Title: House of Sun
Genre: Romance
Rating: T for now (may change)
Pairing: Éomer/Lothíriel
Disclaimer: The Lord of The Rings is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien and his estate. This is a work of fanfiction, written for the enjoyment of myself and others. No financial profit is made by writing this.
Summary: The shadows gather. To create anew the old friendship between the kingdom of Rohan and Gondor, a marriage is agreed upon. An unexpected bridesgroom, a reluctant princess, and two lives bound together by chance. "The fates were at work that day..."
Author's Note: Okay, I've gone mad (or madder than I already was), and Lothíriel and Éomer just won't shut up. I suppose this is, in a way, inspired by "Marshal's Wife" and the setting there - meaning, what if our horselord and our princess were married before the great battles of the War of the Ring were fought? I suppose that makes this an AU story, but anyway.
I'm not sure how fast this will update, though. I seriously need to spend less time writing and concentrate more on actual work.
Nevertheless, hope you enjoy!
"Life calls the tune, we dance."
― John Galsworthy
Chapter 1
March 3017, Minas Tirith
When Lord Denethor asked to see him on that brisk morning of March, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth thought it was just about some running matters of the realm, or perhaps the Steward wanted to plan some war campaign. At least the latter sounded likely with the dangers ever growing and the shadow falling steeper over the lands of men.
As he made his way towards the topmost citadel, he once again took note of the watchful silence that hung over the White City and the kind of an itch that was the ever-present shadow in the east. Thus it had been almost as long as Imrahil could remember. It was one of the reasons he did not love these visits to Minas Tirith; though his duties often took him here, he tried to make the trips short. It was no wonder to him why his sister had wasted away in this city.
Sometimes, he still blamed his late father for letting Finduilas marry Denethor... but then, when he looked upon the faces of her sons, Imrahil felt she had also given Gondor hope that had not been there for a long time. And Finduilas had known what she wanted.
"Uncle", called the younger of those two sons now as he entered the palace. Though Faramir's duties usually kept him in Ithilien, he did come to Minas Tirith as often as he was able. There was much in the young captain that reminded the Prince of his late sister. She was there in his face too, especially in his eyes and mouth. Boromir was more like their father, but Imrahil had always thought even Denethor's first-born had the kind of gentleness, doubtlessly inherited from Lady Finduilas, that was not present in the Steward himself.
"Faramir", Imrahil greeted his sister-son and smiled, "I didn't know you were in the city."
"I only arrived late last night, uncle", said Faramir softly. "Are you on your way to see Father?"
"Indeed I am. There is something important he wishes to speak of with me", answered the Prince, once again wondering what it might be.
"He called me as well", said the younger man. Denethor often required his sons to attend when matters of the realm were discussed, which Imrahil thought wise. Both were grown men and already experienced warriors whose insight was valuable. Still, it must be an important thing Denethor had in mind, if both his sons were to be present too.
"Could I perhaps ask you to join me for supper tonight? It's been too long since we've last had a proper conversation", he asked as they made their way towards the Steward's private study. His nephew gave an apologetic smile.
"I fear I must decline. Father wants me to return to my post later this day", Faramir said, and the Prince refrained from commenting that the Steward pushed his younger son too much. Really, the young captain did look like a good night's rest might have suited him well.
Being a father of four himself, Imrahil did not always understand the way Denethor treated his sons. In fact, one could have said that he was at the same time the most doting father that ever existed and also the most negligent one. Often it was Imrahil that Faramir came to with his concerns, as if the young man saw him as something of a surrogate father. Though it grieved the Prince that his sister-son and his brother-in-law had such a strained relationship, he was happy that at least Faramir trusted him that much.
"Some other time, then", he said however, keeping his opinions on Denethor's parenting to himself.
They came to the Steward's study then, and once Imrahil had knocked, his brother-in-law's voice called them in. The study had once been that of the King, but as its last occupant had not left any heirs for the throne, the Stewards of Gondor had eventually migrated into the royal study. It made sense anyway, as most of the maps and the more important scrolls and books were located there.
There were three men in the study. Denethor himself was sat behind the large desk. At the age of 87, he was still as alert and sharp as he had ever been. Though he had grown grim over the years, he was still one of the most valiant men one could find in the kingdoms of men. By the window, his oldest son stood staring out. Boromir reminded Imrahil much of Denethor when the Steward had been younger, and in him, Gondor would have another outstanding leader.
The third man, sat before the Steward's desk, was something of a surprise. His fair hair and his clothes marked him as a man of Rohan – a most surprising guest to say the very least. Though the Rohirrim had been Gondor's friends since the times of King Eorl, the relations between the two countries had grown ever more sparse during the years of late. The Prince knew what he heard in his southern city of Dol Amroth were probably just echoes, but the rumours spoke of gathering dark in the kingdom of horselords. It had troubled Imrahil and he was certain it disturbed Denethor even more, for if even the fierce people like the Rohirrim were fighting to survive, it could only mean ill for Gondor too.
