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Mareke found Amrothos in one of the quieter gardens of Minas Tirith, the sun filtering through the trees and casting dappled patterns across the stone paths. He was leaning against a low wall, his gaze fixed on the horizon, but he straightened immediately when he noticed her approach.

“Mareke,” he greeted her warmly, though there was a flicker of hesitation in his smile. “To what do I owe this honor?”

She smiled faintly, folding her hands in front of her as she stepped closer. “I wanted to speak with you,” she said softly. “About your… proposal.”

Amrothos’ expression shifted, his usual charm tempered by a quiet seriousness. “I’m listening,” he said, his tone gentle.

Mareke hesitated for a moment, searching his face before she spoke. “I like you, Amrothos,” she began, her voice steady but laced with honesty. “You bring a lightness to my life that I haven’t felt in years, perhaps not ever. And the idea of building something with you… it isn’t unpleasant.”

He smiled at that, a genuine warmth lighting his features. “That’s good to hear,” he said lightly, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze.

“But,” Mareke continued, her tone softening, “there are things we would need to consider. Important things.”

Amrothos nodded, stepping closer to her. “Such as?”

“For one,” Mareke said, glancing away briefly, “you are the third son of Dol Amroth. Where would we live? I am tied to Harad, to my son and my people. I don’t know if I could leave them entirely.”

Amrothos tilted his head slightly, his expression thoughtful. “I’ve spent much of my life traveling,” he said. “I’m not bound to Dol Amroth the way my brothers are. If we needed to split our time between Harad and Dol Amroth, I would be willing.”

Mareke studied him, her chest tightening slightly at the sincerity in his voice. “And then there’s my age,” she said quietly. “I am thirty-nine, Amrothos. I may not be able to give you children.”

Amrothos stepped closer, his gaze steady as he reached for her hand. “Do you think that matters to me?” he asked, his voice low but firm. “I’ve seen you with Adnan. You are already a mother, Mareke—a remarkable one. I don’t need more children to see a future with you.”

Her throat tightened, her composure wavering as she searched his face. “You say that now,” she murmured. “But what about years from now? What if you regret it?”

“I won’t,” Amrothos said simply, his fingers tightening around hers. “I know what I want, Mareke. And that’s you.”

Mareke exhaled slowly, her gaze dropping to their joined hands. She felt the weight of his words, the steadiness of his care, and for the first time in years, the possibility of a future that felt lighter, freer.

“I’ll need more time,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “To think. To decide.”

Amrothos nodded, his smile softening. “Take all the time you need,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Mareke smiled faintly, a warmth spreading through her chest as she stepped back. “Thank you, Amrothos.”

As she turned and began to walk away, she felt his gaze lingering on her, steady and unwavering. For the first time in a long while, Mareke felt the stirrings of hope—fragile, but real. And though the path ahead was uncertain, she knew one thing for certain: Amrothos was offering her something she hadn’t dared to dream of. And that, at least, was worth considering.

ooooOoooo

Mareke found Adnan in their private sitting room. He was reading through a document, his brow furrowed in concentration, but he glanced up when he heard her approach. Setting the parchment aside, he offered her a smile.

“Mother,” he said warmly. “What brings you here?”

She hesitated for a moment, her composure steady but her thoughts swirling. Finally, she sat beside him, folding her hands in her lap. “I needed to speak with you about something important,” she said softly.

Adnan’s expression shifted, his curiosity piqued. “What is it?” he asked, leaning slightly toward her.

Mareke took a deep breath, her gaze drifting to the flowers as she began. “I am considering the proposal from Amrothos.”

Adnan’s eyes widened slightly, though he said nothing at first. His surprise was evident, but so too was his effort to understand.

“You’re considering marrying him?” he asked after a moment, his voice quiet but steady.

“I am,” Mareke admitted, her gaze returning to him. “He is kind, Adnan. Sincere. And he… he makes me feel lighter than I ever have.”

Adnan studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “And you would leave Harad?” he asked, his tone carrying a faint edge of concern.

“Not entirely,” Mareke said quickly, her voice firm. “I couldn’t. My life, my responsibilities—they are there with you. But Amrothos and I have spoken of the possibility of splitting our time. Harad and Dol Amroth. It’s not ideal, but it could work.”

Adnan’s brow furrowed as he processed her words, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting hers again. “You’ve always been there,” he said softly. “For me. For our people. The thought of you not being in Harad all the time…” He trailed off, exhaling deeply. “It’s difficult to imagine.”

Mareke reached out, placing a gentle hand on his. “I know,” she said quietly. “But you are a man now, Adnan. A king. You’ve grown into someone strong, capable, and wise. You no longer need me by your side every moment.”

Adnan frowned slightly, his voice tinged with frustration. “That’s not true. I will always need you, Mother.”

She smiled faintly, her fingers tightening over his. “I will always be here for you,” she said. “But you must also understand that I am still a woman, Adnan. And this… this is something I am considering for myself.”

Adnan’s shoulders sagged slightly, the tension in his posture easing as her words settled over him. He was quiet for a long moment before finally nodding.

“I understand,” he said softly. “I want you to be happy, Mother. And if Amrothos can give you that, then… I won’t stand in your way.”

Mareke felt a wave of relief wash over her, though her chest still ached faintly. “Thank you, Adnan,” she said. “That means more to me than you know.”

Adnan managed a small smile, though his eyes carried a mixture of emotions. “You’ve given so much to me, to Harad,” he said. “If anyone deserves to find happiness, it’s you.”

Mareke leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You are a good son, Adnan,” she said softly. “And a good king.”

As she stood and began to walk away, Adnan called after her. “Mother.”

She turned, her gaze questioning.

“If you do marry him,” he said, his tone lighter now, “make sure he knows what he’s getting into.”

Mareke laughed softly, a warmth spreading through her chest. “Oh, I will,” she said. “I promise.”

And with that, she left the garden, her heart lighter than it had possibly ever been. The path ahead was still uncertain, but for the first time, it felt like a path she could walk with hope.

ooooOoooo

Mareke knew she had to speak with Éomer about her decision. She owed him that at least.

The opportunity came late one evening, when the day’s negotiations had concluded and the halls of Minas Tirith were quiet. Mareke found him in one of the smaller council chambers, leaning against a wooden table, a goblet of wine in his hand. His golden hair was disheveled, and his expression was pensive, as though he were lost in thought.

She lingered in the doorway for a moment before stepping inside, her footsteps soft against the stone floor. He looked up at the sound, his blue eyes narrowing slightly in surprise.

“Mareke,” he said, his voice low but steady. “What brings you here?”

She hesitated, her composure intact but her heart racing beneath the surface. “I needed to speak with you,” she said. “Privately.”

Éomer straightened, setting his goblet down as he folded his arms across his chest. “About what?” he asked, though his tone suggested he already had an idea.

Mareke approached him, stopping a few paces away. She held his gaze, her dark eyes steady but carrying a weight that made his chest tighten. “I thought you should hear it from me,” she began softly. “Amrothos has asked for my hand. And I have decided to accept.”

Éomer’s jaw tightened, his blue eyes flashing with a mix of emotions—shock, anger, and something deeper, harder to name. He turned away briefly, his hands clenching at his sides before he faced her again.

“You’re going to marry him ?” he asked, his voice rough with restrained emotion. “The Dol Amorthian princeling?”

Mareke straightened, her chin lifting slightly. “Yes,” she said firmly. “He has been kind to me, Éomer. Genuine. And he offers a future that feels… lighter than what I’ve known.”

Éomer exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “A future?” he repeated, his tone bitter. “What kind of future, Mareke? You in Dol Amroth, away from Harad? Away from your son?”

“No,” she said quickly, her voice sharp. “We’ve discussed it. I would not leave Harad entirely. We would split our time. I could never abandon Adnan or my people.”

“And you think Amrothos understands that?” Éomer asked, his voice laced with skepticism. 

Mareke’s eyes narrowed, her composure cracking slightly. “He has already accepted it,” she said. “He knows who I am, what I carry. And he does not begrudge me for it.”

“You should have more,” Éomer said. “You are not meant to be the wife of someone so insignificant.”

“That is not for you to decide. I have ruled alongside my father and now my son. I am tired of what significance has brought me.”

Éomer stepped closer, his blue eyes blazing. “And what of your heart, Mareke?” he demanded. “Does he have that too?”

The question struck her like a blow, and for a moment, she faltered. But then she straightened, her voice calm but unyielding. “My heart is mine to give,” she said softly. 

Éomer’s expression darkened, his chest heaving with the weight of his emotions. He wanted to argue, to say something that would change her mind, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he looked away, his jaw tight.

“Mareke,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “I never stopped—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, her voice trembling slightly. “Don’t say it. It’s too late for that, Éomer. We’ve both made our choices.”

He turned back to her, his expression filled with a mixture of regret and longing. “And you’re certain this is what you want?” he asked, his voice rough.

“I am,” she said, her tone steady. “Amrothos offers me something I haven’t had before. Peace. Joy. I need that, Éomer.”

He nodded slowly, his shoulders sagging as the weight of her words settled over him. “Then I hope he gives you everything you deserve,” he said quietly. “Even if it isn’t me.”

Mareke’s chest tightened, but she managed a faint smile. “Thank you,” she said softly.

They stood in silence for a moment, the unspoken weight of their shared past hanging heavily between them. Finally, Mareke inclined her head and turned to leave, her steps steady as she walked away.

Éomer watched her go, his heart aching with the finality of it all. She was choosing a path that didn’t include him, and though he hated it, he knew he had no right to stand in her way. Mareke deserved happiness, and if she believed she had found it with Amrothos, then Éomer would let her go.

But as the door closed behind her, the ache in his chest remained, a reminder of what might have been and what he would carry with him for the rest of his days.

ooooOoooo

The afternoon sun bathed the palace gardens in warm light as Mareke sought out Amrothos. She found him near the fountains, leaning casually against the stone edge as he watched the water ripple. When he saw her approach, his face lit up with a smile, his usual charm shining through. But there was something softer in his gaze, a quiet hopefulness that made Mareke’s heart flutter.

“Mareke,” he greeted, stepping toward her. “You’ve been on my mind all day.”

She smiled faintly, clasping her hands in front of her as she stopped before him. “Amrothos,” she said softly, her voice steady but tinged with emotion. “I’ve made my decision.”

His expression shifted, his gray eyes searching hers. “And?” he asked, his tone careful but filled with anticipation.

She took a deep breath, her composure wavering for the briefest moment. “I accept,” she said simply. “I will marry you.”

For a moment, Amrothos stood frozen, as though he couldn’t believe what he had heard. Then his face broke into a wide grin, and he reached for her hands, pulling her closer. “You will?” he asked, his voice filled with disbelief and joy.

Mareke laughed softly, a warmth spreading through her chest at the sight of his unguarded excitement. “I will,” she confirmed, her voice lighter than it had been in years.

Amrothos let out a soft laugh, his hands tightening around hers. “You’ve made me the happiest man in all of Gondor,” he said, his voice low but filled with emotion. “I promise you, Mareke, I’ll do everything I can to make you happy.”

