A wreath of snow-white flowers crowned Éowyn whose hands gripped handfuls of her skirts. The Shieldmaiden of Rohan had donned an armour of an entirely different kind. Gone were the cuirass and the long sword. She had no helmet or gauntlets. Instead of chainmail she wore fine silks. All the metal had been replaced with gauzy, soft material and fragrant flowers.
Éowyn's two elvish attendants concerned themselves with intricate braids, and that left the woman with her own thoughts. It all felt surreal, like she would be called to waken any moment and find herself in her brother's home once more. Yet she knew this to be no dream. Indeed, Éowyn, daughter of Rohan was not in the world of slumber. No, she was very much awake and preparing for her own wedding.
Upon his return, Legolas had brought with him an entire convoy. Éowyn had not been surprised by his proposal, she had been overjoyed. And now that she was in the Woodland realm the reality began to settle over her. She was to be a wife, she was to gain responsibilities. Éowyn had been gifted a lifetime with the one she loved. Uncharacteristically, tears filled her vision. Her heart would burst, so full of love and bliss. The organ swelled inside her chest, every beat a sweetly painful. Éowyn would finally find completion, a place where she belonged and someone she belonged with.
Rising to her full height, Éowyn allowed the two maidens to lead her. The wood hummed underneath her bare feet, warm and alive. The smooth surface was a caress against her skin, slow and tender, a reminder that she dwelled in the realm of elves where the nature itself was a friend. Éowyn's fingers brushed against the walls, the dark colours soothing to her silver eyes.
Surprise took firm hold of her when an elegant, slender, yet clearly male, hand came to rest upon her shoulder. Éowyn looked up to meet the steely gaze of the Elven King. Demurely, she let her eyes drop to the ground. Too penetrating was the gaze of Thranduil.
"Look at me, child," the King encouraged, fingers lifting her chin. Head bent over the mortal woman, Thranduil chuckled softly. "Do you fear me?" Oh, but her eyes spoke volumes. "I have promised my son that upon entering my realm you shall become as a daughter to me."
"You honour me too greatly, my Lord," Éowyn replied, shrewd gaze fixing itself on the elf. "I have yet to understand why it is you allow this union." Did he not wish to protect his child from heartbreak?
It was with practiced ease that Thranduil read the woman before him. "Had my son's heart asked for my consent I would have been glad; yet that is not the way of love. Lassui shall love you no matter what words leave the mouths of others. My son had chosen you. Were I to turn you away I would do us all a great disservice." How could he possibly cause his son pain by rejecting this woman?
"I do truly love him," she said, face aglow in the dim light. "If I could somehow spare him the hurt I would. But I cannot. Thus I shall endeavour to make him happy. It is what I can offer to him."
"It is the greatest gift of all," Thranduil responded. A hush fell over them. After a few sort moments the King considered speaking again. "Legolas grew without the nurturing love of a woman. I am hoping you can teach him what it is to be loved by one such as you. Be to him what you would have him be to you. Be as a parent, as a sibling, as a lover. And let him be all those for you. Trust in the Valar. They shall help."