He did not know what it meant that a Rohir was here, sat by the Steward's table: was it a good sign of old friendship resurrected or a warning of strife to come?
"Lord Denethor", Imrahil greeted the Steward and nodded towards Boromir, who had now turned to look at the newcomers. Denethor leant back in his chair.
"Prince Imrahil", said the older man; his eyes briefly rested on Faramir, but he gave his younger son no other recognition than that.
"You wished to speak with me, my lord?" Imrahil asked.
"I did. It is a matter of great importance, but let me first introduce you to Master Metodlác of Rohan. King Théoden has sent him here on an important mission", Denethor said and gestured towards the Rohir. The fair-haired man stood up to greet the Prince. His sharp-featured face was weather-beaten and lined with age and many concerns, but his blue eyes were keen and observant. His flaxen hair had started to turn white though his beard remained yellow with gold-red tint. He couldn't have been much older than Imrahil himself but he still stood tall and straight, dressed in the greens and browns his people favoured.
"It is an honour to meet you, my lord", Metodlác said and bowed his head to show respect.
"Likewise, Master Metodlác. What brings you here in Minas Tirith?" Imrahil asked.
The Rohir glanced at Denethor, who gestured at the chairs opposite his desk and said: "Please, sit down, and we will discuss."
Imrahil did so while Faramir took his place at Denethor's left, and once they were settled in their chairs, the Steward spoke again.
"Master Metodlác here has come to us with an interesting proposal. He has told me much of his land and the many concerns there. As a matter of fact, we've both agreed that now it is a time, if ever, to strengthen our alliance and friendship", Denethor began, pressing the tips of his fingers against each other.
"And what do you propose, my friend? What does your king say?" Imrahil asked the fair-haired man. If he was expecting long explanations, he was mistaken.
"The Rohirrim believe that the trust and faith are things best placed in home and hearth – family, in other words. In this time of danger and doubt Théoden King believes that such bond might be forged between Rohan and Gondor again, as it was in his father's time when Thengel wed Morwen. So, he proposes that the Houses of Eorl and Dol Amroth be unified by a marriage", said Metodlác at length, attentively studying Imrahil's face as if in an attempt to read his mind.
"A marriage? Between whom?" asked the Prince. The idea wasn't the worst he had heard, and at least deserved some scrutiny.
"Lord Denethor here has told me that you have a young unmarried daughter, my lord. If I may say so, it was what I hoped when I came here. For you see, our Crown Prince Théodred is still unmarried, and he'd be honoured to have the hand of Princess Lothíriel in marriage", Metodlác said carefully.
Imrahil sat silent, trying to come up with something to say. This was about the last thing he had expected to hear when Denethor had requested his presence, and the surprise had left him speechless. And the Steward was expecting him to part with his only daughter and give her to a man he – or she herself! – had never even met!
"But she is so young", was all Imrahil could muster from his surprise. Denethor did not seem too affected by that, however. If anything, he just lifted his eyebrows.
"I do not think your wife was any older when the two of you married", he said pointedly.
"Well, that is only because Celairiel could not be persuaded to wait any longer. It was her choice. This is a different situation altogether", Imrahil answered. He was thinking fast, trying to come up with something convincing enough... but Faramir was quicker than him.
"With all due respect, I must speak on my cousin's behalf and say that this marriage would suit her ill. I seem to recall that Prince Théodred is twice her age", said the young captain. Denethor cast a stark look from under his eyebrows at his son.
"The age difference between myself and your mother was the same, and our marriage was quite happy", the Steward pointed out. It was the first time since her death that Imrahil heard his brother-in-law even mentioning Finduilas. It was widely known that the Steward had loved his wife dearly, and that her death was a grief he had never quite recovered from.
Faramir, however, wasn't so easily beaten.
"That is true, yes. But Lothíriel is not the same as Mother was... and she has more or less spent her adolescent years announcing how she will never want to marry. Father, the only thing it should achieve would be her unhappiness. And did Master Metodlác not just say about how the strength should in these times be found in the home and hearth? I must ask, can there be strength without happiness or at least contentment?" he asked, his voice turning spirited suddenly. Imrahil knew his nephew was very fond of Lothíriel, but now he sounded more like one of her brothers than her cousin. Really, the Prince could have very well imagined one of his sons speaking like him.
Faramir had the right of it, though. Lothíriel would not be happy to marry Prince Théodred, and that was not only because of the age difference. She would not want it because marrying the Crown Prince meant that one day, she'd be the Queen of Rohan. And Imrahil knew that was an idea Lothíriel would not be likely to welcome. Rohan was so far away... she would not want to leave her home behind, not for the sake of any crown on Middle-earth.