Her smile faltered slightly, and she stepped back just enough to meet his gaze fully. “Amrothos,” she said softly, her tone shifting. “Before we move forward, I need to be certain that you understand what you’re agreeing to.”

His brows furrowed slightly, but his grip on her hands didn’t loosen. “I do understand,” he said. “But tell me anyway.”

She nodded, her voice steady but serious. “I am not just a woman, Amrothos. I am the mother of a king. My loyalty to Harad and to Adnan will never waver. I can’t leave my homeland entirely, and my responsibilities will always come first.”

He nodded, his expression calm. “I know that, Mareke. And I respect it.”

“I am also older than you,” she continued, her voice softening. “At thirty-nine, I may not be able to give you children. If that is something you desire—”

“I desire you, ” Amrothos interrupted gently, his voice firm. “Children or not, Mareke. I want you, and I want the life we can build together.”

Mareke’s breath caught at his words, her chest tightening as she searched his face. “You’re certain?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “This is not a decision to be taken lightly.”

Amrothos stepped closer, his hands moving to cup her face, his gaze steady and filled with sincerity. “I am certain,” he said quietly. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted, Mareke. I don’t care where we live, or what the future holds. As long as we face it together.”

Tears pricked at Mareke’s eyes, but she blinked them away, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “You make me feel like a girl again,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Amrothos smiled, leaning down to press a light kiss to her forehead. “Then I’ll make it my mission to keep you feeling that way,” he said softly.

Mareke laughed again, her heart lighter than it had been in years. For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to feel hope, to imagine a future filled with joy and companionship. And as she stood there in Amrothos’s arms, she knew she had made the right choice.

ooooOoooo

The grand hall of Minas Tirith was alive with laughter and conversation as the evening meal commenced. Mareke sat beside Amrothos at one of the central tables, the warmth between them palpable as they exchanged quiet words. Adnan was nearby, chatting animatedly with Haleth, while Éomer sat at the head table with Lothíriel, his expression unreadable.

The dinner was nearing its end when Amrothos stood, raising his goblet and commanding the attention of the room. His smile was broad, his confidence shining as he glanced at Mareke beside him.

“Friends, allies, and esteemed guests,” Amrothos began, his voice carrying easily over the hum of the crowd. “Tonight, I ask for your indulgence as I make a very personal announcement.”

The hall fell silent, all eyes turning to him. Mareke’s cheeks flushed faintly, her gaze flicking toward Adnan, who arched an amused eyebrow. Éomer, seated at the head table, stiffened, his blue eyes narrowing as he watched the scene unfold.

“I am honored to share with you all,” Amrothos continued, his tone warm and genuine, “that the most remarkable woman I have ever known has agreed to become my wife.”

A murmur of surprise rippled through the room as Amrothos turned his gaze to Mareke, his expression softening. “Mareke,” he said, his voice quieter now, though it still carried, “you have brought light into my life, and I can only hope to be worthy of the love and strength you give so freely.”

The crowd erupted into applause, the sound echoing through the hall. Mareke inclined her head gracefully, though her cheeks were warm with color. She reached for Amrothos’s hand, her lips curving into a faint smile as he squeezed it reassuringly.

But Éomer didn’t clap. His jaw tightened, his knuckles white where he gripped his goblet. His gaze bore into Amrothos, his chest tight with a storm of emotions—anger, jealousy, and something deeper, more painful. He had expected the announcement, of course, but hearing Amrothos speak so publicly, so boldly, about Mareke, felt like a dagger to his chest.

“And let us all raise our glasses,” Amrothos said, his voice lifting once more, “to the future we build with love and hope, no matter the obstacles of the past.”

The room cheered again, guests lifting their goblets in a toast. Éomer’s remained firmly on the table.

As Amrothos sat down, Mareke leaned toward him, her voice too soft for anyone else to hear. “That was bold,” she murmured, though her tone carried a hint of amusement.

Amrothos grinned, his gray eyes twinkling. “I thought it appropriate.”

Éomer exhaled sharply, his jaw working as he struggled to rein in the storm within him. His gaze remained fixed on Amrothos, who was laughing quietly with Mareke.

For the rest of the evening, Éomer sat in silence, his mind a whirlwind of regrets and unspoken words. Every glance at Mareke, every smile she shared with Amrothos, felt like a reminder of what he had lost—and what he would never have again.

ooooOoooo

Amrothos found Mareke in the quiet of a balcony overlooking Minas Tirith later that night, the pale moonlight casting a soft glow over the city. She was leaning against the stone railing, her dark curls spilling over her shoulders as the cool evening breeze played with the hem of her gown. She turned as he approached, her expression warm but curious.

Amrothos grinned, stepping closer until he was beside her. “I’ve been thinking,” he admitted. “About us. About the wedding.”

Mareke arched an eyebrow, folding her hands lightly on the railing. “Oh?” she prompted.

He turned to face her fully, his gray eyes alight with excitement. “Why wait? Let’s get married here, in Minas Tirith, while our families are gathered.”

Mareke blinked, her composure faltering for a moment as she processed his words. “Here?” she echoed. “Amrothos, this is a monumental decision. A wedding in Minas Tirith would be—”

“Perfect,” he interrupted, his grin widening. “Our families are already here, the city is alive with celebration, and it would save us from the back-and-forth of arranging something elaborate in Harad or Dol Amroth. It makes sense.”

Mareke hesitated, her gaze searching his face. “You’re serious,” she said finally, though her tone carried a note of disbelief.

“Completely,” Amrothos said, his voice softening as he reached for her hands. “Mareke, I don’t want to wait months, traveling back and forth, juggling politics and logistics. This is about us—our happiness. Let’s keep it simple and meaningful.”

She looked away, her thoughts swirling. The idea was impulsive, bold even, but there was a certain appeal to it. For years, her life had been governed by duty and caution. Amrothos’s suggestion was unlike anything she had considered before—an act of pure, unburdened joy.

“And what of Harad?” she asked quietly, her voice tinged with hesitation. “What of Adnan?”

“Adnan will understand,” Amrothos said, his tone confident. “And as for Harad, this is only the beginning of our story, Mareke. We can celebrate with your people in time. But for now, let this be for us.”

She exhaled slowly, turning back to him. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is,” he said with a smile, his hands tightening gently around hers. “We want to get married. That’s all that matters.”

Mareke’s chest tightened, a mixture of emotions swirling within her. She thought of Adnan, of Éomer, of the weight of the past she had carried for so long. But as she looked into Amrothos’s earnest, hopeful eyes, she felt something she hadn’t ever: freedom.

“Minas Tirith,” she said softly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “A wedding here would certainly be memorable.”

Amrothos’s grin widened, his excitement barely contained. “Is that a yes?”

Mareke laughed softly, the sound light and unguarded. “It’s a yes,” she said, her voice filled with quiet certainty.

He pulled her into an embrace, his joy palpable as he kissed her forehead. “You won’t regret this,” he murmured.

As Mareke leaned into him, the weight of her past felt a little lighter. For the first time, she allowed herself to imagine a future unbound by the constraints of duty and filled instead with the promise of something new.

Amrothos pulled back slightly, his arms still wrapped around Mareke as he studied her face, his gray eyes searching hers with an intensity she hadn’t expected. The excitement that had lit his features moments ago was replaced with something deeper, more vulnerable, and yet unmistakably eager. He reached up, brushing a stray curl from her cheek, his fingers lingering against her skin.

“Mareke,” he said softly, his voice rougher now, filled with emotion. “I’ve wanted to do this for a decade.”

Her breath hitched, her heart racing as his hand slid to the back of her neck, drawing her closer. There was a moment of hesitation, a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, as though he was giving her the chance to pull away. But Mareke didn’t. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her eyes fluttering closed as he leaned in.

When his lips met hers, it was gentle at first, a question more than a demand. But as she responded, her hands resting lightly on his chest, his kiss deepened, growing more certain, more fervent. Mareke felt a shiver run through her as his arms tightened around her, pulling her flush against him.

Amrothos broke the kiss only to press his forehead against hers, his breath coming quickly as he held her close. “You undo me,” he murmured, his voice thick with longing. “You always have.”

Mareke smiled faintly, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic as she steadied herself. “And you, Amrothos,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly, “you make me feel… alive.”

Her words seemed to undo him further, and he kissed her again, this time with an eagerness that left no doubt about the depth of his feelings. His hands moved to her waist, his touch firm but reverent, as though he couldn’t believe she was real. Mareke felt herself surrendering to the moment, her own composure slipping as she allowed herself to feel the weight of his passion, his sincerity.

When they finally broke apart, Mareke’s cheeks were flushed, her lips tingling from the intensity of his kiss. Amrothos cupped her face in his hands, his gaze filled with a mixture of wonder and desire.

“You are everything I’ve ever wanted,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”

Mareke’s chest tightened at his words, a mixture of joy and uncertainty swirling within her. But as she looked into his eyes, saw the sincerity and longing there, she felt something shift. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to believe in the possibility of love, of happiness, of a future unbound by fear or regret.

“I believe you,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions within her. “And I’m ready, Amrothos. For whatever comes next.”

His smile was radiant, and he kissed her once more, his touch filled with both passion and tenderness. And for the first time, Mareke allowed herself to believe that she could have a future filled with light, with love, and with the man who now held her so tightly.

ooooOoooo

The wedding was an intimate affair, held in one of Minas Tirith’s sunlit courtyards. The white stone shimmered in the late afternoon light, garlands of crimson and gold draped along the walls in homage to both Dol Amroth and Harad. A soft breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers through the air, mingling with the low hum of murmured conversations among the gathered guests.

Mareke stood at the edge of the courtyard, her gown a deep red silk embroidered with golden patterns reminiscent of Harad’s desert flowers. Her dark curls were adorned with delicate gold chains that framed her face, and her eyes shone with a mixture of serenity and quiet joy. She looked every bit the mother of a king, though this moment was for her alone, not her kingdom.

Across the way, Amrothos stood near his brothers and father, his gray eyes locked on Mareke. He wore the blue and silver of Dol Amroth. He looked more regal than usual, his easy charm softened by the weight of the moment. When their eyes met, he smiled—a genuine, radiant smile that seemed to set the entire courtyard alight.

Among the guests, Éomer sat with Lothíriel at his side, her hand resting lightly on her belly as she leaned toward him to say something. Éomer nodded absently, his gaze fixed on Mareke. He couldn’t look away, not even when Lothíriel’s soft sigh betrayed her awareness of his distraction.

As the ceremony began, the guests fell silent. Adnan stood proudly at his mother’s side, his dark features mirroring her quiet strength. He handed Mareke’s hand to Amrothos with a firm nod, his approval of the union clear. Mareke’s heart swelled as she saw the confidence in her son’s stance—he had grown into a man she could be proud of, and his support meant everything to her.

The vows were simple but heartfelt, spoken with sincerity that brought smiles and a few quiet tears from those gathered. Amrothos spoke of Mareke’s strength and grace, of the light she had brought into his life, while Mareke promised him a partnership built on trust and respect. When the officiant declared them husband and wife, Amrothos leaned in to kiss her, his touch both tender and filled with promise.

