Chapter Fifteen
Never Without
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)
-e. e. cummings, "i carry your heart with me"
Éowyn's wedding day dawned bright and warm. A gentle wind blew the wisps of clouds across the sky—it was an idyllic day, like a scene from a painting. The princess woke early, just after the sunrise, as she was to help ready Éowyn for the ceremony and oversee the final preparations. The frustrated shieldmaiden had asked her to step in to handle the "Gondorian nonsense" and Lothí had laughingly agreed. It was the least she could do to help her cousin's beloved and her future sister-in-law.
She took her kaffe in the back garden and nibbled on a fresh scone. It was the safest place to avoid her father. The smell of flowers and freshly sown earth mingled with the rich, bitter kaffé, teasing her to wakefulness. Lothí couldn't imagine a more perfect way to start a day than letting nature and her favorite drink wash away the last dregs of sleep.
The birds singing their morning song fell silent, and it took her a beat to realize she was no longer alone. A shadow fell over her then.
"Mind if I join you?"
"Glîr!" she squeaked, nearly upsetting her morning meal as she leapt up to pull her friend into a hug. "What are you doing up so early?"
"That's a nice greeting. I feel so welcomed." He dropped a kiss to her cheek with an affectionate eyeroll before folding himself onto the stone bench. "Can't a man rise as his heart desires?"
"A man can, but a woman must ask questions to bring him back to earth." Lothí resumed her seat beside him, watching him carefully over the rim of her porcelain cup. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought it was obvious—I received a summons to play your party." He avoided her gaze, instead staring about the gardens curiously. "Wasn't there a swing in that tree?"
She followed his gaze to the sturdy old oak that everything centered around. "Once upon a time, until adar deemed it too childish."
Glîrion's laugh was sharp and caustic. "No, mellon. He deemed you too childish and that swing too great a temptation—remember?"
Lothí did; she remembered visiting the city with her aunt while the prince was in residence and swinging so high that she swore she kicked a cloud. Her skirts were alight in the wind, her legs on display up to the knee as she soared higher and higher. What she tried to forget was her father's red face and flashing eyes as he berated her for being wanton and displaying herself before his business associates. It was the same year that Duinhir first showed interest in her.
He patted her hand soothingly, realizing too late that he'd trampled into uncomfortable territory. "Did he really try to have you examined?"
She nodded silently. The sting of the betrayal had faded, leaving her hollow every time she thought about it. If the sidelong glances people sent her way at the market and shops weren't bad enough, the thinly veiled comments and snide remarks at society events were there to remind her it could always be worse.
"Talk to me."
It was a simple offer, freely given. They'd long confided in each other, carrying the other's secrets since childhood. Lothí knew she could tell him anything, instinctively wanting nothing more than to spill every little secret weighing on her heart. If anyone would understand, it was Glîrion. But what would happen if she told him the truth? Would he be able to keep it quiet?
Without a second thought, she recounted everything that had unfolded. Her eyes stayed firmly planted on her feet, watching as she dragged her toes over the dewy grass as she confessed to not being perfectly chaste. Her stomach churned with anxiety as he listened, taking everything in from the escalating physical encounters with Éomer to the examination to their happy declarations of love shared beneath the oak tree.
When her words finally trickled to a halt, a heavy silence settled over them. Lothí kept her gaze trained on her hands, twisting and coiling her skirts between her fingers. She couldn't bear to look her friend in the eye, to watch the way he thought of her change.
His hand snaked into view, grasping hers tightly and squeezing. "I'm proud of you, even though we both know what you did was risky."
Her head shot up at that. "Really?"
"You followed your heart regardless of what society thinks. That takes courage." Glîrion worried his bottom lip then, hesitating. "What will you do when he returns to Rohan?"
"I'm staying in the city. Aunt Ivriniel will return to Dol Amroth to help Gonwen, and I will help Éowyn adjust and learn about ruling from her majesty," she replied simply.
"No, I mean… about Éomer? You haven't lain with him, but what if that changes between now and his departure?"
