11. Borrowed and Blue
The morning of the wedding, Lothíriel woke early with a start, her heart pounding, and for a moment wondered why before realization flooded her conscious. She would marry Éomer in a matter of hours. With a dramatic sigh, she flopped back down upon the bed and shut her eyes, willing herself to fall back into a few more moments of blissful sleep, but now her mind was wide awake. She burrowed her head under the covers to combat the insufferable cold.
A knock on the door – Isemay, by the sound of it – forced her to raise her head and accept reality. "Come in."
Isemay entered with her customary cheerfulness and eager tongue and began to light a fire in the brazier. Lothíriel only half-listened to the girl's chatter as she went about the business of heating water for Lothíriel's bath, her thoughts drifting elsewhere. So after all the anxious waiting, today had finally come. And how strange that today she felt an eerie sense of calm.
Éomer, for his part, awoke to the sensation of Firefoot nibbling at his hair. "Get off, it's not my watch," he mumbled as he pushed the horse's muzzle away, thinking that he was out on patrol with his company of riders. Then the bitter cold hit his conscience and he sat straight up, bits of straw flying off of him and his bedroll. No, he was king, the days of living in the saddle were behind him and today was his wedding day.
"Béma," he muttered, massaging the cricks from his neck. His sudden movement had sent spasms down his back. Unable to sleep the night before, he had grabbed his old bedroll and hiked down to the stables, where the familiar sounds and comfort of Firefoot's presence had lulled him to sleep.
Firefoot shook his mane and whinnied, answered by a neighbor down the way. Éomer checked the horse's grain bucket. It was clean and empty, signaling that he had awoken before the stable hands had made their rounds, and the horses were hungry. Good. He had time to sneak back up to Meduseld before anybody saw their king sleeping in the hay.
"Sister!" The knock on the door and her brothers' raucous voices came as a jolt to Lothíriel. Fresh from her bath, she was in the midst of wrapping herself in her dressing gown while Isemay toweled dry her sopping hair. She groaned. She did not particularly want to see anyone, not even her brothers.
"Are you decent?" said Amrothos as he burst into the room followed by Erchirion. Elphir had the courtesy to wait at the door until he was sure she was in fact decent.
"If I was not, it would hardly have ma to you, would it?" Lothíriel said in annoyance, picking up the nearest object within reach and throwing it at him. He ducked the hairbrush and straightened, his hands raised.
"What, are you waging battle already? You are not a ruler yet!"
"Practicing," she retorted. Her brothers chuckled. She looked at them all full in the face. "What are you doing here?"
"To wish you well," Elphir said kindly. Erchirion and Amrothos looked at each other, amusement lighting in their eyes and twitching at the corners of their lips.
"What?" she said, curious and confused.
"Sister," began Amrothos.
"Sit down," Erchirion said, leading her to the bed. They sat on either side of her, Elphir still lingering at the door.
"What is going on?" Lothíriel snapped. She had little patience for dilly-dallying.
"We just saw something very amusing," Amrothos said calmly. "Well, to us. Boring to you, maybe. Nothing you would want to hear."
Erchirion nodded. "Very commonplace. It would bore you." Lothíriel pinched him in the ribs. "Ow!"
"What did you see?" she said, pinching harder.
"Oww! Have mercy! Amrothos, you tell it!"
"We were up quite early this morning," Amrothos began.
"Well, actually, we never really went to bed!" interjected Erchirion.
"True," Amrothos replied. "Well, Elphir did."
"Yes. In my old married age, I went to bed, while these two stumbled into the beds of two sisters on their way from the tavern – " said Elphir with a chuckle.
"Stop right here," protested Lothíriel, hands over her ears. "I don't want to hear about your exploits." She glared at them as they guiltily fell into silence, their cocksure smirks fading from their faces. Finally she removed her hands from her ears and placed them in her lap. "Now. What is it that you wished to tell me?"
"Well, merely that a certain Horse Lord was seen sneaking up from the stables at sunrise this morning, clutching a bedroll and covered in straw," Amrothos said, biting back a grin.
She looked among them and a snort escaped her nose. "Truly?"
"Truly," Erchirion said. "It seems you will have to share your husband with a horse," he whispered, wiggling his eyebrows. Amrothos and Elphir laughed, and Lothíriel blushed. She could not help but grin. Of course she would. It was a silly thought. Except…
"I bet he is nervous," Lothíriel whispered to herself. "The stables are where our King feels more at home." Poor Éomer.
Her three brothers fell into silence then, until finally Lothíriel looked up at them seriously. "I must dress now."
They nodded, and stood, and filed out of her room, each in turn pressing a kiss upon her forehead as he left.
"What am I supposed to do with her after all this ceremonial fuss is completed?" Éomer complained in a heavy breath, fumbling with the golden clasps on his green tunic and swearing under his breath.
Éothain laughed from where he lounged in one of the chairs by the fire in the brazier. "What mean you by that?"
"I mean she is to share my bed tonight," Éomer relented.
"Well, Éomer, when a man and a woman – " Éothain began, teasing in his voice.