"Faramir-" Denethor began with no little displeasure, but Boromir disrupted him by speaking up.
"Father, I should say Faramir is right. Our little cousin would not fare well in such a marriage", said the elder of the Steward's sons. Though it was no secret whom Denethor favoured, there had never been any ill feelings between the two brothers.
"I am sorry, Master Metodlác, but I must agree with my nephews. I... she's my only daughter and I'd wish to see her wed a man whom she can love", Imrahil said slowly. "What of the noble ladies of your land? Does Théoden King have unmarried ladies in his family?"
"Lady Éowyn is the only one with royal blood", said the Rohir reluctantly, "and she is out of question. She is needed in Rohan – she runs the King's household and I can answer right away that my lord would not bear to part with her. To be honest, I must say she is not a woman to marry any man."
"What of the men of the House of Eorl, then? Surely Prince Théodred can't be the only one", Denethor asked, obviously not quite ready to give up this matter yet. Like the Prince feared, Metodlác nodded.
"There is Marshal Éomer. He is a young man, only 26 summers old, but he is already a renowned rider and warrior. He was recently made one of the King's lieutenants and shows great promise. He is Théoden King's nephew and after Théodred, he is second in the line of succession. Our King has tasked him with protecting the eastern parts of our realm – something which he has done most admirably, if I may say so", he explained. If not by his words, the colour of his voice also proved how much he appreciated King Théoden's nephew.
"Tell me more of this Marshal. What is he like?" Denethor asked, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully.
"Lord Éomer is fierce and loyal and greatly loved by his uncle. He and his sister were effectively brought up by Théoden King, for their parents died when they were children. He's not only one of the finest swordsmen in the Mark, but also a skilled leader in a battle. You will not find a more faithful man in all of Rohan. The Marshal is well-liked in the Riddermark", Metodlác answered.
"Well, my lord Imrahil? Does this Marshal of the Mark not sound like someone your daughter could grow to love? He sounds like a great man in making", Denethor commented, straightening up in his chair.
"But Father-" Faramir attempted; however, the Steward lifted his hand to silence his son.
"Quiet. This is not your business, Captain Faramir", said the Steward sternly, and his younger son fell back. The troubled look on Faramir's face did not disappear.
Imrahil looked from his brother-in-law to Master Metodlác, who was watching him attentively. Weighing his options, Prince sat silent. With some chagrin he realised he did not know what to answer.
"I... I must think on this, my lords. I fear I cannot answer this proposal so soon", he said at last and saw the flash of disappointment in Metodlác's eyes. It was understandable, really. The man had such high hopes for his realm and who could blame him?
"My lord, would you come and walk with me? I'd have a word in private", said Lord Denethor and rose up from his seat. He cast a look at his sons, "I trust you look after the good Master Metodlác while I speak with the Prince."
"Of course, Father", Boromir said, turning his attention on the Rohirric nobleman. Before stepping out, Imrahil glanced briefly at Faramir; there was a pointed look on the young captain's face and its meaning was not lost to the Prince.
Once they were out, Lord Denethor assumed a slow pace, and for a moment they walked in silence through the great airy hallway. Imrahil waited for the older man to speak first, as he could tell the Steward had much to say. At last, Denethor began to speak.
"I understand this is a difficult decision for you, my friend. As a father myself, I do see it is a hard place to be both a parent and a prince. But despite what Faramir says, I hope you do consider this proposal very seriously", he said at last after a silence.
"But how can I say yes and give away my only daughter? The Rohirrim are our friends, yes, but their culture and their ways are different than ours. How would a fragile Gondorian rose fare in those cold winds of the north?" Imrahil asked. "When my wife lay dying, she pleaded me to take care of Lothíriel – to keep her safe and happy. And I fear that is the last thing she would be as the wife of a man of the Mark. Can you not choose any other woman?"
"I fear it must be Lothíriel. A personal and familial alliance what is needed, to show that we hold our Northern allies in high esteem. No less than a princess will do. I'm not claiming this is an easy thing, Imrahil, nor do I blame you for your heavy heart. However, I would ask you to tread carefully. This marriage could just be what it takes for you to keep your word to your wife, for who knows what the future will bring us if we do not strengthen our lines? We need this alliance, my friend. We need the aid that the Rohirrim could provide should times become even more desperate than they already are. We need their spears and riders, Imrahil, and your daughter's hand in marriage is not a large price for that", Denethor said.
Perhaps for you, it is not, Imrahil thought to himself, but did not say it out loud. He sighed heavily.
"Denethor..." he started, not sure how to continue. "You would have me give my daughter in marriage to a man none of us has ever even met, and without her consent?"