Lothí froze at that. The possibility hadn't even crossed her mind with everything that happened. "I… I don't know. Write to Éomer and hope he doesn't change his mind about me."
The lyrist snorted at that. "I doubt even the Valar could make him do so."
She wanted to laugh at her friend's joke, but found her throat was tightening instead. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized could go wrong. He could listen to Wermund and the other advisors, begin to doubt her. He could realize he didn't truly love her as the months wore on and void the marriage contract without penalty. It seemed unlikely, but stranger things had happened.
"I don't know how I would face adar if the betrothal were called off," Lothí murmured, resting her head on her friend's shoulder.
"You would do it with your head held high, though I doubt you have cause to worry." He leaned against her too, just two old friends seeking comfort in the familiar. "Neither of our fathers were ever truly concerned with us beyond upholding the family names—you know that, and you will face whatever comes with grace."
Lothí nodded, his words ringing true. She knew that was all she could do. "At least we have each other and my brothers."
"Your brothers are a separate issue." His voice was too cold for a joke, and she sat up at his sharp words.
"What did Amrothos do to earn your ire?"
"It's more about what he won't do." Glîrion deflated with a world-weary sigh.
She shot him a sympathetic smile, eager not to wallow in self-pity anymore. It pained her to see someone hurting. He needed a friendly ear, and she needed a distraction. It was the perfect arrangement.
"He's always done things in his own way and at his own pace." She shrugged, watching him closely.
"Very helpful, Lothí, thanks," he groused, rolling his silvery eyes. "You know I adore generic platitudes."
"Oh, hush. You know I can't give insight without the information you are withholding."
She watched Glîrion pick at a loose thread on his doublet, a frown creasing his elegant brow. He reminded her of the large sea turtles that nested on the remote beaches of Dol Amroth every spring; he'd retreat within himself if someone came at him too fast. He needed patience to reveal his thoughts, and she didn't mind waiting. The fraught silence dragged out between them while he ordered his thoughts.
"Ever since your father revealed your betrothal, he's been… withdrawn," he started slowly.
"He's never been fond of change." Lothí waited for him to continue, to reveal the heart of the matter.
"It's more than that; it's—he's… he's scared of being the next one married off for the benefit of Dol Amroth." His voice was low and soft as his fingers continued tugging the string. "You know that we…"
"You love each other," she supplied gently. Her heart constricted when he nodded, unable to imagine the pain and fear he felt. Gondorian society didn't look favorably upon romances between the same sex. Most of the nobility were willing to look the other way and ignore such 'eccentricities' if there was a socially acceptable explanation for the closeness, but any true confirmation of the relationship was met with ostracization at best.
"Yes." The word hissed out of him like even that admission pained him. "We've been involved for some time. Since before he rode off to war. We only realized it was love when he returned."
Lothí twined her fingers with his, squeezing his hand tight. Words evaded her at the confession, but she'd suspected for some time. It wasn't truly a shock, but she didn't imagine anything she could say assuaging his pain. He'd been keeping this secret from the world—playing a part—for so long. All she could do was wait silently as he sagged under the weight of release, tears glistening in his eyes.
"I've known for a while," she admitted, tightening her grasp when he tried to withdraw. She wasn't going to let him go; he needed to know that she wasn't going to abandon him. "You both seemed closer, happier, than before.
"We were." He scoffed bitterly, fighting to keep the tears at bay.
"What happened, Glîr? What made you come here?"
"He ended things before the bal masque. He said it would be easier that way—that it's only a matter of time before Imrahil marries him off." Glîrion avoided looking at her, roughly dashing his free hand under his eyes. "I didn't want to let him go, so we quarreled. He kept finding more and more reasons to end it, reason after reason not to love me. I had to walk away. I don't know if I can face him again."
"Oh, Glîr," she breathed, feeling her heart break for her friend. She'd never seen him so defeated before. It was a strange sight. Glîrion had always been strong and vibrant, like such common afflictions as heartbreak couldn't touch him. All Lothí could do was pull him into a tight hug. "Amrothos will come around—he always does. He'll see that adar is content with the matches the rest of us have made and he'll calm down."