The courtyard erupted into applause, and Mareke felt a wave of warmth as she looked out at the smiling faces of her friends and family. Her gaze lingered briefly on Éomer, who clapped along with the rest but wore an expression she couldn’t quite read.

As the celebration moved into the evening, music filled the courtyard, and the guests took to the dance floor. Amrothos rarely left Mareke’s side, his arm around her waist as he led her into their first dance as husband and wife. They moved gracefully, their smiles never fading, and for a moment, Mareke allowed herself to feel the weight of her happiness, untainted by regret.

Éomer watched from the sidelines, his goblet untouched as he observed the scene. Lothíriel, ever perceptive, placed a hand on his arm, drawing his attention.

“She looks happy,” she said softly, her gaze steady.

“She does,” Éomer replied, his voice rough. 

Lothíriel smiled faintly, her hand resting on her belly. “You could be too, Éomer. If you let yourself.”

He didn’t respond, his gaze returning to Mareke as she laughed at something Amrothos said. The sound was light, unburdened, and it twisted something deep in his chest. 

ooooOoooo

The newlyweds retreated to Amrothos’ chambers after the celebration, the echoes of music and laughter fading behind them as the heavy door closed. The room was warm, lit by the flicker of a dozen candles casting soft golden light over the stone walls and richly adorned furnishings. Mareke stood near the center of the room, her fingers brushing over the embroidered edge of her red gown, her nerves suddenly sharper than they had been all day.

Amrothos watched her from the doorway, his gray eyes soft but unwavering as he stepped closer. “You look beautiful,” he said softly, his voice carrying none of the playful charm he so often wielded. Instead, there was reverence in his tone, a quiet awe that made Mareke’s chest tighten.

She smiled faintly, though her hands fidgeted with the delicate clasps of her jewelry. “Amrothos,” she began, her voice steady but hesitant. “Before we… before this goes any further, there are things you should understand.”

His brows furrowed slightly, but he came to her side, his hands resting lightly on her arms. “What is it?” he asked gently.

Mareke took a breath, steadying herself. “I’m not the maidens you’re used to,” she said quietly, her dark eyes meeting his. “I’ve borne a child. It’s left its marks on my body. And I’m nearly ten years older than you.”

Amrothos blinked, her words sinking in, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he tilted his head, his expression softening further. “Mareke,” he said, his voice low and steady, “I know who you are. I’ve always known. And I don’t care about marks or years.”

She searched his face, her chest tightening. “You say that now,” she murmured. “But in time, you may—”

“No,” he interrupted gently, his hands moving to cup her face. “I’ve spent enough time in meaningless pursuits to know the difference between fleeting infatuation and what we have. You are not a girl, Mareke. You are a woman. Strong, wise, and more beautiful than anyone I’ve ever known.”

Mareke’s breath hitched at his words, her composure faltering as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “And as for your marks,” he added, his lips brushing against her skin, “they tell the story of the life you’ve lived, of the strength it took to raise a king. I would never wish them away.”

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and she closed them briefly, leaning into his touch. “You make me feel like a girl again,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly.

He smiled against her temple, his hands sliding down to her waist as he pulled her closer. “Then let me keep doing that,” he murmured. “For the rest of our lives.”

Mareke laughed softly, a sound filled with both relief and joy. She reached up to touch his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over his jawline. “You’re a good man, Amrothos,” she said, her voice filled with quiet affection. “Better than I deserve.”

“You deserve everything,” he replied, his tone firm but tender.

When he kissed her, it was slow and deliberate, his hands tracing the curve of her waist as though committing every part of her to memory. Mareke felt herself relax into him, the weight of her fears lifting as she allowed herself to trust in his words, in his touch. For the first time in years, she felt truly seen—not as a ruler or a mother, but as a woman deserving of pleasure.

As the night deepened, Mareke let herself surrender to the moment, to the warmth of Amrothos’s embrace and the promise of a new beginning. And for the first time, she allowed herself to believe that this was where she was meant to be.

As Mareke’s fingers worked the clasps of Amrothos’ tunic, her composure began to falter, replaced by a sense of disbelief she couldn’t quite hide. The fabric slid from his shoulders, revealing the lean, chiseled frame beneath, his sun-kissed skin marked with the telltale ink of a Swan Knight’s crest over his heart. She paused, her dark eyes widening slightly as she took him in.

“This can’t be real,” she murmured, her voice tinged with laughter and incredulity. “I must be dreaming.”

Amrothos arched an amused brow, his lips curving into a crooked grin. “Dreaming, are you?” he asked, his tone light but laced with affection. “Should I be insulted or flattered?”

Mareke shook her head, her laughter spilling free as she reached out to trace the edges of the tattoo on his chest with a light touch. “Flattered,” she said, her voice filled with teasing warmth. “You’re so… young. And sculpted. Like something from a legend. I’m going to take this impossibly handsome man to bed, and surely I’ll wake up any moment now.”

Amrothos chuckled, his gray eyes gleaming as he caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I assure you, Mareke,” he said softly, his voice lowering, “I am very real. And very much yours.”

She flushed at his words, her laughter fading into something quieter, more vulnerable. “I’ve lived through so much, Amrothos,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “I never thought I’d have this —this moment, this feeling.”

He stepped closer, his hands sliding gently to her waist, his touch both steady and reverent. “You deserve this, Mareke,” he said firmly. “Every laugh, every joy, every moment of feeling cherished. Let me give that to you.”

Her throat tightened, her gaze locking with his as she felt the sincerity of his words settle deep within her. With a soft sigh, she leaned into him, her hands sliding up his chest as she tilted her head. “Then prove it, Swan Knight,” she said, her voice laced with both challenge and affection. “Make me believe this isn’t a dream.”

Amrothos grinned, his hands tightening on her waist as he leaned in to capture her lips in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. His touch was sure, his movements filled with the quiet confidence of a man who knew exactly what he wanted—and what he wanted was her.

As Mareke surrendered to the moment, she felt her laughter return, not from disbelief but from a sheer sense of joy she hadn’t felt in years. Taking this young, impossibly chiseled man to bed wasn’t just a dream—it was her reality. And for the first time, she allowed herself to embrace it fully.

His hands easily undid the laces of her gown, slipping it from her shoulders so it pooled at her feet. He then pulled her slip over her head and sighed as he took her in. 

Without a word, Amrothos scooped her into his arms and took her to the bed. He was upon her immediately, kissing from her jaw to her collarbone.

Mareke gasped at his fervor. Her arms looped around his shoulders and pulled him close.

He slipped from his breeches, settling between her legs. He looked at her, a question in his gray eyes.

Mareke nodded. “Please.”

“As you wish,” Amrothos said softly. He pulled one of her dark legs around his hip and sank into her with a groan.

Mareke’s back arched into him. “Amrothos,” she murmured, her mouth on his chest.

He kissed her neck and tangled his fingers in her wild curls.

She panted under his ministrations. “Yes.”

The tension built between them until they were both at the edge. Mareke cried out in her release.

Amrothos moaned her name before stuttering to a stop and collapsing next to her.

He looked at her with his easy grin, sweat shimmering on his brow. “I think we shall be quite happy.”

Mareke couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from her lips.

Chapter Text

As Mareke lay against Amrothos’s chest the next morning, her fingers lightly traced the intricate lines of the tattoo over his heart. The stylized swan, elegant and bold, stood out against his skin, a symbol of grace and strength. She had noticed it before but hadn’t had the chance—or perhaps the courage—to ask about it until now.

Her touch lingered, and she tilted her head up to meet his gaze. “Tell me about this,” she said softly, her fingers brushing over the ink. “The swan.”

Amrothos glanced down at the tattoo, a faint smile playing on his lips. “A mark of the Swan Knights,” he explained, his voice warm and unhurried. “It’s a symbol of belonging to the brotherhood. Every knight of Dol Amroth earns one when they take their oath.”

She tilted her head, her fingers pausing. “You’re a Swan Knight?” she asked, curiosity and a hint of surprise in her tone.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating beneath her cheek. “I am,” he replied. “Though perhaps not what you’d expect from one. I’m not the most disciplined knight among their ranks, I’ll admit.”

Mareke raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching with amusement. “That doesn’t surprise me,” she said lightly. “But I imagine you earned this mark for a reason. What does it mean to you?”

Amrothos grew thoughtful, his hand idly stroking her back as he considered her question. “It’s about loyalty,” he said finally. “To my family, to Dol Amroth, to something greater than myself. The swan represents honor, beauty, and the enduring strength of our people.”

Her touch grew gentler, reverent almost, as she took in his words. “And yet, you carry it so lightly,” she said, her voice quieter now. “As though it doesn’t weigh on you the way my roles have weighed on me.”

He smiled, his gaze softening as he met her eyes. “Because I’ve learned that carrying it lightly doesn’t make it any less meaningful,” he said. “It’s a part of me, but it doesn’t define me entirely. Just like being a mother, or an advisor, or a queen-in-all-but-name doesn’t define you entirely. You’re so much more than the roles you’ve filled, Mareke.”

Her chest tightened at his words, and she rested her hand over his heart, the inked swan beneath her palm. “You have a way of putting things that makes them seem simple,” she said softly.

“That’s my gift,” he teased gently, pressing a kiss to her hair. “And maybe my curse. But it’s yours, if you’ll have it.”

Mareke smiled, her heart lighter than it had ever been. As she lay against him, her fingers still tracing the swan, she thought of the way he carried himself—unburdened but no less loyal, no less honorable. It was a quality she had come to admire deeply, and one she realized she could learn from.

The swan wasn’t just a symbol of his belonging; it was a reminder that strength could be found in grace, and that loyalty could coexist with freedom. And in that moment, Mareke found herself grateful—not just for the man who held her, but for the lessons he would continue to teach her, simply by being who he was.

ooooOoooo

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the open windows of their chambers, casting a warm glow over the disheveled bed and the clothes strewn carelessly across the room. Mareke sat behind Amrothos, her fingers working through his dark hair with a tenderness she hadn’t realized she was capable of. He sat comfortably on the edge of the bed, his shirt still unlaced, exposing the swan tattoo over his heart. His usual playful grin had softened into something quieter, a rare stillness overtaking him as she brushed out the tangles from their time spent together.

For most of the day, they had been wrapped in each other’s arms, a blissful escape from the obligations and festivities that loomed over them. But now, as the evening approached, duty called again, and they had begun the slow process of preparing to rejoin the world.

Her fingers moved methodically, untangling the knots with care. She had brushed hair before—her own, her son’s when he was young—but this felt different. Intimate. Special. Each stroke of the brush felt like a quiet declaration of something she couldn’t yet put into words.

Her gaze lingered on his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the faint laugh lines near his eyes, and then… the glint of something silver catching the light. A small hoop earring dangled from his left ear, subtle but undeniably present. She tilted her head, curiosity sparking.

“I hadn’t noticed that before,” she said, gesturing toward his ear. “The earring.”

Amrothos glanced at her, a playful grin already forming. “Ah, my infamous earring,” he said, leaning back against the pillows and turning his head slightly to show it off. “You like it?”

