Yours to Command

Imrahil's Table

Mithrellas was a hand-maiden of Nimrodel, who was lost when she fled Lórien. She was taken in by Imrazôr the Númenórean and bore him a son, Galador, from whom the Princes of Dol Amroth are descended. Ever after, it was held that they were fair of face and noble in speech and manner.

(Turgon: A brief history of Gondor)

***

He had a nice voice. It was rich and deep and Lothíriel had no doubt that he wouldn't have the slightest difficulty making himself heard over the battlefield, yet at times it also became low and warm - like when he had talked of his sister. And she had been wrong: there was just the faintest trace of a Rohirric lilt in it.

Lothíriel liked to imagine that voices had colours. Her father's was a silvery grey, elegant and cultivated, while Amrothos's was a fiery orange, quick and cutting at times. Then there was the deep amber of Elphir and the calm blue of Erchirion. As for the King of Rohan - it was red, she decided, but so dark as to be almost black and perhaps with a glint of gold in it. He was a king, after all.

And she would be well advised to remember that fact. He had been amazingly kind about her cavalier treatment of him, but she would really have to be careful to be more polite in the future. Her father had been flustered when she had come in from the garden with King Éomer. No doubt he had intended to smooth the way, and to prepare his ally carefully for the fact of his only daughter's blindness. The men were talking with each other now, and King Éomer had just accepted an invitation to dine with them tonight.

An insistent hand tugged at her sleeve. "Aunt Lothíriel," Alphros whispered. "Are you coming?"

Before she had a chance to answer, her sister-in-law interrupted. "Now, Alphros," Annarima said, "don't pester your auntie. It's time for you to go upstairs."

Lothíriel knew that her nephew was expected to eat his dinner in the nursery and then go to bed early. When he visited his grandfather in Dol Amroth that iron rule was often relaxed, but it looked like that would not happen in Minas Tirith.

"But it's important!" he protested. "I want to show her something."

"Being clean is more important," his mother replied. "Look at you, you urgently need a bath. You can show her in the morning."

"But by then it might be too late!" Alphros wailed.

His mother hissed at him to keep his voice down.

"I will come and see you briefly after dinner," Lothíriel offered as a compromise, "and you can tell me about it."

"Oh, very well," Annarima conceded ungracefully, "but first you're having that bath, young man. Look at you, you're a disgrace with dog hairs all over you."

Lothíriel stiffened. No doubt she was covered in Ernil's hairs, too, and her sister-in-law would have liked to send her upstairs as well. Annarima knew better than to say anything openly in Prince Imrahil's hearing, though.

Amrothos had stepped up beside her unnoticed. "I have to say, Annarima, it does seem that your son is rather dirty," he commented in a silky voice. "You really have to see that you keep our house cleaner."

"I keep my house spotless," her sister-in-law snapped back, readily falling into the trap laid for her.

"Not if it's got dog hairs all over it," Amrothos pointed out with perfect logic. "Will you take my arm, sister?" he asked. "We're going in to dinner."

Lothíriel took the proffered arm, but sighed inwardly. She was perfectly capable of fighting her own battles and in fact preferred to do so. When she pointed this out to her brother in a low voice, he just laughed.