"But what happens when Erchirion weds and Amrothos is the only one left standing? He'll just panic again." His voice was rough with unshed tears. "I can't go through this every time he feels cornered—especially not with you leaving."
"He's the youngest son of a noble house that's acquiring more connections and power than it knows what to do with," Lothí replied firmly. "I don't think my brother has anything to fear. We'll figure something out and you'll get your happy ending."
He pulled away to peer at her. "How are you so alright with this? I've just poured my heart out to you about your brother and I being sodomites. Does that not bother you?"
Lothí scowled stubbornly at him. "Why would it? I love you both, and this doesn't change anything."
"But it does," Glîrion insisted, staring even harder as he tried to ferret out even a tiny kernel of distaste.
She rolled her eyes at his stubbornness. "Glîr, you know I've suspected for a while. I may have researched the topic."
"And what did you learn?" he drawled. Arms crossed over his chest as he stared the princess down, challenging her.
"That it's a widely accepted practice amongst the elves, though humans have become rather conservative about such sexual preferences as it doesn't produce children," she recited with a roll of her eyes. "The White City has not taken an official stance on it, nor has Dol Amroth."
"Of course you go right for the cut-and-dried parts," he huffed, standing to pace with quick, short steps. "You're always so predictable."
She bristled at that, opening her mouth to retort before audibly snapping her jaw shut. This conversation wasn't about her and there was no need to make it that way. She'd had her moment, now it was his. Even his feigned cruelty wouldn't put her off.
"She's speechless!" Glîrion crowed. He gestured wildly in mock astonishment, a desperately feral grin revealing his pearly teeth. "Wonder of wonders. I'll have to tell your brothers that I've managed the impossible."
"Stop trying to put me off with your spite. We both know it's hollow." Lothí leveled the young man with a stern, even look. Not even his pointless bile would deter her—maybe he was pushing people away, maybe he was simply lashing out to alleviate his pain. She didn't know and she didn't care; all that mattered was letting her friend know she was on his side. "I also know that you and my brother make each other happy, the kind of happiness that's worth fighting for. He's a fool to let you go—you're far too good for him. I hope he realizes it sooner rather than later."
That certainly shut him up. His shoulders slumped once more and his pacing came to an abrupt halt. The act was dropped and he was truly hurting. Perhaps she'd been too blunt, but he needed to hear it. Otherwise the lyrist would wallow in self-pity for weeks—she'd seen it before and wasn't sure how much time she'd be able to dedicate to pulling him out of it.
"Fine." Glîrion flopped beside her once again. "I'm sorry for being an ass."
"And I accept your apology. Glîr…" She hesitated a moment, hoping he wouldn't misunderstand what she was about to say. "I don't care who you love; it will never change the fact that you're my best friend."
He stared at her for a moment, wide-eyed in surprise before catching her in a tight hug. His next words were muffled against her hair. "This applies even though your brother is through with me?"
"I think it applies even more so," she teased, stroking a hand between his tense shoulders. "I won't be around to keep him in line much longer."
"You never were any good at it anyway." Glîrion withdrew with a watery chuckle, swiping a finger under his suspiciously misty eyes.
They continued talking, falling into the cozy space of acceptance and honesty. It was good to laugh—she could almost pretend they were children again, giggling and sharing secrets like in the old days. It was a balm to her nerves to pass the afternoon with her friend. She could almost pretend that nothing out of the ordinary occurred. They talked and traded barbs until she had to leave, and her mind was churning all the while. Lothí had an idea brewing that would allow her friend's heart to heal, but she'd need to talk with a few others before proposing it to Glîrion.
The afternoon found her bustling between the Tower gardens and the chambers where Éowyn was pacing a hole in the stone floors. Lothí had been tasked with overseeing the final preparations for the wedding—she had been entrusted with everything from ensuring there were enough seats set in tidy rows to triple-checking the feast's seating arrangements and centerpieces. After her fifth trip to check on the arrangements, Lady Wynfled finally had enough.