“I think it suits you,” Mareke replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “But I can’t help but wonder—why? It doesn’t strike me as... traditional for a prince.”

He laughed, the sound rich and carefree. “That’s because it’s not,” he admitted. “It was an act of rebellion.”

Her eyebrows rose in interest. “Rebellion?”

“Absolutely,” he said, his grin widening. “I got it when I was barely out of boyhood—fifteen, sixteen maybe? My father had been lecturing me about duty and honor for weeks on end. I was tired of being the youngest, always overlooked or scolded for not being as serious as Elphir or as dutiful as Erchirion.”

“So you got an earring,” she said, her tone amused but intrigued.

He nodded, clearly enjoying her interest. “I wanted to do something entirely my own—something that would make me stand out. My father was furious, of course. Said it was unbecoming of a prince of Dol Amroth.”

Mareke smirked, shaking her head. “And did it work? Did it make you stand out?”

“Oh, it did,” he said with a laugh. “For weeks, everyone in the palace had something to say about it. My father threatened to rip it out himself, but I stood my ground. Told him it was part of who I was. He eventually let it go—though I think that was more my mother’s influence than anything else.”

She studied him for a moment, her gaze softening. “It’s funny,” she said quietly. “You’ve always seemed so carefree, but I think you’ve spent a good deal of your life proving yourself, haven’t you?”

His grin faltered slightly, replaced by a more thoughtful expression. “I suppose I have,” he admitted. “Not that I’d ever let on, of course. My charm and wit are far more entertaining than the truth.”

Mareke reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against the earring. “Well,” she said softly, “it suits you. The rebellious sailor-prince.”

He chuckled, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her fingers. “I prefer to think of myself as a charming rogue,” he teased. “But I’ll take it.”

As she continued to brush his hair, Mareke couldn’t help but smile, the glint of his earring now a symbol of the man beneath the charm—a man who had always sought to carve out his own path, even within the constraints of his noble birth. She felt a quiet sense of satisfaction at knowing she was part of the life he had chosen for himself.

Amrothos closed his eyes, a soft sigh escaping him. “You’re spoiling me,” he murmured, his voice low and content. “I could get used to this.”

“You’re already spoiled,” Mareke replied lightly, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness. Her fingers lingered in his hair, her movements slow and deliberate. “You’re far too comfortable letting someone else take care of you.”

He chuckled softly, his head tilting back slightly to glance at her. “Can you blame me? I’ve never had someone quite like you.”

She didn’t reply immediately, her focus remaining on the task at hand. But her touch grew softer, her fingers brushing against his neck as she smoothed his hair into place. For a moment, she allowed herself to simply feel—his warmth, his presence, the quiet trust that had settled between them.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a moment, his voice laced with curiosity. “Should I be worried?”

Mareke set the brush aside, her fingers still lingering in his hair. “No,” she said softly, her voice steady. “I’m just... thinking.”

“Dangerous,” he teased, his grin returning. “Should I brace myself?”

She shook her head, her lips twitching into a faint smile. “Not this time.”

He turned slightly, just enough to catch her gaze, his expression softer now. “You don’t have to say anything, Mareke,” he said gently. “I’m patient, remember?”

Her chest tightened at his words, the unspoken weight between them both comforting and overwhelming. She wasn’t ready to say it yet—not because she didn’t feel it, but because she needed to be sure. Sure that this was real, that it wasn’t just a fleeting moment in the midst of change.

Instead, she leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“For what?” he asked, his tone genuinely curious.

“For being patient with me,” she replied. “For giving me time.”

Amrothos smiled, reaching up to take her hand and pressing a kiss to her fingers. “Take all the time you need, Mareke,” he said, his voice warm and sincere. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She smiled faintly, her hand lingering in his. Though the words she wanted to say remained unspoken, she knew he understood. And as they rose to prepare for the evening ahead, Mareke felt a quiet certainty growing within her—a certainty that, in time, she would be ready to say what her heart already knew.

ooooOoooo

The evening’s festivities were well underway when Mareke entered the hall, her crimson gown flowing effortlessly around her. The subtle smile she wore was one of contentment, though she carried herself with the same quiet dignity that always marked her presence. As she moved toward Amrothos, who was already deep in conversation with a group of guests, she felt the familiar weight of gazes following her.

Standing nearby were Elphir and Erchirion, Amrothos’s older brothers. As princes of Dol Amroth, they bore themselves with the grace and authority of their station, but their shared lineage with Amrothos brought with it an irreverent streak that often showed at the most inconvenient times.

Erchirion was the first to speak, his voice pitched low enough to ensure only Elphir and Mareke could hear. “Well, look at that,” he said, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Our dear brother’s wife looks positively radiant. I wonder what could have caused it.”

Elphir, ever the more composed of the two, smirked but made a show of keeping his expression neutral. “Indeed,” he murmured, his tone dry. “Marriage must agree with her.”

Mareke arched an eyebrow as she approached them, her lips twitching into a faint smile. “Is there something you’d like to say directly to me, my princes?” she asked, her tone calm but laced with amusement.

Erchirion chuckled, bowing slightly. “Forgive us, Princess Mareke,” he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “It’s just that you seem... remarkably well-rested for someone who spent all day tangled with our youngest brother.”

“Elphir,” Mareke said, turning her gaze to the eldest, “do you often let your younger brother speak so freely?”

Elphir inclined his head, his smirk growing slightly. “Rarely, Princess. But in this case, I fear it’s unavoidable.”

Mareke’s smile didn’t falter, though her dark eyes gleamed with sharp wit. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said lightly, tilting her head. “Though I must say, it’s fascinating to see how much sailors notice from afar.”

Erchirion laughed outright, clearly pleased with her response. “You’re sharp,” he said, shaking his head. “No wonder Amrothos is so smitten.”

Elphir, meanwhile, gave a slight bow. “On behalf of our family, allow me to formally apologize for my brother’s lack of decorum.”

“Not necessary,” Mareke replied, her smile softening. “I’ve spent years dealing with bold men. I’m more than capable of handling your brother.”

As she moved past them toward Amrothos, Erchirion leaned closer to Elphir, muttering, “She’s a good match for him.”

Elphir nodded, his expression more serious now. “Better than I expected. He’ll need her steadiness.”

Mareke reached Amrothos just as he turned toward her, his grin widening when he saw her. “And what mischief have my brothers been causing now?” he asked, clearly amused.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Mareke said smoothly, slipping her arm through his. “Though I think they’re rather pleased with how content I look.”

Amrothos laughed, leaning closer to whisper in her ear, “Good.”

ooooOoooo

The music in the hall shifted from lively to tender, then back again, creating an ebb and flow of energy that seemed to mirror the joy of the celebration. Mareke had danced more that evening than she had in her entire life, and it was entirely Amrothos’s fault. He had hardly let her leave the floor, his infectious energy and endless charm pulling her along no matter the tempo of the songs.

When the musicians began a lively tune, Amrothos grinned down at her, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. “This one’s for us,” he said, grabbing her hand before she could protest.

“Amrothos, we’ve already danced—” she began, but her words dissolved into laughter as he twirled her abruptly, his exuberance impossible to resist.

“You married a sailor, Mareke,” he teased, spinning her again and pulling her close before whisking her into the next step. “We dance until the stars fade.”

She shook her head, laughing helplessly as he guided her through the intricate turns and steps, his movements light and effortless. His joy was infectious, and before long, she was caught up in the rhythm, her earlier protests forgotten.

Amrothos twirled her madly, spinning her under his arm with such exuberance that her skirts flared around her. She gasped, her hands gripping his arms as he caught her mid-spin and pulled her back into his embrace.

“I’m exhausted,” she said breathlessly, though her wide smile betrayed her amusement.

“And yet, you keep saying yes,” he replied with a wink, dipping her low before sweeping her back upright and into another turn.

As the music shifted into a slower, more melodic tune, Amrothos’s pace softened, his hands resting lightly on her waist as they swayed together. Mareke’s laughter faded into a quieter smile, her gaze meeting his as they moved in time with the music.

“I haven’t danced this much since…perhaps ever.”

“Then I’m doing my job,” he replied, his grin softening into something more tender. “You deserve nights like this, Mareke. Nights where you don’t have to think about anything but the music.”

Her chest tightened at his words, and she leaned into him slightly, her fingers brushing against the back of his neck. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For this. For everything.”

Amrothos smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead as the music carried them. “Anything for you,” he said simply, his voice filled with sincerity.

ooooOoooo

The morning of her departure was quiet, the kind of stillness that felt heavy with unspoken words and unexpressed emotions. Mareke stood with Adnan in the shaded courtyard of the palace, the faint desert breeze ruffling her robes. She had already bid farewell to the others—kings, queens, and nobles—but this goodbye was the hardest.

Adnan, now a young king in his full stature, looked at her with a mixture of pride and reluctance. She reached up, her hands resting gently on his shoulders, her gaze searching his face. “ Ibni (my son), ” she said softly, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. “It feels like I am leaving a piece of my heart with you.”

Adnan’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though his dark eyes glistened with emotion. “You’ve been my strength for twenty years. I wouldn’t be the man I am today without you.”

“And you’ll continue to be that man,” she said, her hands tightening on his shoulders. “You are a king now, Adnan. Wise, strong, and beloved. Your people look to you, and I know you’ll never let them down.”

“But I’ll miss you,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “I’ve always had you by my side, guiding me. It feels... strange to think of you being somewhere else.”

Mareke smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “You won’t lose me,” she promised. “Amrothos and I are not tied to Dol Amroth. Harad will always be home. If you ever need me, for anything at all, I will be there as quickly as I can.”

Adnan nodded.

Her chest swelled with pride, and she pulled him into a tight embrace, holding him as she had when he was just a boy. “You are my son, my king, my greatest joy.”

When they finally stepped back, Adnan reached for her hand, his grip firm and steady. “You deserve this, Mother . A life for yourself. Be happy.”

“I will,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “But only because I know you’ll be there, strong and steadfast.”

As Amrothos approached from the waiting horses, his usual easy smile tempered with respect for the moment, Mareke turned to him. He greeted Adnan with a slight bow, his demeanor unusually subdued. “You have my word, Adnan,” Amrothos said, his tone serious. “She’ll always have the freedom to come back to you. And I’ll take care of her until then.”

Adnan studied him for a moment before nodding. “Good,” he said simply. “See that you do.”

Mareke shook her head at their exchange. She turned back to Adnan, her hand lingering on his cheek. “Be well, my son.”

“And you, Mother , ” he said, his voice steady now. “May your journeys be filled with joy.”

ooooOoooo

As the ship gently swayed at the docks of Minas Tirith, Mareke stood at the edge of the gangplank, her gaze fixed on the Anduin’s shimmering waters. The vessel, sleek and elegant, bore the proud swan emblem of Dol Amroth, its sails fluttering in the breeze. Mareke had traveled many ways in her life—by horse, camel, and even cart—but never by boat. The thought of boarding the vessel stirred an unfamiliar mix of curiosity and trepidation.

Amrothos stood beside her, his grin unrelenting as he watched her. “What’s this?” he teased, crossing his arms. “The fearless Mareke hesitating at the sight of a little water?”