"I'd ask you to do it for Gondor", said the Steward gravely. It was now his turn to sigh. "My friend, I truly hate to say this, but we do not have a choice. Lothíriel must marry one of these men. That is my word as the Steward of Gondor. However, I will leave it to you to choose which of these two men would suit her best. You are her father, so I imagine you'd know how to choose. And I would hope you make your choice quick, for we need to prepare. I do not know how much time we have left."
At the sight of Imrahil's expression, Denethor's face became slightly softer, and he rested a hand on the Prince's shoulder.
"Imrahil, I am truly sorry for this. Think of it this way: your daughter's marriage could save both Gondor and Rohan and all the free peoples of Middle-earth", he said quietly.
And really, what does a man answer to that?
The sun was making its descent towards horizon when Master Metodlác finally saw the houses of Aldburg before him. It was a welcome sight, for the journey had been long and he was not as young as he had once been. And as fine as the White City was, Metodlác would never have exchanged the land of his forebears to the stone palaces of south. His heart was here, in the soil of Rohan and under the wide blue sky over the plains.
And there was also the fact that in Aldburg, he saw so much more life than he had seen in Mundburg. There in the Stone-land, people went about silent and ever vigilant, as if the shadow of the east smothered their very spirits. So, the smiling faces and the lively tones of Rohirric he heard as his company rode for the Marshal's Hall made him feel like home. Well, at least as close as it got without his wife Wyrðe, who waited for him in Edoras.
As they rode into the yard, it was Oferlof who came to welcome Metodlác and his company. That usually meant Marshal Éomer was not in residence... which was more often than not these days. Pushing himself as he pushed his men, the King's nephew seemed to have decided his éored would single-handedly take down all the orcs of Mordor. And who could blame him, after what those abominable creatures had done to his father and effectively to all of his family? It was good to see he was taking his duties so seriously, as not all men of his age would have.
"Master Metodlác! Good to see you back", Oferlof called as the rider dismounted. They were about the same age and were friends as well, though these days it was not so often that Metodlác came to Aldburg.
"I'm glad to be home, friend. Those southern courts are not for me", he said with a smile as he surrendered his horse to a stableman. "I take it Lord Éomer is not home?"
"He's hunting orcs in eastern parts. I was hoping maybe you'd catch him on your way back. He should be back any day now", Oferlof answered. "You have important business with the Marshal?"
"Indeed I do. There's something very urgent I need to discuss with him, so I hoped I'd find him at home... Théoden King should be notified as well, and I'd rather not keep him waiting", Metodlác answered solemnly.
"I'm sure Lord Éomer will return soon", Oferlof reassured his friend. "Now. Come inside. There's supper and you lads look like you could use some."
Over the food, Metodlác told his friend news of Mundburg, but he did not speak of his mission or its outcomes. But Oferlof was not a stupid man and he probably had his suspicions anyway. Still, what agreement had been reached in Mundburg was not a story Metodlác wanted circling about before the Marshal and the King had heard of it.
They were just finishing their meal when the Marshal himself strode in, looking weathered and grimly satisfied as only a man who had slain a pack of orcs could. Judging by that, his hunting trip had been providential, which did not come to Metodlác as a surprise.
He had watched the Marshal grow from a gangly boy into a tall, fierce warrior. Clad in hauberk and plates of red-brown leather, he was a man of impressive presence, and looking at him, it was easy to see why his men followed him with such blind faith. Though times were... well, what they were, it was an encouraging thing to see that in the House of Eorl there was still such strength left.
Metodlác had also been there the day Théoden King had brought his sister-children to Meduseld. Éowyn had seemed scared and teary as she hid behind her brother's back, but Éomer's eyes had been dry. Rather, the strongest emotion Metodlác had sensed from the boy had been anger.
Most of his waking moments, the young son of Éomund had spent in battle training. Endlessly he'd practice his swordsmanship, his skills at throwing spears, and shooting arrows. And if he was not perfecting his fighting skills, he'd ride and learn all the finest tricks of a Rohirric rider. If the boy had planned on turning himself into an intricate war machine, that certainly was what he seemed to have achieved, and since his sixteenth birthday he had actively ridden with a battle éored. Yet even now, Metodlác could very well see that the anger he had seen in the boy's eyes was still in those of a man.
But dark times bred angry men, and there were times when Éomer son of Éomund was the angriest of them all.
"My lord Marshal", Metodlác greeted as the tall rider approached them.
"Master Metodlác", answered the King's nephew. "What tidings from Mundburg?"
"That is what I wished to speak of with you, my lord, if you have time", said the older man carefully.
"Nothing too bad, I hope?" Lord Éomer asked and pulled off his gloves, somehow managing to make it look like he'd jump back into the saddle if the old Rohir's words gave any reason to do so. Oferlof had said the Marshal ridden out with his men six nights ago, and he must have been about ever since; where the tall man's seemingly endless energy came from, Metodlác could not tell.