"Éowyn, let the poor girl have a rest," the older woman said sternly. She leveled the White Lady with a stare that brooked no nonsense. "The servants know what they're about, and your instructions were more than thorough."
That brought the bride up short. "What—I just want this to be perfect, but I can't even leave this damn room! Are all Gondorians so superstitious?"
"Only on important days." Lothí had to stifle a giggle at the blonde woman's agitation as she propped up her aching feet. The hard, stone floors were not kind to her feet, protected only by delicate dancing shoes. "They think it bad luck for a bride to see her groom before the wedding—likely because women in arranged marriages would have fled for the hills."
That earned a laugh from the other two women, and Éowyn finally calmed enough for Wynfled to begin pinning flowers in her hair. Lothí watched as the blooms multiplied, transfixed with the foreign tradition. It would be hers all too soon. It was a strange thing to think how little she understood of the place that was to become her home. Her fingers worried at her skirts, twisting the lilac and silver samite as she became lost in thought. There was every possibility that she would trip up and bungle something important. She wasn't even married yet and she just knew that she couldn't afford to do so. Her enemies would jump all over it if she gave them the opportunity. Alienating herself wasn't an option. She had to learn as much as she could and be better at the game than the opposition.
"—to expect tonight?" Wynfled's lilting voice brought the princess out of her reverie. She saw Éowyn's flush in the mirror and the older woman's teasing grin. "I'll take that as a no."
"What is a no?" she asked, frowning in confusion.
"Come closer and listen, feacwēn. You should hear this too since neither of you have a mother to tell you." Wynfled waited until the princess had settled closer to start. "You know that your husband will come to you and share your bed on the wedding night."
Lothí nodded, her frown deepening, while the White Lady sputtered. "Wynfled, please, there's no need—"
"There absolutely is a need." She rapped the comb against the vanity for emphasis. "I'll not send you in unprepared. He'll touch you and, eventually, his body will respond. His nethers will become erect and he'll join with you. It's best the first time if you can drink some wine to relax or touch yourself—"
She could feel her face burning as the older woman went on in that blunt way of hers. Never before had she heard anyone speak so plainly about those acts between men and women. While Éomer's touch had stoked a fire within her and brought her pleasure, it was somehow different hearing about it. Lothí buried her face in her hands to hide the redness and stifle her giggles.
"It may hurt at first, but it can be… most enjoyable." She watched the two pink-faced young women with a barely concealed grin. "Don't be afraid to explore things that feel good or ask for something you liked. There are some positions that are particularly good for the woman—"
Éowyn and Lothí made the mistake of making eye contact, sending the two into a helpless round of laughter. It felt good to let go of all propriety and just laugh. It was almost absurd—the pair couldn't look at each other without falling into another round of giggles and gasping for air. Apparently neither was comfortable hearing about intimate relations; it seemed that such conversations were awkward even for the blunt Rohirrim.
"Béma, deliver me from silly girls," Wynfled muttered with a fond smile. She quickly finished work on the bride's flaxen hair once they regained composure. It was time to get the bride dressed before any of them knew it.
Lothí laced the White Lady into her wedding gown—a sky blue silk dress with a tight bodice and simple gold trim—while Wynfled secured her stockings and slippers. She was a vision, all ivory, blue, and gold. They worked quickly to put on the finishing touches. The flowers in her hair offered a stark contrast in their shades of white, pink, and red. They clasped a simple gold necklace in place while Éowyn applied a dab of rouge to her pale cheeks and brushed the barest amount of kohl over her golden eyelashes. With that final touch, the three women stood back to admire their handiwork.
"Faramir won't know what hit him," Éowyn joked with a coy smirk.
Lothíriel laughed and brushed a lock of hair over the taller woman's shoulder. "He's a lucky man to have earned the love of a woman such as yourself."
"He'd best realize it, or your brother won't hesitate to bring down the full might of the Eorlingas on Faramir's head." Wynfled's lips curled, but Lothí wasn't entirely sure it was a joke. Her grin was too sharp, the twinkle in her bright eyes too predatory.