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not the water that concerns me,” she replied, her tone measured. “It’s the boat. I’ve never been on one before.”

His grin softened, and he extended a hand toward her. “Then let me be your guide, my princess. There’s nothing to fear. The Anduin is as calm as a desert breeze today.”

Mareke regarded him for a moment before placing her hand in his. His grip was warm and steady, and she allowed him to lead her up the gangplank. The wooden boards creaked under their feet, and she resisted the urge to look down, focusing instead on the ship’s elegant design and the crew bustling about their tasks.

Once on deck, Amrothos led her to the railing, his hand still resting lightly on hers. “See?” he said, gesturing to the wide, tranquil river. “Not so bad.”

She glanced out at the Anduin, its surface reflecting the sky like a moving mirror. The city of Minas Tirith faded into the distance as the ship pushed off, the sails catching the wind. The sensation of the boat beneath her feet was strange, the gentle rocking both unsettling and oddly soothing.

“It’s... different,” she admitted, her voice thoughtful. “The movement takes some getting used to.”

Amrothos chuckled, leaning against the railing. “You’ll be an expert by the time we reach the Bay of Belfalas. Sailing is in my blood, after all. I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

Mareke smirked, her confidence returning. “Do you intend to turn me into a sailor, Amrothos?”

“Why not?” he replied, his grin widening. “You’d make an excellent sailor. Graceful, strong, and commanding. Any crew would love you.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “I’ll leave the sailing to you, my charming rogue.”

Amrothos reached for her hand again, his expression softening. “You’ll enjoy it, Mareke. There’s nothing quite like the freedom of the open water. It’s different from the desert, but just as beautiful.”

She looked out at the river again, the sound of the wind in the sails and the gentle lap of water against the hull filling the air. For the first time, she allowed herself to relax, the unfamiliarity of the experience giving way to a quiet sense of adventure.

“If you say so,” she said, her tone light. “But if I fall overboard, I’m holding you responsible.”

Amrothos laughed, his eyes shining with amusement. “I wouldn’t let that happen. I’ve waited too long to have you by my side to lose you to the Anduin.”

As the ship sailed further down the river, Mareke leaned against the railing, her hand still in his. The journey ahead was unknown, filled with new experiences and possibilities, but for the first time in years, she felt ready to face them.

ooooOoooo

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the Anduin in hues of gold and crimson, Mareke stood at the railing, watching the water ripple in the soft evening light. The gentle rocking of the boat had grown familiar over the course of the day, soothing in its rhythm. She had even started to find a certain peace in the journey, her earlier unease fading into quiet curiosity.

Amrothos appeared at her side, his grin soft in the fading light. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, leaning against the railing beside her.

“It is,” she admitted, her gaze lingering on the horizon. “I didn’t think I would enjoy this, but there’s a calmness to it I didn’t expect.”

Amrothos chuckled, his hand brushing lightly against hers. “The Anduin is kind,” he said. “But there’s more to boats than just calm waters and sunsets.”

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? And what would that be?”

He straightened, his grin taking on a mischievous edge as he offered her his hand. “Come with me, and I’ll show you.”

Curiosity piqued, Mareke placed her hand in his, allowing him to lead her below deck. The cabin was modest but comfortable, with a wide bed nestled against one wall and lanterns casting a warm, golden glow over the space. The faint creak of the ship and the sound of the water lapping against the hull created a cozy, intimate atmosphere.

Amrothos closed the door behind them, his grin softening as he turned to her. “The best thing about boats,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “is that they’re perfect for certain... activities.”

Mareke arched an eyebrow, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. “Certain activities?”

He stepped closer, his hands finding her waist as his voice dropped further. “Making love on them.”

Her breath caught at the warmth in his gaze, the playful edge tempered by something deeper. “You truly are a rogue,” she murmured, though her tone held no reproach.

“And you love it,” he replied, his grin widening as he leaned down to kiss her.

The kiss was slow and deliberate, the faint motion of the ship adding to the sensation of being untethered from the world. Amrothos’s hands slid to her back, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss, his touch confident yet tender.

Mareke let herself be swept up in the moment, her earlier doubts and reservations melting away. There was something uniquely intimate about the setting—the gentle sway of the boat, the soft creak of the wood beneath them, the quiet isolation of the cabin. It was as though the world had narrowed to just the two of them, their connection unbroken by anything beyond these walls.

When he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, Mareke couldn’t help but laugh softly, her arms wrapping around his neck. “You’re far too pleased with yourself,” she said, her voice breathless.

“Can you blame me?” he teased, laying her down gently before leaning over her, his grin softening into something more tender. “I’ve got the most beautiful woman in Middle-earth in my bed. I’d say that’s cause for celebration.”

She rolled her eyes, though her smile didn’t falter. “Flatterer.”

“Truth-teller,” he corrected, pressing a kiss to her neck before meeting her gaze. “Let me show you.”

As the evening unfolded, Mareke discovered that Amrothos’s claim about the magic of making love on a boat wasn’t without merit. The gentle motion of the ship, the closeness of the cabin, and the depth of his attention made the experience unlike anything she had ever known.

She was straddling his waist, his hands on her hips.

“See?” He murmured, though his eyes were closed. “You have to do very little work up there.”

Her body rolled with the rhythm of the boat until they were both gasping for breath, the peak having come slowly and deliciously.

When they finally lay tangled together, the lanterns casting flickering shadows on the walls, Mareke rested her head on his chest, her fingers idly tracing the swan tattoo over his heart. The sound of the river outside mingled with the slowing rhythm of their breaths, creating a quiet harmony that made the moment feel timeless.

“You were right,” she murmured, her voice soft but content.

“About what?” he asked, his fingers brushing through her hair.

“Boats,” she said simply. “There is something magical about them.”

Amrothos chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I knew you’d come around.”

And as the ship rocked gently beneath them, Mareke let herself drift into a rare and quiet happiness.

ooooOoooo

The shift from the steady flow of the Anduin to the vast, rolling waves of the Bay of Belfalas was immediate and unforgiving. They had been on the open sea for less than an hour before Mareke was gripping the edge of a small basin in their cabin, her knuckles white and her stomach twisting violently with each rise and fall of the ship.

Amrothos stood nearby, a mix of concern and poorly concealed amusement on his face as he watched her. “You’re handling it well,” he offered gently, though his grin betrayed him.

“Get. Out,” Mareke said, her voice strained, but dangerous, as another wave of nausea overtook her. She barely spared him a glance, her focus entirely on keeping her stomach from betraying her further. “Now, Amrothos!”

His grin faded, replaced by genuine worry as he took a cautious step back. “Mareke, I’m just trying to—”

“I said out! ” she barked, her hand gripping the edge of the basin as though it were the only thing keeping her tethered to the world. “Unless you want me to throw this basin at you, leave!”

Amrothos raised his hands in surrender, backing toward the door. “All right, all right, I’m going,” he said, his voice tinged with nervous humor. “I’ll... see if there’s something I can get to help.”

When the door closed behind him, Mareke let out a shuddering breath, mortified by her outburst but too consumed by her seasickness to dwell on it fully. She rested her forehead against the rim of the basin, the rocking of the ship feeling anything but gentle in her current state.

By the time Amrothos returned, carrying a steaming mug and wearing a subdued expression, she had managed to pull herself together slightly—though she was still pale and visibly exhausted.

“Don’t throw anything at me,” he said cautiously, setting the mug down on the small table near her. “It’s ginger tea. It might help.”

Mareke turned her head just enough to glare at him, though the effect was somewhat diminished by her pallor. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she muttered, her voice weak but accusatory.

Amrothos crouched beside her, his grin returning but tempered with genuine affection. “Not at all,” he said, though the twinkle in his eyes betrayed him. “You could still throw something, after all.”

Mareke groaned, leaning back against the wall and covering her face with one hand. “I can’t believe this,” she muttered. “I’ve survived sandstorms, political intrigue, and battlefields, but a boat... a boat has undone me.”

Amrothos chuckled softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “The sea takes some getting used to,” he said gently. “But you’ll conquer this, too. You always do.”

She lowered her hand, her gaze meeting his. “I was awful to you,” she said quietly, her voice filled with both regret and embarrassment. “I snapped at you like... like a madwoman.”

“And yet,” he replied, his smile softening, “I’m still here. Because I know you didn’t mean it, Mareke. You’re human, not invincible.”

Her expression softened, though she still looked hesitant. “I hate this,” she admitted. “I hate feeling weak.”

“You’re not weak,” he said firmly, his hand resting lightly on hers. “You’re seasick. There’s a difference.”

She huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head. “I must look pathetic.”

“You look like someone who’s going to feel much better once she drinks that tea,” he replied, his grin returning as he handed her the mug.

Mareke took it reluctantly, the warmth of the mug grounding her slightly. “If I don’t throw this at you first.”

He laughed, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. “If you do, I’ll deserve it. But I think you’ll find me a much better target when you’re feeling stronger.”

Despite herself, Mareke smiled faintly, sipping the tea as Amrothos settled beside her. Though she still felt far from well, his presence made the ordeal slightly more bearable. For now, she let herself lean on him, finding comfort in the man who, seasickness or not, remained unwaveringly at her side.

ooooOoooo

When Mareke finally mustered the strength to step out onto the deck, the cool sea breeze hit her face, offering a reprieve from the suffocating closeness of the cabin. She still felt weak, her legs unsteady beneath her, but she was determined not to let the sea—or her own body—defeat her.

She wasn’t prepared, however, for the sight of Elphir and Erchirion lounging casually near the railing, their expressions lighting up with barely concealed amusement as soon as they spotted her. The brothers exchanged a glance that could only mean trouble before turning their attention to her.

“Well, well,” Erchirion began, his grin wide and utterly unapologetic. “Look who’s finally joined us. We were beginning to think the mighty Princess Mareke had been bested by a little rocking boat.”

Mareke narrowed her eyes, though she lacked the energy for her usual sharp retorts. “Careful, prince,” she said, her voice dry but lacking its usual bite. “Mock me at your peril.”

Elphir smirked, far too composed to outright laugh but clearly enjoying himself. “Recovering, are you? You’ve missed quite the spectacle, Mareke. Amrothos has been pacing the deck like a worried husband all day.”

Erchirion barked a laugh at that, leaning casually against the railing. “In all seriousness,” he added, his tone mockingly solemn, “we were concerned. We’ve never seen someone take to the sea quite so... dramatically.”

Mareke straightened as much as she could, willing herself to ignore the lingering nausea. “If the sea thinks it can defeat me, it has sorely underestimated my resolve.”

“Spoken like a true sailor,” Elphir said with a faint chuckle. “Though I imagine Amrothos would’ve happily tended to you until we arrived in Dol Amroth if he thought you’d allow it.”

Mareke sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “He’s already been insufferable enough. Let’s not encourage him.”

Erchirion grinned, crossing his arms. “Oh, we don’t need to. He’s plenty insufferable all on his own. But I must say, Mareke, it’s impressive how quickly you’ve managed to... bounce back.”