"No, not at all. But perhaps we could discuss it in private? It is rather important", he said. The Marshal nodded.
"Of course. Let me just get changed into something more comfortable, and we will speak", he answered.
It was less than a half an hour later that the two men were sat in the Marshal's private study. It was not too large and the amount of dust there would testify that the owner of it preferred outdoors, but it did offer a place for private conversations such as this. With cups of ale on the front of them, Metodlác began to describe the happenings of late.
Truthfully speaking, it had not been entirely Théoden King's idea to send his adviser to Mundburg. Then again, Théoden did not really have many original ideas these days. Metodlác's trip had been more or less machinated by Prince Théodred and few men in Théoden's immediate vicinity who were still loyal to the Mark. With some subterfuge which had apparently involved some wine heavily dosed with sleeping draught, Marshal Elfhelm had distracted Gríma Wormtongue for long enough so that the damned man could not interfere, and the precious instance had been used by Théodred, Erkenbrand and Metodlác to introduce the King an idea of marital alliance between Rohan and Gondor. As the King had been of good health that day and seemed more like his old self, he had agreed that Metodlác would leave for Gondor to find a bride for the Prince, and thus try and forge a new bond of allegiance.
The old Rohir had left the very same day and he had ridden fast, if only to make sure Gríma Wormtongue's scheming ways could not prevent this plan.
Only, in the end it all had turned out different than any of them would have thought. The perfect wife candidate had indeed been found: no woman of Gondor could have been more eligible than the daughter of Prince Imrahil. As one of the highest ranking nobles of the land, Imrahil's House was powerful and closely related to the very family of the Steward of Gondor.
It had been such a good idea – even Lord Denethor had agreed. Because of this, Metodlác had not expected that Prince Imrahil would not be amenable, and for a while he had really been worried for how things would turn out. However, in the end an agreement had been reached.
"In short, Imrahil will consent to giving his daughter's hand in marriage... but not to Théodred. Because of this, it is you we now look at, for you are a member of the House of Eorl as well", he finished his explanations. Éomer had listened quietly and carefully to Metodlác as the older man had clarified what sort of agreement had been reached in Mundburg. His face never betrayed what he thought, not even as he spoke at last after being silent for a while.
"So I am expected to wed this reluctant princess", he stated at length. He did not meet the older Rohir's eyes but rather stared at his cup, which he held in his hand and stared at as if it held some great mystery.
"Yes. That is what we are hoping for", Metodlác answered. He sighed, "I know this comes as a complete surprise to you, and I understand if it is not to your liking. Believe me, I did not expect this either, for it was Théodred's marriage I was hoping to arrange. But you are the man Imrahil will give the hand of his daughter."
"Why is that? Why pick me?" asked the Marshal and finally looked up at his uncle's adviser.
"As far as I could understand, he did not particularly like the idea of the Princess marrying a man about twice her age. He was very concerned with her happiness", Metodlác answered.
"If he's so worried of his daughter's contentment, why marry her to a Marshal? My cousin could offer her a far richer life. She's a princess, after all, so I'd imagine the livelihood I can provide is not exactly what she's used to", Lord Éomer pointed out.
"I wondered about that as well", said the older man. "But Imrahil did not explain the reasoning behind his choice, other than to say that marrying someone she doesn't know would not be to her liking. Moreover, I got the impression his daughter would abhor the idea of marrying a heir to the throne. I wasn't able to find out more, as Prince Imrahil left for Dol Amroth about as soon as he had given his approval."
"Hmm. What is she like, this princess?" Lord Éomer asked, again turning to stare at his cup of ale.
"I spoke with her cousins – Lords Boromir and Faramir, both of whom seem to regard her almost like a little sister... Faramir at least was very protective of her and I could tell he wasn't so happy about the whole thing. Anyway, they say she is very pretty, dark-haired and grey-eyed like her kin. I asked for a portrait but it seems there were none in Mundburg, and Lord Denethor doubted one could be produced in time before the wedding. Also, it is said that the Prince's family has some Elven blood. I'm no judge of that, but the Prince himself, as his nephews, were all valiant men", Metodlác recited what he had heard and seen. "Princess Lothíriel is... well, Faramir tells me that she is headstrong."
That made the Marshal snort.
"You think that is a problem? I've dealt with stubborn Rohirric women all my life. A headstrong princess would be nothing too new or unseen", he commented.
"That is true", Metodlác allowed, taking a sip of his ale. "But she's still a princess. She's different than our women and she will expect treatment unlike that of our women. Judging by her cousins' words, she can be difficult too. Faramir thinks she is sweet to those she loves, but she has her thorns and will not hesitate to prickle if she is displeased with something."
Lord Éomer sighed and rubbed his forehead. He glanced at the older man and the look in his dark eyes was tired.