"Please. Fara would have to deal with me first." Éowyn's laugh rang through the room, throaty and full of all the joy that seemed to shine through her very skin. The shieldmaiden's easy jest eased any tension her attendants felt in that moment.
A knock at the door drew their attention, and it swung open to reveal Éomer. "Sweoster, it's almost ti—you're breathtaking."
"Can you give us the room, please?" Éowyn asked the other women.
Wynfled obliged with a shallow curtsy, pressing a fond kiss to the bride's cheek before taking her leave. The princess approached nervously. Every nerve was alive with awareness at her betrothed's nearness, but she only shot him a smile. Today wasn't about them. Instead, Lothí pressed a handkerchief, carefully embroidered with pale pink flowers and the happy couple's initials, into her friend's hand as she gave the other woman a peck on the cheek.
"You're the most beautiful bride, Éowyn. I'll see you out there." With a final, bright smile she slipped out to the gardens, leaving the siblings to have a private moment before everything changed for them.
The late afternoon sun shone down on the lush setting, casting a golden light over the flowers that made the scene almost magical. Colors were richer, the natural perfume of the blooms smelled sweeter. Even the sun seemed like it was celebrating the upcoming nuptials. The court milled about the neatly arranged rows of chairs and benches, their merry voices and bright clothes reminding Lothíriel of a circling flock of birds.
She quickly located her brother in the mix. His olive skin shone like burnished gold in the light of the setting sun, making him stand out from the ivory-skinned courtiers and golden-haired Rohirrim around him. Erchirion's pearly teeth flashed in a welcoming grin as his sister approached.
"Muinthel," he said in greeting. "I think word of your betrothal has spread."
"That, or of my near miss with the test." Lothí barely managed to swallow a groan. As much as she tried to ignore it, there was no escaping the heads that turned as she walked by, the eyes following her, and whispers that broke out as she passed. "When do you think it will pass?"
"Here?" Erchirion mulled it over as he noticed Noeneth's approach. "Within two weeks of you leaving for the Mark. There? Well, I doubt they've even started to talk. If the Rohirrim here are any indication, you're going to be quite the novelty."
"Don't be mean, Erchi." The lady in question neared in time to hear his reply. Her dress was a soft gold that made her practically glow in the blazing sunlight. "You look lovely, your highness."
Lothí waved away the formality with a smile. "Please use my name. I hate to stand on formality among friends."
Noeneth acquiesced with an answering grin. "Very well, Lothí. I didn't have a chance to congratulate you on the betrothal before. He's a handsome man, that king of yours."
"He really is—sometimes he's so beautiful that it's heartbreaking." She couldn't keep off the wistful smile as she thought of her golden mountain of a man. Almost on instinct, one of her hands moved to search for Éomer's solid presence at her side before she remembered he was occupied elsewhere.
"He's not that good looking," Erchirion grumbled.
"What do you find so objectionable about him?" Lothí pasted on an innocent expression, all too eager to tease her brother.
He gestured vaguely near his ear, lips downturned with disdain. "Too much hair."
Noeneth barely stifled a giggle at that. "Really? I think his hair is lovely—it looks so soft."
"Like silk." The women shared a conspiratorial grin at Erchirion's shudder. "Men aren't the only ones who enjoy running their fingers through their dear one's hair."
"Stop—I don't want to think about my sister fondling my friend's hair!" the prince exclaimed. His frown deepened when the pair burst into laughter at his obvious distaste. "This isn't funny; it's a matter of propriety and—and… brotherly affection!"
The young women only laughed harder at that, earning a few curious glances from the surrounding nobility. A few of the light-haired Rohirrim smiled at their mirth, something akin to relief softening their expressions as they watched their future queen laughing at her brother. Her fellow southerners were an austere lot, their unlined faces and cool smiles not lending them to humor. Their last true exposure to a Gondorian queen had been a mixed one.