“Barely,” she muttered, though a faint smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

“Joking aside,  we’re very glad to see you upright again. The crew has been worried.”

“And Amrothos hasn’t stopped talking about you,” Elphir added with a smirk. “I think we’re all relieved that you’ve survived—if only to spare us his fretting.”

Mareke rolled her eyes, though her smile lingered. “I’ll survive, but only if you two stop teasing me long enough to let me catch my breath.”

“Fair enough,” Erchirion said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “We’ll give you a reprieve—for now.”

As they returned to their earlier conversation, Mareke allowed herself a moment to enjoy the breeze, her spirits lifting despite her lingering weakness. The teasing, while relentless, was oddly comforting, a reminder that she was becoming part of something larger—part of a family that, despite their quirks, already felt like somewhere she might belong.

As the ship crested the last stretch of open sea, Mareke stood at the bow, her hands gripping the railing tightly. The cool breeze carried the scent of salt and the faint promise of land, and her heart began to race with anticipation. She had spent her entire life surrounded by the golden sands and vast deserts of Harad, and while she had marveled at Minas Tirith, she wasn’t prepared for what lay ahead.

When Dol Amroth came into view, she felt her breath catch.

The city rose like a dream from the edge of the sea, its white stone walls gleaming in the sunlight. Turrets and spires reached toward the sky, their graceful architecture reflecting the elegance of the Swan Knights who called it home. The harbor was bustling with activity, ships of all sizes dotting the sparkling waters, their sails a patchwork of colors against the deep blue. Waves lapped gently at the shore, and beyond the city, rolling hills of green stretched as far as the eye could see, dotted with villas and lush vineyards.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else.

Beside her, Amrothos leaned casually against the railing, his gaze fixed on the city with a fondness that only someone who had grown up there could possess. “It is,” he agreed softly. “No matter how many times I see it, it still takes my breath away.”

Mareke turned to him, her eyes wide with wonder. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she admitted. “It’s... it’s like something out of a story.”

Amrothos smiled, his usual playful grin tempered by something softer, more genuine. “You’ve seen Harad’s deserts, its endless beauty and fierce strength. Dol Amroth is different, but no less breathtaking. And now,” he added, his gaze shifting to hers, “it’s your home too.”

Her chest tightened at his words, her fingers brushing the wood of the railing as she turned her attention back to the city. “Home,” she repeated softly, as though testing the word. It felt strange on her tongue, unfamiliar yet comforting.

As the ship drew closer, the details of the city came into sharper focus. The banners of the Swan Knights fluttered proudly atop the walls, and the harbor was alive with the sound of sailors calling out orders, merchants bargaining, and the hum of a city that thrived on its connection to the sea.

“You’ll love it here,” Amrothos said, his voice filled with quiet confidence. “The people are welcoming, the food is unmatched, and the sunsets over the bay are something you’ll never forget.”

Mareke smiled faintly, though her thoughts were still caught in the sheer majesty of what lay before her. “It’s overwhelming,” she admitted. “Beautiful, yes, but... so different from what I’ve known.”

Amrothos reached for her hand, his fingers curling around hers with reassuring warmth. “You don’t have to let go of what you’ve known, Mareke,” he said gently. “Harad will always be a part of you. But Dol Amroth can be part of you too, if you let it.”

As the ship sailed into the harbor, Mareke felt a mix of awe and trepidation settling in her chest. The city was unlike anything she had ever imagined, a world away from the life she had known. But as she looked at Amrothos, his hand steady in hers, she felt a glimmer of hope that this new chapter might hold something beautiful—not just in the city before her, but in the life they were about to build together.

