Imrahil's Daughters

Chapter 5

Amrothos put his head in his hands. "All right," he groaned, "let me see if I got this right: you are Lothíriel, who's pretending to be Gliwen, who's pretending to be Lothíriel?"

"Yes, that sums it up pretty well," Lothíriel had to admit. When had life got so complicated?

They were back to holding a council of war – the second one of the day. She stared out her window at the setting sun. Had it really only been twenty-four hours ago that she'd stood in this same place, confident of the success of her wonderful plan? How badly she had underestimated her opponent! She might as well have tried to drive away a mûmak with a toothpick.

Amrothos slumped down in a chair, making it creak alarmingly. "Scrubbing floors in Tolfalas," he moaned. "Ten years at least."

Lothíriel frowned. Miscreants in Dol Amroth were often sent on guard duty to the barren island at the mouth of the Anduin, yet surely Amrothos was exaggerating. "All's not lost yet," she said. "And anyway, nobody need ever find out your part in all this. I won't give you away."

"You won't have to. I believe Father is astute enough to be able to put two and two together, don't you think?"

Ivriniel patted his arm reassuringly. "Have a cup of tea, my dear," she advised. "I thought it went rather well. Do you think he noticed the garlic?"

Lothíriel gave her a weak smile. "I'm sure he did. It was a splendid idea, Aunt." Although it hadn't seemed to put the man off – she wondered if anything could.

"Well, if I am to wither away my poor life far from home," Amrothos interjected, sarcasm dripping from his voice, "Can you at least tell me why?"

"Why what?" Lothíriel snapped. They might have suffered a setback in their plans, but surely her brother didn't have to overreact in such a way?

"Why did you do it? You said yourself you wanted to keep his conversation with Gliwen as brief as possible!"

"I did." Trying to gain time to order her thoughts, Lothíriel crossed to the wardrobe and opened it. Why had she agreed to King Éomer's suggestion? She wasn't sure herself. Part of it was his strong personality, but beyond that? "I just felt so bad about lying to him, when he was so unexpectedly nice about me being in Minas Tirith," she sought to explain.

In fact it had been a relief to talk to somebody about her experiences. And to somebody who knew, who'd been there! His kindness had taken her by surprise and disarmed her defences. It was as if he were a different man with Gliwen. When he had approached her in the garden later to apologise for doubting a princess's word, the abrupt, cool king had been back with none of his former warmth.

"I know it wasn't very wise," she admitted, "but we'll just have to make the best of it." Then she brightened up. "Think of it this way: perhaps it will distract him from pursuing his match with the Princess of Dol Amroth?"

Amrothos stared at her so long, Lothíriel began to fidget. "That," he finally said, "doesn't even make sense by your twisted standards of logic." Then he frowned at her still standing in front of the open wardrobe. "What are you doing there anyway?"

"Trying to decide what to wear," she snapped. Why did he always have to be so negative about her plans!

"My sister is thinking about what to wear!" he exclaimed. "Oh, that I've lived to see this day."

She gritted her teeth. "It's not easy," she pointed out. "I need something that I – that is Lothíriel – would lend to me – I mean Gliwen."

He rolled his eyes. "Are you sure you still know who you are?"