Black Eyes

Preliminary skirmishes

All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable, when using our forces, we must seem inactive, when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away, when far away, we must make him believe we are near.

(Ecthelion: On War)

***

Dol Amroth, Third Age 3019.

All her life she had been an obedient daughter, the gracious and accomplished Princess of Dol Amroth, chatelaine of Prince Imrahil's castle.

Not any more, Lothiriel thought grimly, this time father's gone too far.

She surveyed herself in the mirror, slowly running her hands across the stiff fabric of her gown. It was made from silk and heavily embroidered, but the most striking thing about it was its colour, a bright pink that was a credit to the skill of the local dyers' guild if not its taste. In combination with the copious white frills the dress made her look like one of those confections made of spun sugar that the cooks of Dol Amroth sometimes stuck on cakes for special occasions. A slow smile spread across Lothiriel's face. Where the vibrant colours she usually wore made her golden skin seem to glow, the pink only made it look sallow and sickly.

"Please, my lady, won't you reconsider?"

Lothiriel had to suppress a quick twinge of guilt when she looked at her lady-in-waiting who was standing behind her, wringing her hands.

"Why, what's wrong with this dress?" she asked deceptively mildly, "My aunt gave it to my for my last birthday." She did not add that it had hung in the wardrobe ever since.

"Nothing," Lady Idril said faintly, "but perhaps the green might be better suited to the occasion?"

With a hopeful look she lifted one of Lothiriel's favourite dresses from where it was lying on the bed. For a moment Lothiriel eyed the rich green silk wistfully, but then she shook her head. As her brothers always said, if you did not care properly for your armour you could not expect to win the battle. It had to be the pink dress.

She turned back to the mirror and frowned. Her hair was still a problem. Glossy and black it fell nearly to the waist and she hadn't been sure what to do with it, but at Lady Idril's words an idea had formed in her head.

"Something green," she murmured, "of course, how very fitting."

Before the other woman could do more than give her a startled glance she had picked up a green veil and had thrown it over her hair, securing it with a white ribbon in that style at least half a century out of fashion like her aunt wore hers. Behind her, Lady Idril looked close to fainting and sat down heavily on the bed, startling Lothiriel's dog that had been dozing there. The great deerhound stretched and gave a huge yawn, regarding its mistress sleepily. Lothiriel thought wryly that the dog with its long slender legs, dainty ears and gracefully curved tail was now the most elegant being in the room. Was she just imagining the surprise in Anca's eyes?

The combination was really rather ... unusual, Lothiriel mused with another look at the mirror and wondered if the courtiers of Dol Amroth would even recognize her dressed like this. Of course she would make a laughingstock of herself, but then there were always casualties in a fight and the first sacrifice in this one just happened to be her vanity. The girl she saw in the mirror bore no resemblance to the elegantly dressed princess that usually attended her father's balls. The only features that reminded her of her old self were her eyes. These she had inherited from her mother, who had hailed from the south, and they were large and of the deepest black. Many a would-be suitor had remarked on their lustre and unusual colour. She would have to be careful to keep them lowered at all times, Lothiriel reminded herself.