"With all due respect, she sounds like something of a brat", he said dryly. "So now I'm expected to marry a princess who is hardly more than a little girl?"
That rather worried Metodlác. He had no idea of what to do if the Marshal said no. But then, technically the young man did have that right.
"Like I said, I understand if this is not to your liking. Believe me, I do. I don't take pleasure in asking you to do this, my lord, but... I do it because I fear for what the future will bring us. Rohan needs Gondor. In all this gathering dark, our friends are growing sparse while the enemy becomes stronger", said the old Rohir quietly. It was no news to Lord Éomer of course. As the Third Marshal of the Mark, he knew better than most of the darkening shadow.
And it was Metodlác's unpleasant duty to ask even more of this man, who had already given so much to his land and had not spared his strength or his blood to protect the realm and his people.
"There is also the matter of her dowry", Metodlác continued quietly. "She's a princess, after all, so I imagine a marriage to her would prove most beneficiary not only to yourself, but also to Aldburg. New livestock could be purchased, the defences strengthened. You are a smart man so I don't need to say more. With the princess as your wife, you'd establish permanent connections with one of the greatest Houses in all of the Western kingdoms. Not just on official level, but also on personal. They say Imrahil is a loyal and faithful ally, and he is a prince. Not only that, he's also kin to the Steward of Gondor himself. There is much prestige in this marriage, if you'd consider it."
Lord Éomer did not answer at first. Instead, he busied himself with pouring more ale to their cups and then took a long sip as he contemplated the older man's words. Finally, he settled back in his chair and looked at Metodlác, and the look in his eyes was tired and yielding. One could have thought he was surrendering much more than just his status as an unmarried man. And who was Metodlác to tell? Perhaps it was a sacrifice for the Marshal.
"Fine. If that is what the Mark asks of me, then I will do it. My life belongs to Rohan anyway. I will marry this Princess, and I truly wish that it will be as beneficial as you say."
Lady Fainien was not having a particularly pleasant day. Well, to be honest, no one in Dol Amroth was having a nice day at the moment, not at least as far as the royal family was considered. This was in no small part thanks to Princess Lothíriel's current state of sulking.
Fainien had seen some very extensive explosions ever since she had married Prince Erchirion. The family life of the House of Dol Amroth had a tendency to be noisy and even chaotic, and that was no wonder with personalities such as Lothíriel.
But she had never flared out quite like when her father returned from Minas Tirith with the news of an impending marriage to a complete stranger – Fainien herself had heard her screams to the next level and she had been very happy that there had been an entire floor between them. Though apparently Imrahil had tried to explain there really was no other choice and that the Steward commanded it, Lothíriel had only seemed to get angrier with each passing moment. Finally, she had stormed out from her father's study and locked herself in her chambers, and no one had seen or heard her since. But the word of Imrahil's tidings had quickly spread, and her brothers had one at a time come to try and persuade her to come out. That had proved to be futile, and the exasperated Erchirion had come to ask his wife if she could talk with the outraged princess.
Lothíriel had been about as responsive to Fainien's attempts as she had been to her brothers and her father. So, the last weapon was now in the process of being readied. That weapon was, of course, Lady Aredhel.
Prince Elphir had married Lady Aredhel about ten years ago, at which time Lothíriel had been but a child. It had not been too long after Princess Celairiel, their mother, had died. Imrahil's little daughter had of course been devastated by the death of her mother, and so it had been a convenient time when Aredhel had joined the family. She had become something of a mother substitute or an older sister to the little princess, fulfilling the girl's need for a role model and a friend in the middle of a family that mostly consisted of men.
As such, there was a special relationship between the two, and Aredhel had always got through to the stubborn girl like no one else could. But it took some time to get her to Lothíriel's chambers, as Aredhel was very pregnant – in fact it was expected she should give birth any day now – and moving was not too easy for her at the moment. Not to mention Elphir's insistence that she move as little as possible.
Fainien's thoughts were disrupted then as Amrothos came striding, wearing a troubled look that was so similar to the expressions his brothers had worn before that it was almost amusing even despite everything. Out of Imrahil's three sons, Amrothos was the most laid-back. Though his hair was rather curly than straight and his eyes were brown, he was most alike to the princess. But the princess was more hot-tempered and less carefree than Amrothos. Nevertheless, it was easy to see why it was Amrothos Lothíriel came along with the best.
"Any signs of our little dragon?" asked the prince.
"Nothing at all. I'm starting to think she may have escaped from her window and ridden somewhere no one can find her", said Erchirion from his place by the door, where he now sat as though the picture of a man who had lost hope.
"Hm. That sounds like something she'd do. If I were Father, I'd probably position guards under her window", Amrothos commented. Really, he wouldn't even have been too surprised to hear that Lothíriel had escaped.
