This story is a sequel to First Impressions. It holds up well as a standalone, but some things will make more sense if you read that first.

Prologue

She found him in his study, studying the plans for his new flagship. It had been his favourite project of late, and he kept close tabs on every stage of development. Ivriniel shook her head and pursed her lips. Unlike her brother, she had never wished to conquer the sea. She just wanted to be close to it.

"Imrahil?"

He looked up, with a calm and mildly questioning expression, as if he did not know perfectly well why she was there.

"We have to talk about this." Ivriniel did not wait for an invitation but sat down on the armchair next to the fireplace. There was no fire, of course. It was only Gwirith, but a spring heatwave had held Dol Amroth in a sweltering grip for the past weeks. Ivriniel's silks clung to her body uncomfortably. She found the heat harder to deal with as she got older, and usually preferred to remain in her sitting-room with its northwestern windows that let in a gentle breeze from the shore.

"About what, sister?" Imrahil asked, a good-natured smile plastered on his face.

"Don't play the fool with me, even if that is what you are."

He just smiled wider, and it infuriated her. Imrahil was like the rocky cliffs of Dol Amroth itself: no matter how many tidal waves and torrential rains you swung at them, they would simply stand there, unmoved, unchanged. It was his strength, but also the deep and longstanding frustration of the rest of his family.

"I spoke to Lady Raedrith today. She tells me you mean to refuse Lord Glirion's offer."

"Tell Lady Raedrith I am disappointed in her. She is usually so abreast with all current affairs of my family."

Ivriniel almost breathed a sigh of relief. "You will accept, then?"

"I'm afraid not," said Imrahil, bending over his papers again. "I turned him away days ago."

"Imri!"

He looked up politely. "I take it you disagree?"

She gritted her teeth. "It would have been a great match for Lothíriel."

"Oh?"

"She would be comfortable, settled near her family…"

"Married to a minor lord dependent on the goodwill of his wealthier and more powerful relations," said Imrahil, his voice still light, but she could detect a first hint of annoyance. It felt like a victory of sorts.

"His family is kin to ours through our great-uncle Amarthir," said Ivriniel.

"Ah. So what are you suggesting? He has a claim to Dol Amroth?" said Imrahil.

"A very distant one, yes, technically, but that is not the point."

"Then what is the point? I do not see how the man could be said to be a great match for a Princess of Dol Amroth." Imrahil's tone was curt now.

"That is not what I said. I said he would be a great match for Lothíriel."

"Lothíriel is a Princess of Dol Amroth."

Ivriniel sighed and clucked her tongue. It was a bad habit she had never been able to shake completely, and that resurfaced every time she was exasperated. "Do you know your own daughter? A better match will bring her no pleasure."

"Do you know my daughter?" countered Imrahil blandly. "She would never be ruled by a man like Lord Glirion. He cannot hope to keep up with her."

At least her little brother was not completely blind. "Exactly!"

Imrahil looked almost amused. "You wish for Lothíriel to walk all over her future husband?"

"I want her happiness."

"Ivriniel, you know as well as I that Lord Glirion is a complete idiot."

There was no denying that. "He's a good man and he would worship her. She'd be safe and protected, and not burdened with duties beyond her will and ability."

Imrahil started tidying his desk, stacking the books and rolls of parchment with perfunctory care. "As always you don't seem to think very highly of my daughter."

The unfair accusation stung her, and the wording too. His daughter, indeed. "I love Lothíriel as much as you. She is my niece, and might as well be my own. But I am not blind to her faults."

"Neither am I. I know she is… spirited."

Ivriniel bit back a condescending retort. She had no wish to antagonise her brother when reason might still prevail. "Imrahil, the role you envision for her would not suit her," she tried patiently. "Lothíriel has never shown the slightest bit of interest in the running of Dol Amroth."

The Prince seemed to be losing interest. "She would pick it up soon enough."

"Not if she does not want to pick it up." Ivriniel had yet to meet a child more skilled at getting out of lessons and duties she considered undesirable than her niece. At times she believed Lothíriel to be a plague sent to her from some dark underworld, and at other times she was equally convinced Lothíriel was the most enchanting and genuine maiden there ever was. Regardless, Ivriniel was always certain that her niece was trouble: reckless and, as she was ageing, an incorrigible flirt too. Why, they should probably count themselves lucky that they had made it through twenty years without the girl running off with some juggler from Harad.