Chapter Text

The private dinner was a lively, intimate affair, filled with laughter and the hum of familial connection. Mareke sat beside Amrothos at the long, polished table, which was laden with the finest foods Dol Amroth had to offer—succulent roasted fish, fresh shellfish, fragrant rice dishes, and platters of jewel-toned fruits and desserts. The warm light of the room reflected off the silverware and wine goblets, giving the space a cozy, inviting glow.
Across the table sat Elphir and Erchirion, both flanked by their wives and surrounded by their children. The little ones added a sense of liveliness to the gathering, their giggles and occasional chatter weaving into the flow of the adults’ conversations.
Amrothos, ever the doting husband, took it upon himself to pile Mareke’s plate high with every delicacy that passed their way. The sight of her already full plate growing into a veritable mountain of food made her raise an eyebrow.
“Amrothos,” she said, her tone dry but laced with humor. “Are you trying to fatten me up?”
He grinned unapologetically, placing another serving of spiced rice on her plate. “Absolutely,” he replied. “A well-fed wife is a happy wife. And I want you to be the happiest woman in Dol Amroth.”
Mareke smirked, shaking her head as she looked down at the overflowing plate. “At this rate, I’ll barely fit on your ships.”
Elphir, who had been sipping his wine, chuckled and set the goblet down. “He’s always been like this, you know,” he said, his tone teasing. “When we were boys, he’d smuggle extra food from the kitchens and claim he was ‘sharing’ it with the rest of us.”
Erchirion smirked, leaning back in his chair. “It’s his love language. If he feeds you, it means you’re his favorite.”
“Then I must be his greatest love,” Mareke quipped, glancing at Amrothos with a raised eyebrow. “Though at this point, I’m starting to feel like a prize goose fattened for market.”
The table erupted in laughter, even the children giggling at her sharp wit. Amrothos feigned offense, clutching his chest dramatically. “A goose? Mareke, you wound me. I think you’re a swan, the most elegant of all creatures.”
Mareke rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched into a smile. “If I’m to be a swan, then perhaps I should stop before I burst out of my feathers.”
“Never,” Amrothos declared, placing yet another pastry on her plate. “You’ll have to forgive me; I can’t resist spoiling you.”
The teasing banter continued, the family’s warmth enveloping Mareke in a way that felt both foreign and comforting. She found herself smiling more than she had expected, even laughing at the stories Elphir and Erchirion shared about Amrothos’s childhood mischief.
Later, as the children were ushered off to bed and the room quieted, Mareke leaned back in her chair, her hand resting lightly on Amrothos’s arm. He looked at her with a grin that hadn’t wavered all evening.
“You’re enjoying yourself,” he said softly, his voice laced with satisfaction.
“I am,” she admitted, though she gave him a mock glare. “But if you keep feeding me like this, I’ll hold you personally responsible when I can’t fit into my gowns.”
Amrothos laughed, taking her hand in his. “Then I’ll commission an entirely new wardrobe. Whatever makes you happy, Mareke.”
Despite her earlier teasing, Mareke felt a warmth bloom in her chest at his words. This family, this life, was still new to her, but for the first time in a long while, she felt like she was beginning to find her place—not just as Amrothos’s wife, but as a part of something larger, something full of love and belonging.
ooooOoooo
The soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. Mareke stirred, her body still languid from the deep sleep t and the warmth of Amrothos beside her. She shifted carefully, trying not to wake him as she slipped one leg out of the bed, intending to rise early.
Before her foot could even touch the floor, a strong arm snaked around her waist, pulling her back against the warmth of his chest. She let out a soft gasp as she was firmly drawn back into the bed.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Amrothos murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep but unmistakably playful.
“I thought I’d rise early,” Mareke replied, her tone steady despite the heat rising in her cheeks. “There must be something I can do, some way to be useful.”
“Not here,” Amrothos said, his voice muffled as he pressed a lazy kiss against the nape of her neck. “You have no duties in Dol Amroth. The only thing you need to do is stay right here. With me.”
She sighed, attempting to pull away, but his hold only tightened. “I’m not used to idleness, Amrothos. I can’t just—”
“Yes, you can,” he interrupted, his tone firm but teasing. “You’ve spent your entire life doing, Mareke. For others, for kingdoms, for everyone but yourself. Now it’s time to do nothing, and I’m going to make sure of it.”
Mareke twisted in his arms to glare at him, though her expression was more exasperated than angry. “You’re being ridiculous.”
He grinned, his blue eyes glinting with mischief. “Not ridiculous—devoted. And if I have to keep you in bed all day to prove it, so be it.”
Her cheeks flushed deeper, though she tried to maintain her composure. “Amrothos, you can’t just keep me captive.”
“Oh, I can,” he countered, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips, slow and teasing. “And I will. No duties, no politics, no plans—just you and me. At least for today.”
Mareke sighed, her fingers curling slightly against his chest as her resolve wavered. “I’m not going to stay idle forever.”
“Of course not,” he said, his grin softening into something warmer as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. “But today, Mareke, let yourself rest. Let me take care of you.”
His sincerity caught her off guard, and she felt the tension in her shoulders ease slightly.
Mareke finally relaxed into his arms. For once, she allowed herself to indulge in the peace he offered, the quiet joy of being wanted not for what she could do, but simply for who she was. For today, at least, she would let the world wait.
ooooOoooo
Later in the morning, when the sun was higher in the sky and Mareke had reluctantly accepted Amrothos’s insistence on a leisurely start to the day, she leaned against the pillows, watching him as he stretched lazily beside her. His grin, ever charming, hadn’t left his face all morning, and she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of curiosity.
“You know,” she began, her tone light but curious, “I’ve been wondering something.”
Amrothos turned his head to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? That sounds dangerous.”
She smirked faintly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve lived an interesting life, Amrothos. I’ve heard the stories, of course—your charm, your escapades. But what else do you do with your time? Besides, you know…” Her smirk deepened, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Bedding maidens and avoiding responsibility.”
Amrothos let out a hearty laugh, the sound rich and unapologetic as he propped himself up on one elbow. “Ah, so the infamous tales of my roguish ways have reached even Harad,” he said, his grin widening. “I’m flattered.”
Mareke rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t suppress her smile. “Answer the question, Amrothos. What do you do with your time?”
He leaned back against the pillows, his expression taking on a thoughtful air. “Well,” he began, his tone deliberately casual, “I’m a sailor, as you know. I spend a good deal of time at sea—navigating, leading expeditions and patrols, occasionally outrunning storms or Corsairs.”
“Corsairs?” she echoed, her curiosity piqued.
“Oh, yes,” he said with a dramatic wave of his hand. “Dol Amroth may be peaceful, but the sea is a different matter entirely. Corsairs, smugglers, the occasional sea serpent—life on the water is rarely dull.”
Mareke arched an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “A sea serpent? Really?”
He laughed again, shrugging. “Well, perhaps that one’s more of a sailor’s tale. But the rest is true. I’ve spent most of my life on the water. It’s where I feel most alive.”
Her expression softened as she studied him, her curiosity shifting to genuine interest. “And when you’re not at sea?”
Amrothos’s grin returned, though it was tempered with a hint of seriousness. “When I’m on land, I spend time with my family. I help oversee some of the trade negotiations that come through Dol Amroth—boring but necessary. And, occasionally, I try to keep my brothers from making terrible ruling decisions.”
“That sounds exhausting,” she said dryly.
“Oh, it is,” he replied, his grin widening. “But someone has to do it.”
Mareke tilted her head, her gaze steady. “You’re not as frivolous as you pretend to be, are you?”
He chuckled, leaning closer to her. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he teased, though there was a warmth in his eyes that betrayed the depth he rarely showed.
“I would,” she said simply, her tone genuine. “You surprise me, Amrothos. And I find I rather like being surprised.”
He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Good. Because I intend to keep surprising you, Mareke.”
As the conversation lulled, Mareke found herself looking at him with new eyes, the playful rogue she had married revealing layers of responsibility and purpose beneath the charm. And as they settled into the morning, she realized she was genuinely curious to discover more about the man who had so thoroughly upended her expectations—and her heart.
ooooOoooo
As the sun climbed higher and the morning drifted lazily on, Mareke found herself idly watching Amrothos as he stretched and shifted beside her. It was the first time she’d truly let herself relax enough to notice the smaller details about him—things she hadn’t paid much attention to in the chaos of their courtship and wedding or the duty that had hung over her all those years ago in Harad.
Her gaze lingered on his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the faint laugh lines near his eyes, and then… the glint of something silver catching the light. A small, silver hoop earring dangled from his left ear, subtle but undeniably present. She tilted her head, curiosity sparking.
“I hadn’t noticed that before,” she said, gesturing toward his ear. “The earring.”
Amrothos glanced at her, a playful grin already forming. “Ah, my infamous earring,” he said, leaning back against the pillows and turning his head slightly to show it off. “You like it?”
“I think it suits you,” Mareke replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “But I can’t help but wonder—why? It doesn’t strike me as... traditional for a prince.”
He laughed, the sound rich and carefree. “That’s because it’s not,” he admitted. “It was an act of rebellion.”
Her eyebrows rose in interest. “Rebellion?”
“Absolutely,” he said, his grin widening as he propped himself up on one elbow. “I got it when I was barely out of boyhood—fifteen, sixteen maybe? My father had been lecturing me about duty and honor for weeks on end. I was tired of being the youngest, always overlooked or scolded for not being as serious as Elphir or as dutiful as Erchirion.”
“So you got an earring,” she said, her tone amused but intrigued.
He nodded, clearly enjoying her interest. “I wanted to do something entirely my own—something that would make me stand out. My father was furious, of course. Said it was unbecoming of a prince of Dol Amroth.”
Mareke smirked, shaking her head. “And did it work? Did it make you stand out?”
“Oh, it did,” he said with a laugh. “For weeks, everyone in the palace had something to say about it. My father threatened to rip it out himself. I told him it was part of who I was. He eventually let it go.”
She studied him for a moment, her gaze softening. “It’s funny,” she said quietly. “You’ve always seemed so carefree, but I think you’ve spent a good deal of your life proving yourself, haven’t you?”
His grin faltered slightly, replaced by a more thoughtful expression. “I suppose I have,” he admitted. “Not that I’d ever let on, of course. My charm and wit are far more entertaining than the truth.”
Mareke reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against the earring. “Well,” she said softly, “it suits you. The rebellious sailor-prince.”
He chuckled, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her fingers. “I prefer to think of myself as a charming rogue,” he teased. “But I’ll take it.”
As they settled back into the bed, Mareke couldn’t help but smile, the glint of his earring now a symbol of the man beneath the charm—a man who had always sought to carve out his own path, even within the constraints of his noble birth. And as she rested her head against his shoulder, she felt a quiet sense of satisfaction at knowing she was part of the life he had chosen for himself.
ooooOoooo
The warm sun beat down on the secluded cove where Amrothos had taken Mareke to teach her to swim. The sound of gentle waves lapping at the shore filled the air, but Mareke was far from at ease. She stood at the edge of the water, arms crossed, glaring at Amrothos as though he had suggested she jump into a pit of snakes.
“This is a terrible idea,” she said flatly, her dark eyes narrowing at the sparkling blue water. “I don’t trust it.”
Amrothos, waist-deep in the water, grinned up at her, his hands on his hips. “It’s just water, Mareke. It’s not going to bite you.”
“I wasn’t born near the sea, Amrothos,” she snapped, her irritation rising. “The sands of Harad don’t move beneath you. They don’t try to swallow you whole.”
He laughed, stepping closer and holding out his hand. “The water won’t swallow you, I promise. That’s what I’m here for.”
She gave him a withering look but hesitated before placing her hand in his. “If I drown, I’m haunting you,” she muttered as he led her deeper into the water.
“Fair enough,” he replied, his grin never faltering. “But I won’t let that happen.”
It took a while to coax her deeper, her grip on his hand vice-like as they waded in. She glared at him every time he tried to step away, and her scowl only deepened when he instructed her to lean back and trust the water.
“Float?” she repeated incredulously, her voice rising. “You want me to float?”
“Yes,” he said patiently, his hands braced beneath her back as she hesitated. “The water will hold you. Just lean back and trust it.”
Mareke’s jaw tightened, her eyes darting between him and the water. “This is ridiculous.”
“It’s not,” he said gently. “Just trust me.”
Finally, with a frustrated sigh, she let herself lean back, her body stiff as a board as she tried not to panic. Amrothos kept his hands steady beneath her, murmuring reassurances as she adjusted. Slowly, her muscles relaxed, and for a brief moment, she felt weightless.
“There,” he said softly, smiling down at her. “You’re doing it.”
“I don’t like this,” she muttered, though her voice lacked its earlier edge. “But... it’s not as terrible as I thought.”
He chuckled, his hands slowly moving away as she floated on her own. “See? You’re a natural.”
But just as she was beginning to find her footing—or rather, her floating—a gentle wave rolled in, jostling her slightly. The sudden shift made her panic, and before she knew it, she was flailing, her arms wrapping around Amrothos’s neck as she dragged him down with her.
“Amrothos!” she shrieked, her grip tightening as she clung to him like a lifeline. “Don’t let go!”
He sputtered, trying to regain his balance as her hands all but strangled him. “Mareke—” he managed to choke out, his voice strained. “You’re not drowning—”
“I don’t care!” she shouted, her voice filled with sheer terror. “Save me!”
He finally got his footing and steadied them both, his hands gripping her arms as he tried to calm her. “Mareke,” he said firmly, his voice soothing despite his amusement. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Her breathing was ragged, and she glared at him, still clinging to his neck. “I hate this,” she hissed.
Amrothos couldn’t help but laugh, earning an even sharper glare from her. “You’re just mad because you’re not in control.” His grin widened. “You’ll thank me for this one day.”
“Doubtful,” she muttered, though her grip on his arms remained firm.
By the time they made it back to shore, Mareke was still grumbling, her irritation evident, but Amrothos’s grin never wavered. As they sat on the warm sand, the sea sparkling before them, she shot him a sidelong glance.
“I wish you hadn’t made me do that,” she said, her tone resigned.
“And yet, here you are,” he replied, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “The bravest woman I know.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t push him away. Despite her frustration—and the fact that she had nearly strangled him—she couldn’t help but feel a faint sense of accomplishment.
ooooOoooo
The dining table in the family quarters of Dol Amroth was as lively as ever. Elphir and Erchirion had their usual air of composed mischief, and their wives were smiling politely as their husbands exchanged their banter. Amrothos, for once, was unusually quiet, absently rubbing his neck as he sipped his wine. Mareke, seated beside him, seemed content to observe, though the faint twitch of her lips betrayed her amusement.
Finally, Erchirion leaned forward, his gaze fixed on his youngest brother. “So, Amrothos,” he began, his voice dripping with mock curiosity. “What exactly happened to your neck?”
Amrothos froze for a split second, his hand dropping from the telltale bruises. “Nothing worth mentioning,” he replied quickly, too quickly.