"Well, it is big news that she got today. Anyone would be upset", Fainien pointed out.
"Yes, but you know Lothíriel. Father must have known that our sister would be furious", said the younger of two princes. "She's not really a marrying kind in my opinion anyway."
"But it's not like Father just decided from the top of his head to marry her off", Erchirion said. "You know our uncle as well as I do, and even our father doesn't tell Denethor no. Not to mention he does kind of have a point."
"And it is a Rohirric man she will be marrying", Fainien added. "They say it's different up north, the whole marriage thing. Perhaps it would be just what she'd need. She might be more at home there than she is here in Dol Amroth."
"Their idea of marriage could be the nicest thing in the world, but if the man himself is a git..." Amrothos said doubtfully. "What does anyone even know of this... this Marshal?"
Erchirion and Fainien shared a glance and they both shrugged.
"I don't think anyone of us really knows much about the Rohirrim. It's not like we often socialise with them these days. Really, all we know of the man Lothíriel is supposed to marry is what that messenger of King Théoden said", continued the younger prince.
"You think he'd lie?" Erchirion asked, but Fainien shook her head.
"I don't think they would. They famously say that you can't easily trick Rohirrim because they do not lie, and their eyes for deceit are keen", she said.
"But that still doesn't mean that our definition of a good man is one they share", Amrothos said.
Their conversation came to a halt then, as Aredhel appeared, accompanied by her worried-looking husband. Slowly they made – or wobbled – their way towards the chamber door that belonged to Princess Lothíriel. Sometimes, she seemed a bit out of place in the middle of the members of House of Dol Amroth, who generally were rather tall and slender. Aredhel herself was a bit shorter than average and she was curvy rather than thin. She had a lively face and her animated voice made up for a lot that she lacked in height.
Others had fallen silent, and quickly they watched as Aredhel finally stopped at the Princess' chamber door and knocked.
"Lothíriel? It is me. Would you let me come in?" she asked, her musical voice kind and persuasive.
And, perhaps as they should have expected, the door opened.
Aredhel could tell right away that her sister-in-law had cried. She had wiped away the tears and wore a brave and stubborn face, but she could not hide her bloodshot eyes. The older woman knew Lothíriel hated crying, and especially when people made note of it, so she paid no heed.
"Did you come to try and persuade me to relent? Because I can tell you that I won't. No matter what my uncle has decided, I won't marry some stranger from a odd northern kingdom", Lothíriel announced in a voice that was probably meant to be full of finality.
"I just came to talk with you, my dear", Aredhel said gently, offering her sister-in-law a smile. "May I sit down?"
"Of course, of course. Forgive me, I should have thought of it right away. Here, come sit with me. Do you need help?" Lothíriel asked, hurrying to Aredhel's side.
They settled by the window, and once there, the older woman gave the other one a long, thoughtful look.
"What precisely makes you so angry about this situation?" Aredhel asked, and of course her question had the princess exploding again.
"What indeed! Oh, I wonder why I'd be upset and angry about my father selling me to the highest bidder like I was just some property – like my womb is the only thing that is valuable about me! It really is strange that I'd be angry that no one asked me if I want to marry some man I've never even met!" Lothíriel shrieked, but her anger was also somehow turning nearly hysterical now. Aredhel patiently waited for her to calm down and fall silent before speaking again.
"Lothíriel, we all know, and you do too, that it is not like that", she said gently as her sister-in-law sat across her, nostrils flaring and gasping for air. "Elphir tells me that your father was very upset about it as well. He did not deserve being shouted at, the way you did. He has as little choice about this as you do yourself."
"And no, you're not being sold to the highest bidder. That would require your father and your uncle prancing about and calling for the men to come and auction for your hand. In fact, your brother tells me that it was the Rohirric King's idea in the first place to establish an alliance between the two kingdoms. That in itself is not a bad idea or an act of disdain towards you as a person. You, as the princess of Dol Amroth and one of the highest born women of Gondor, are the obvious choice", Aredhel said calmly, but she reached for Lothíriel's hand.
The younger woman was about to speak, but Aredhel continued before she could.
"As for your claims that you're not valuable as yourself... that is completely foolish, my dear. It is the very fact that you're so valuable that this marriage has been proposed. You're no being sold to anyone, Lothíriel. You are given the chance to do good. It depends largely on your good will and grace that this alliance will turn out prosperous. What is valuable about you is that your aid, and your kindness may very well bring together two peoples that have strayed too far from each other. You are being trusted with a task no one else could possibly carry through", she said gently. As usual, she had a way of taking away the worst edge of Lothíriel's anger, and her fury was turning cold quickly.
It did not mean she was pleased, though.
"But I still don't see what is so wonderful about marrying someone I've never even seen", she said, feeling frustrated. "Do you understand, Aredhel? I'm supposed to share my life with a stranger! Everyone expects me to trust him and like him and... and..."
