lothíriel shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I deserve it, as I wasn't paying attention." Old Hingam had said nothing, but then he hadn't needed to. She knew she'd been distracted the whole summer and not much of a help.

Wordlessly Ivriniel unearthed a pot of honey from amongst the clutter of her desk and dabbed some on. "There, that should help a little," she said.

"Hmm."

"Meril's been looking for you," her aunt added.

"Has she?" Elphir's wife had taken it upon herself to help with her clothes.

Ivriniel cast her a sharp glance. "Lothíriel, isn't it time you took an interest in your affairs again instead of letting others decide for you?"

They had covered this ground before. "Why should I?" Lothíriel asked back. "Meril has excellent taste in clothes."

Her aunt set down the pot of honey with a bang. "You know exactly what I mean!"

Lothíriel felt tired. Why couldn't her aunt simply leave her alone? "I'm perfectly happy to put myself in Father's hands," she said.

"Imrahil's hands!" her aunt exclaimed. "As if your father had anything to say in the matter. We both know perfectly well who calls the tune in this dance." When Lothíriel said nothing, Ivriniel began to pace the room. "Has a date been set yet?"

"No."

"But every other week another courier arrives from him," Ivriniel pointed out.

Lothíriel shrugged. "Father says the contract takes a lot of negotiation."

Her aunt snorted in disbelief. "If that man really wanted something, I don't think a little thing like a contract would stand in his way."

"Perhaps he doesn't want what he has contracted for anymore?"