"Exactly," snapped Éomer, not in the mood for teasing. "Herein lies the problem." He raked a comb through his hair with vigor, wincing as it encountered a snarl.
Éothain sighed. "I see, my lord king." The younger man leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped. "Éomer, do you not find her at all attractive?"
"Why, I – yes, I find her exceedingly so," Éomer said. "She has an interesting face, I would call her beautiful."
"And as a woman?" Éothain pressed.
Éomer had to admit that he did.
"And all this being said, wherein exactly lies the problem?"
"There are many snarls, the foremost being that we are not lovers; we are diplomatic partners."
"But you are also both two people, are you not?" Éothain asked after a moment. "You might find that you find satisfaction from each other. I know you have few misgivings about bedding a woman you do not love every now and then."
"That's different," muttered Éomer.
"How so?"
"They are not shy untouched maidens, for one."
Éothain let out a breath in a whistle. "There is that. Do you know for certain?"
"Think not that I would be angry otherwise, but that is what she is supposed to be." Éomer sighed. "And look at her. I cannot imagine otherwise."
Éothain seemed to agree on this subject but said nothing. Éomer continued to dress in silence until Éothain said,
"I imagine that Lothíriel has no grand expectations for tonight. She will no doubt have been informed of the facts of marriage, and has had plenty of time to accustom herself to the idea of sharing your bed. Just be kind and gentle to her and get it over with, if you have no other way of going about bedding her. That is my only advice to you. Éomer king." Éothain stood and grabbed his king's belt from where it had fallen to the ground. "You had best let me help you. We are running out of time."
As Brithwyn, Éowyn and Isemay fussed with her gown and hair, tugging at the folds of her skirts and sleeves so that they fell correctly, re-lacing up her bodice, and taming stray raven locks with small amounts of lavender paste, Lothíriel stood mostly passive except when asked to take in her breath or raise her arms. This was all a dream, she thought. Any moment, she would wake up and be back in her bed at Dol Amroth, lying as listless and discontent as she had been the morning before Éomer's proposal. Nothing would have disrupted the monotony of her previous existence. But she would be home.
"Now look in the mirror, my lady," said Isemay, an eager smile on her lively face. The younger girl pulled her reluctant mistress toward her reflection, Éowyn and Brithwyn flanking her with triumphant grins.
Lothíriel had chosen to wed in a gown of Dol Amroth blue, as members of her family had done for generations. However, the dress was cut according to the Rohirric style to symbolize her new allegiance, with a rich over-gown that cut away to reveal a lighter under-gown, and a high-collared neckline and floor-length sleeves. Her favorite gold belt hung around her hips, complementing the rich embroidery around the edges of the gown and inside the massive folds of the sleeves. The wreath woven by Éomer encircled her wrist as a reminder - to herself more than anything – of his goodwill. She wore no jewels around her throat or from her ears to combat the detail of her gown. However, a net of gold and sapphire jewels contained her braids, coiled and woven in a mass against the back of her head, and a matching circlet graced her forehead. These ornaments had belonged to Lothíriel's mother.
Lothíriel appraised herself carefully. Yes, she did look beautiful, womanly in spite of the gown's modesty. The bodice of her gown hugged her form perfectly, highlighting her slim waist and emphasizing the curves of her small breasts. The deep color illuminated her pale skin, deepening the contrast between light and dark in her skin and hair. In spite of her protest, the women had dabbed the barest touch of rouge upon her lips and cheekbones, and Lothíriel had to admit that the redness softened any severity present in her strong features. The color became her, added a semblance of good cheer and health that she did not feel. In spite of it all, her mouth was tense and drawn, giving away her inner feelings.
"Thank you," she said to her companions, granting them a small smile in the mirror. "You have done me well."
She turned to Éowyn. "Will your brother be pleased with his new wife?" She laughed rather manically.
Éowyn took her hands and squeezed them, ignoring Lothíriel's unsettledness. "He will, I know it." She smiled warmly.
"It is time," Brithwyn said softly. "Your father is here. Are you ready, my lady?"
Lothíriel closed her eyes briefly and set her jaw. "Yes."
Imrahil was waiting outside the door, hands behind his back and head bowed. He looked up when his daughter came through, and his eyes filled with tears as he looked at her, his expression very strange. "My daughter."
"Ada," she said with feeling. "Oh, father."
The old prince held out his arms to her and she went to them gladly. "You look so much like your mother," he said in her ear. "Would that she could see this day."
Lothíriel drew back to look at his face, placing her palm against his cheek. She swallowed a lump in her throat. "She is here with us, Ada."
His eyes crinkled at the corners and he looked at her with sad warmth. "I know." He held out his arm. "Shall we?"
Lothíriel nodded and placed her hand in the crook of her father's arm and they set off together, Éowyn, Brithwyn, and Isemay following at a respectful distance behind.
[A/N: Well, at least I update every six months or so. It's hard when I'm at school, there just isn't enough time to spend with these two characters to really move the story behind. But I always love it when my inbox is greeted by a review or a story alert add, in the midst of all my academic-related e-mails. Thank you all for your patience, and have a wonderful new year. Hopefully, I'll have the rest of the wedding up soon. ~GB]