She almost broke into tears at that. But Valar, it was scary!
"I understand, Lothíriel. I understand it better than you know", said her sister-in-law softly. "Or have you forgotten already that I came to your father's court as a stranger myself, and I was expected to marry someone I barely knew? Lothíriel, I know how you feel, and I understand that right now my words of comfort do not make it easier. Just like it didn't make it any easier for me when my own mother told me that I'd learn to love Elphir in time and that I would have to give him chance. But as much as hollow as those words sounded then, it turns out they were right."
"But it's not the same! I'm supposed to leave behind everyone I know and love and go to this strange country, and live as a wife to some Marshal who could be a complete brute for all I know..." Lothíriel sobbed, unable to hold back her tears. Clumsily, Aredhel moved so that they were side by side and wrapped her arms around the princess.
"I know you're scared", she said, her voice not much more than a whisper. "But perhaps it does not have to be so bad... you might end up finding another family in the north. Just like I found a family here by the sea, Lothíriel. Give this man a chance. If it turns out that he is not the man they say he is, I'm sure your father will do everything in his power to protect you from him."
"I don't want to go. I don't want to marry him", Lothíriel mumbled, but Aredhel could sense the younger woman's resistance faltering.
"It's all right", she said, stroking her sister-in-law's hair gently. "You know, this Marshal is probably just as worried as you are. He could very well be a nice man who just wants to make you happy."
"You really think that?" Lothíriel asked, resting her head on Aredhel's shoulder.
"As a matter of fact, I do. Elphir told me that it was Prince Théodred who would have wedded you if Father Imrahil had given his consent", said the brown-haired woman. "This Lord Éomer might understand your feelings better than you might guess. If you ask me, I'd imagine he's just an ordinary man... and at the moment, he's doubtlessly very worried for the fact that he is supposed to marry a fine, foreign princess."
The Princess lifted her head and looked at her sister-in-law with narrowed eyes.
"How do you do it, Aredhel?" she asked, which made the other one lift her eyebrows.
"Do what?" she asked.
"Make me feel like I'm a 10-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. I always wonder how you're able to do it so easily", she said and then looked away; Aredhel realised it was because she didn't want her brother's wife seeing her embarrassment.
"Oh, don't say that. You were just upset, and you have every right to feel so", said the older woman, smiling gently. She rested a hand on Lothíriel's arm. "Now, would you like to come with me and seek out your father? I feel we should talk about this calmly – especially so that he can explain you everything. I'm sure he'd like to speak with you."
Lothíriel sighed and nodded, knowing that her sister-in-law was just as right about this as she usually was about most of the things.
"Fine. We'll talk."
April 3017, Aldburg
During his life, Éomer of Aldburg had lived in many places, and not all of those places had the luxury of beds or roofs. When he had been but an ordinary rider, he had not possessed too many thing anyway. There had always been the vague knowledge that one day he'd be expected to take up the legacy of his father... and as a direct descendant of Eofor, grandson of Eorl the Young, he had the birthright to the Seat of Aldburg.
Even knowing this it had been a strange day when he had been appointed Marshal and he had moved into the chambers of the Hall where his forefathers had lived and died. Now he stood in the bedroom of those chambers, and though he had been living there for a time already, he still felt like he had never seen these walls before.
There was not much furniture except for the bed, a stand for his armour, and a table... and that other piece of furniture, on which his eyes fell. It was a wooden dressing table, placed on the other side of the chamber and so marking which part of the chamber would belong to the woman he had agreed to marry. Quietly, he wandered over to the dressing table and touched his fingers over the smooth surface of it. Long ago, Father had commissioned it for Mother... probably not long after he had won the hand of Princess Théodwyn in marriage.
Now the son of Éomund was near to leaving his home so that he could travel for Mundburg and find there Princess Lothíriel, whom he'd marry. Was it fate then, that Éomer too should wed a princess? But for Father it had been an entirely happy thing, as he had greatly loved Théodwyn... and Théodwyn had loved him in return.
The Marshal sighed and closed his eyes briefly. He had given his word and there was no backing away now, not unless the Gondorians themselves would change their minds. He would bring a princess as his wife to this place, and observing his household and the people of Aldburg implied everyone thought it a glad thing.
His wife... what would she be like? Would she hate him? Would they have children? Could there ever be anything that even resembled happiness?
Too many questions and too many uncertain things. A cold shiver ran down his spine and Éomer shook himself, hoping away this feeling of foreboding. Then Éothain called his name through the door; it was almost time to leave if they wanted to make it to Mundburg in time. He sighed and turned, but on the door of the room he shot one more glance to the chamber.
This place, like his life, he would have to share with a stranger. For now he'd not think of that, however, as there were goodbyes he should tell, and then face whatever the fates had in store for him.