"Oh, honestly, Ivriniel. You're too hung up on her childish pranks," Ivriniel started to protest but Imrahil held up his hand. "Have you seen her lately? She's a grown woman now, and quite beautiful besides. She's perfectly ready to manage her own household. All she needs is a steadying influence."

"Ha! You allow her to run wild for years and then just expect her to fall into step when you notice she has the body of a woman? By the Valar, but you are a fool." The thing was, it was hard to be diplomatic with the little brother she knew and loved so well. She had been at his side through all the good and bad years, and witnessed all his mistakes as well.

"Oh, she might fuss a little at first. But if you think that she would not fight against a match with Lord Glirion…"

"You are her father. You can make her accept. You have always been too indulgent with her, Imri, always." Imrahil simply raised an eyebrow at her and she swallowed the rest of that rant. "You know I only want what is best for her."

"Lord Glirion is the very opposite of what is best for her."

Lord Glirion was a young man of thirty-six, perhaps a little old for Lothíriel but nothing out of the ordinary. He had known Lothíriel growing up, laughed politely at her pranks (even if he did not understand half the time when he was being made fun of) and was apparently still willing to put up with her. That qualified him as a good man in Ivriniel's books. "Be reasonable, brother."

"I do not want my daughter ending up with a husband she does not respect and could not admire or, for that matter, love."

"Better than a husband who does not respect her and would seek to make her into something she is not."

"You surprise me, sister, I thought you would be a little bit more romantic than that."

"Romantic?" Now she was truly angry. "How about Mirdis? And Finduilas? Will you honestly allow the same mistakes to be made all over again?"

Imrahil's mouth drew into a sharp line and his eyes narrowed. "Ivriniel, now you go too far."

She felt a flash of guilt, but at this point she would do anything to make her brother see clearly. "Do you not want to be free of this cycle?"

"There is no cycle. And Lothíriel is nothing like Mirdis."

Lothíriel reminded Ivriniel so much of her sister-in-law that it often broke her heart.

"You let yourself be taken in because she is always parroting that blasted son of yours." She did not need to specify that she meant Amrothos. Elphir and Erchirion were her nephews, but Amrothos was always Imrahil's son (usually with a colourful epithet or two). "It makes you believe she is sophisticated and self-possessed, when she could not be more unworldly. But you are right, she is worse than Mirdis, because she is wilful too! She will break before she bends."

"Now you are being deliberately dramatic."

"And you are determined to bring misery to your daughter, and her future husband. You should know this better than anyone!"

"Ivriniel!" His voice was sharp as a whip and Ivriniel started and fell silent. Then Imrahil sighed and recollected himself. His next words were low and quiet. "You know I regret not a single day with her."

There was pain in his eyes, but wistfulness too and for the first time in nearly ten years Ivriniel felt ready to burst into tears. Then she shook it off. Love made such fools of men! "I did not think you would be so selfish," she said at last.

"I want something better for Lothíriel than that blabbering imbecile!" said Imrahil. "There is nothing wrong with that."

"Better, or more advantageous?" asked Ivriniel shrewdly.

"Both, if possible. Of course I wish to see my only daughter settled well."

That was all she wanted for Lothíriel also, but she knew the kind of man Imrahil had in mind, and it did not bode well for her free and easy niece. She would be like a fish out of water in such a marriage … like a Princess of Dol Amroth away from the sea.

Meanwhile, her brother had turned his attention back to the plans on his desk. "Imri, do not let your pride and ambition stand in the way of her happiness," she said at last.

With a stylus he added a few lines to the sketch, extending the hull another three feet or so. "I will not. But neither will I allow your fears to."

There was nothing left to be said and Ivriniel departed the room full of misgivings and bitter memories.

A/N As always, I am borrowing Tolkien's wonderful sandbox for entertainment purposes only. This series is the completely out of control result of a momentary reverie in which I realised how cool it would have been had Jane Austen written Middle-Earth fanfiction (hence the working title: Pride and Prejudice and Uruk-Hai). All allusions to Austen's works are deliberate, but this is not a crossover and you need no knowledge of Jane Austen to read it.