Elphir raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing. “Nothing worth mentioning? That doesn’t sound like you. Usually, you can’t wait to regale us with your latest escapades.”
“Exactly,” Erchirion agreed, his grin widening. “And those bruises look... suspiciously like something worth mentioning.”
Amrothos sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as Mareke bit back a laugh beside him. “It wasn’t from pleasure,” he muttered, his tone dry. “Mareke nearly drowned me.”
That brought a startled laugh from Elphir, while Erchirion leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased. “Drowned you?” he repeated, grinning at Mareke. “What exactly did you do, Princess?”
Mareke, who had been taking a sip of her wine, set the goblet down with an elegant air of composure. “I didn’t drown him,” she said calmly. “I panicked. He insisted on teaching me to swim, and a wave caught me off guard. I merely... reacted.”
“By strangling him?” Elphir asked, his tone teasing as he glanced at his brother. “I suppose that’s one way to ensure at least one of you stays afloat.”
Amrothos groaned, leaning back in his chair. “I was trying to help her,” he said defensively. “And the moment a little wave hit, she latched onto me like I was the mast of a sinking ship.”
Mareke shot him a sharp look, though her lips twitched with suppressed laughter. “If I recall correctly, you said you’d make sure nothing happened to me. Clearly, you underestimated my survival instincts.”
“She nearly broke my neck,” Amrothos said, gesturing dramatically to his bruises. “And dragged us both under. If I hadn’t found my footing, we might still be in that cove.”
Erchirion laughed so hard he nearly spilled his wine, while Elphir shook his head, his smirk never wavering. “I have to say, Mareke,” Elphir said, “you’ve already proven to be a match for our brother. Few have managed to leave such an... impression.”
“I aim to be memorable,” Mareke replied dryly, though her eyes gleamed with amusement.
Amrothos looked at her, his mock indignation softening into a grin.
The table erupted into laughter again, the lively atmosphere underscored by the easy camaraderie of family. And though Amrothos groaned and muttered under his breath about his brothers’ teasing, Mareke could see the fondness in his eyes.
ooooOoooo
The gardens of Dol Amroth were lush and vibrant, filled with fragrant blooms and the gentle hum of bees flitting from flower to flower. Mareke sat beneath the shade of a sprawling tree, surrounded by Elphir's and Erchirion’s wives and several of their children, who darted between the hedges in a lively game of tag. The air was filled with laughter, and the soft sound of the nearby fountain provided a soothing backdrop to their conversation.
Mareke had initially been apprehensive about spending time with her sisters-in-law. The transition to this new family, this new life, was still fresh, and she wasn’t entirely sure how she fit into the close-knit dynamic. In Harad for many years it had only been Mareke and Naman, no sprawling extended family.
But the women had been kind from the start, their warmth genuine and their curiosity never prying.
Lady Ceredwyn, Elphir’s wife, handed Mareke a small cup of tea, her smile kind. “You know,” she began, her tone light but affectionate, “Amrothos talked about you for years. We all thought he was exaggerating.”
Mareke blinked, caught off guard. “Exaggerating?” she asked, her brow furrowing.
Lady Lineth, Erchirion’s wife, chuckled softly, her hands deftly plucking petals from a nearby bloom. “Oh, yes,” she said, her tone teasing but kind. “For seven years, he couldn’t go more than a few weeks without bringing up Harad—and you.”
Mareke’s cheeks flushed slightly, her fingers tightening around the delicate handle of her teacup. “Surely not for that long,” she said, though her voice was quiet.
“It’s true,” Ceredwyn insisted, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “At first, we thought it was just one of his usual stories. You know how Amrothos can be—always a tale to tell, always something dramatic. But as time went on, it became clear that this wasn’t just a passing fancy.”
Lineth nodded, her smile softening. “He spoke of you with such... reverence. The way he described you, Mareke—it wasn’t just admiration. It was as though you had left an indelible mark on him.”
Mareke set her cup down, her hands resting lightly in her lap. “He never said anything,” she murmured, her gaze drifting to the children playing nearby. “When he was in Harad, I thought... I thought he was just being friendly. Using his charm to offer a reprieve to the duty I was buried under.”
Ceredwyn reached out, her hand lightly covering Mareke’s. “He wasn’t,” she said gently. “You were unforgettable to him. We all saw it. Even when he tried to act as though he wasn’t thinking about you, we knew.”
Lineth leaned back, her smile turning playful. “When he finally told us he was going to marry you, we weren’t surprised. Relieved, perhaps, that he’d finally done something about it.”
Mareke laughed softly, though her cheeks were still warm. “He’s more stubborn than I expected.”
“He’s a man in love,” Ceredwyn said simply, her tone warm. “And if these past weeks are any indication, you make him happier than we’ve ever seen him.”
Mareke’s chest tightened at the words, a mix of emotions swirling within her. She looked at the women, their kindness and sincerity breaking through the barriers she so often kept in place. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite the weight of her emotions. “You’ve made this transition much easier than I expected.”
Lineth smiled, reaching for another flower. “You’re family now, Mareke. And if Amrothos is willing to wait seven years for you, the least we can do is make you feel at home.”
The conversation drifted to lighter topics after that, the women sharing stories about their husbands’ antics and their children’s latest mischief. But Mareke’s heart felt lighter, their words echoing in her mind. Amrothos had carried thoughts of her for seven years, his feelings unwavering despite the distance and time. And as she watched the children laugh and play, she realized that for the first time in a long while, she felt not just welcome—but truly wanted.
ooooOoooo
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky turned shades of gold and violet, Mareke stood with Amrothos on a quiet balcony overlooking the sea. The soft crash of waves filled the air, and the salty breeze played with the loose strands of her hair. She leaned against the stone railing, gazing out at the water as she turned the day’s conversations over in her mind.
Amrothos, seated on the edge of the railing, watched her with a faint smile. “You’ve been quiet,” he remarked, his voice light but curious. “What’s on your mind?”
Mareke glanced at him, her expression thoughtful. “I spent the afternoon in the gardens with your sisters-in-law.”
“Ah,” he said, grinning. “They didn’t scare you off, did they? Lineth can be a bit too direct sometimes, and Ceredwyn—”
“They were kind,” Mareke interrupted, her lips curving into a soft smile. “Very kind.”
His brow lifted, his curiosity deepening. “Well, that’s good to hear. So what’s got you looking so serious?”
She hesitated, her fingers brushing the smooth stone of the railing. “They told me something interesting,” she said finally, her voice measured. “They said you talked about me. For years, after Harad.”
Amrothos froze, his playful grin faltering for a moment before returning, though it was tinged with sheepishness. “Did they now?” he asked, his tone light but cautious.
Mareke turned fully to face him, her gaze steady. “Is it true?”
He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair as he leaned back against the railing. “I suppose there’s no use denying it,” he said, his tone softening. “Yes, it’s true. I thought about you. Talked about you. More than I probably should have.”
She tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “Why?”
Amrothos met her gaze, his own softening as he considered his words. “Because I couldn’t help it,” he admitted. “You weren’t just another moment in my life, Mareke. You were... unforgettable. The way you carried yourself, the strength you showed, the way you managed to host all of us while tending to Adnan. I couldn’t get you out of my head.”
Mareke’s heart tightened, though she kept her composure. “You never said anything,” she said quietly. “When you left Harad, I thought you were just being kind and attentive.”
He reached for her hand, his grip firm but gentle. “I left without a word because I thought it was what you wanted. You had Adnan, your responsibilities—I didn’t want to make things harder for you.”
“And yet you thought of me for seven years,” she said, her tone softer now.
Amrothos smiled faintly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Every day,” he admitted. “And when I saw you again in Minas Tirith, I knew I couldn’t let you slip away a second time.”
Mareke looked down at their joined hands, her mind a swirl of emotions.
He leaned closer, his eyes searching hers. “I carried you with me, Mareke,” he said softly. “Everywhere I went. And now, I don’t have to carry just the memory of you. I have you.”
She smiled faintly, her hand tightening around his. “You do,” she murmured. “And I think you always will.”
The sincerity in her voice made his grin widen, and he pulled her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. As the waves crashed below and the stars began to appear in the sky, Mareke let herself lean into him, her heart lighter with the knowledge that she had been more to him than she’d ever realized.
ooooOoooo
The grand hall of Dol Amroth was alive with music and laughter, the polished marble floors gleaming under the warm glow of chandeliers. Mareke moved through the room with practiced grace, her dark eyes scanning the crowd as she tried to ignore the quiet murmurs that seemed to follow her like a shadow. It was her first public dinner since her marriage to Amrothos, and though she had braced herself for scrutiny, she hadn’t expected the subtle barbs and lingering stares from certain members of the court.
She could feel the eyes on her—the sharp, assessing gazes of women who had clearly hoped to one day stand where she now did. Their whispers were hushed but no less cutting, and Mareke’s sharp hearing picked up fragments of their conversation.
“She’s older than him, isn’t she?” one murmured, her voice laced with disdain.
“Not just older,” another added. “She’s foreign. From Harad, no less. What could he possibly see in her?”
“Power, perhaps,” a third suggested, her tone biting. “She’s probably as cunning as she is plain.”
Mareke’s jaw tightened, though her expression remained composed. Years of political maneuvering in Harad had taught her how to maintain her poise under scrutiny, but this felt different. It wasn’t about alliances or strategy; it was personal. She was being judged not for her capabilities, but for her age, her heritage, her very existence.
Amrothos, oblivious to the whispers, was across the room, laughing and gesturing animatedly as he entertained a group of nobles. Mareke’s gaze flicked to him briefly before returning to her surroundings, her chin lifting slightly as she reminded herself of who she was—a princess, a mother, a woman who had weathered far greater storms than petty court gossip.
Still, the sting of their words lingered.
Before she could dwell on it further, Lady Ceredwyn appeared at her side, her warm smile a welcome reprieve. “You’re handling yourself well,” she said softly, her tone kind but knowing. “I know what they’re saying. Ignore them.”
Mareke glanced at her, grateful for the support but unwilling to admit the whispers had affected her. “I’ve faced worse,” she replied evenly, though her voice carried a hint of weariness.
Ceredwyn smiled faintly. “I don’t doubt that. But you should know—most of these women have never had to fight for anything in their lives. Their words are as empty as their understanding of the world beyond these walls.”
Mareke couldn’t help but smile slightly at that, though the weight of the moment remained. “It’s not the first time I’ve been judged for who I am,” she admitted. “But it’s harder now, knowing I represent not just myself, but Amrothos as well.”
“And he adores you,” Ceredwyn said firmly. “He doesn’t care about their opinions, and neither should you. They’ll grow tired of their gossip eventually.”
Mareke nodded, her shoulders straightening as she took a steadying breath. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Your kindness means more than you know.”
Ceredwyn patted her arm before excusing herself to join her husband. Left alone again, Mareke took a moment to compose herself, her gaze drifting once more to Amrothos. He caught her eye and grinned, his expression lighting up as he excused himself from the group and made his way to her.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, his tone light as he reached her side.
“Of course,” she replied smoothly, her practiced smile in place. “Your court is... lively.”
He raised an eyebrow, his grin softening into something more knowing. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
She met his gaze, debating whether or not to share her thoughts. Finally, she decided against it. This was her battle to face, not his. “Let’s just say I’m learning.”
Amrothos frowned slightly, but he let it go, his hand brushing lightly against hers. “You’re doing fine,” he said softly. “Better than fine. I’ve never seen anyone walk into a room like you do—you command it.”
His words, sincere and unprompted, eased some of the tension in her chest. She smiled faintly, tilting her head toward him. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Amrothos.”
“Good,” he said with a grin, leaning closer. “Because I’m not stopping.”
As the evening wore on, Mareke kept her composure, her presence as steady as ever. The whispers continued, but she let them roll off her, bolstered by Ceredwyn’s reassurance and Amrothos’s quiet support. This was just another obstacle, one she would overcome as she always had—with grace, resilience, and the knowledge that her worth was far greater than the judgments of those who had never truly known struggle.
ooooOoooo
As the days passed, Mareke found herself drawn more and more to Amrothos's warmth, his easy confidence, and his unwavering affection. Despite the whispers that still lingered in the corners of Dol Amroth’s court, she began to care less and less about the opinions of those who had never known her struggles. Instead, she leaned into the life she was building with her husband, allowing herself to experience a freedom she hadn’t realized she was missing.
At public gatherings, she found herself reaching for his hand more often, letting her fingers linger in his, or resting her hand lightly on his arm. When he wrapped an arm around her waist, she didn’t tense or pull away as she might have before; instead, she leaned into him, letting herself enjoy the sense of belonging he offered so freely.
Amrothos, for his part, seemed delighted by her growing ease. He never missed an opportunity to brush a kiss against her temple, whisper a joke in her ear, or pull her close during a dance. His affection was unapologetic, as though daring anyone to question his love for her. And Mareke, to her surprise, found herself thriving in it.
One evening, during another dinner in the grand hall, she rested her hand lightly on Amrothos’s knee beneath the table. It was a small gesture, but one that felt daring to her, given the ever-watchful eyes of the court. Amrothos noticed immediately, glancing at her with a raised eyebrow and a playful grin.
“Careful,” he murmured under his breath, leaning closer. “You’ll give them something real to gossip about.”
Mareke smirked, her confidence bolstered by his teasing. “Let them,” she replied, her voice low but firm. “I’ve spent too much of my life worrying about what others think.”
Amrothos chuckled softly, his hand covering hers on his knee. “That’s my wife,” he said, his tone warm and proud. “Let them see exactly how happy you make me.”
The whispers, of course, continued. There were murmurs about how openly she leaned on him, how often his hands lingered at her waist, how their laughter seemed too intimate for a noble couple at court. But Mareke found she didn’t care. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t just a princess, a mother, or a woman weighed down by responsibility. She felt like the young woman she’d never truly had the chance to be—playful and affectionate.
ooooOoooo
One afternoon, as they strolled through the gardens with the sea breeze rustling the flowers, Amrothos caught her hand and spun her unexpectedly, his grin mischievous. Mareke laughed, caught off guard, and when he pulled her into his arms, she didn’t hesitate to let him kiss her right there in the open. The sound of someone clearing their throat nearby reminded her that they weren’t alone, but she didn’t care.
“People are watching,” she said softly, though there was no reproach in her voice.
“Let them watch,” Amrothos replied, his arms still around her. “They should see how much I adore my wife.”
Mareke rolled her eyes but smiled, leaning her forehead against his.
For all the whispers and the judgment, Mareke found that she was no longer burdened by them. With Amrothos by her side, she had reclaimed a part of herself she thought she’d lost—a part that laughed, loved, and lived without fear. For the first time in years, she was truly happy, and she wouldn’t let anyone take that from her.