Morwen Steelsheen had been a proud woman, strong and decisive, but aloof. After Thengel, father of Théoden, took the throne, his young, black-haired wife was cast into a spotlight she never wanted. Her distaste for being in the public eye was apparent, as was her discomfort at living in the north. The young woman had grown up in Belfalas, the balmy region that contained Dol Amroth and spent her first years married to Thengel in Gondor. Their sudden transition to Edoras was made no easier by her icy attitude and constant homesickness. Even when greeted with sympathy, Morwen kept the Rohirrim at arms' length.
The Rohirrim old enough to remember Morwen Steelsheen—or to have heard tales of her misadventures—scrutinized their king's betrothed, looking for any resemblance to this queen of old. Beyond her coloring and pedigree, the young woman laughing with family seemed cut from a different cloth altogether.
That laughter vanished when their father moved to stand with the trio. It was like a cloud darkening the sun. All the fun evaporated, and Erchirion shot his sister a concerned glance before turning to greet their father.
"Hello, adar," he said, unsmiling. He bowed his dark head and Noeneth dipped a polite curtsy, her lightheartedness having disappeared too.
The prince barely nodded an acknowledgement of the greeting, choosing instead to usher the trio to seats in the front. "It should start soon, and I'll not have our family relegated to standing."
Lothíriel rolled her eyes at that. Faramir's only surviving kin would not be left hanging from the rafters. No, there were seats at the front saved for family and close friends—she knew that Ivriniel was already awaiting them there as surely as she knew the sky was blue. But her father wasn't concerned with that. It was the appearance of the thing. Let the lower nobles hustle about finding their seats; it would be unseemly for the Prince of Dol Amroth and his brood to do the same. She settled in between her aunt and brother to await the start of the wedding, carefully moving the little bell from her seat.
The family sat in a stiff silence while the garden around them was filled with chatter and polite laughter. It had Lothí playing uncomfortably with her skirts to avoid staring desperately about.
Ivriniel nudged the princess's leg with her cane when she noticed her niece's fidgeting. "Queens do not fiddle with their skirts. Fold your hands in your lap and sit as still as a statue."
"Yes, aunt." Lothí stifled her heavy sigh and did as ordered, knowing all too well how the cane could bite if she did not.
It felt like an eternity before the ceremony began, but it was a relief when it did. Lothí felt a zing of anticipation as Faramir followed his king out to stand before the neatly arranged rows. She didn't notice the flocking nobles take their seats, she only saw the blinding smile on her cousin's face as the bridal procession began.
Éowyn was radiant in the setting sun as she marched down the aisle. It seemed the only thing keeping her from a full-out sprint was her brother's restraining hold on her hand. The bride's smile was just as joyful as the bridegroom's, their love of one another as heady as the scent of the flowers around them. The siblings came to the head of the petal-strewn aisle, and it was only then that Lothí saw the tears marring the young king's face as he gave his sister away in matrimony.
Éomer took his seat on the opposite side of the aisle, dashing away the tears as subtly as he could manage. Only then did King Elessar begin to speak.
"Today, we gather together in joy as we celebrate the union of two lovers and the tightening bonds between our people." The king's gentle, commanding voice carried over the guests but seemed like his words were somehow meant for Éowyn and Faramir's ears alone. "By coming together in marriage, you dedicate your life to the service of another—to their happiness and well-being above all else for the rest of your days."
The young couple gripped each other's hands tighter, their smiles never waning as the king spoke on fidelity through life's unexpected trials, of love undying, and the joy such love can bring. Lothí listened to his words and couldn't stop her gaze from straying towards her promised king, wondering if his heart felt as impossibly full as hers in that moment. The organ in question beat steadily against her ribs, feeling bolstered by the ceremony and hammering stronger than before as every word drove home her love for the golden king sitting across the aisle.
Elessar produced ribbons and began wrapping the strands around the couple's hands as he led Faramir through the vows.
"Éowyn Éomundsdottir, I swear to always be mindful of you," Faramir echoed. The softness of his voice belied the wealth of feeling underlying each sentiment. "I swear to always be loyal, and always to love you. Whatever hand I am dealt, I swear to share with you—burden or boon."
He swallowed thickly before adding, "I fear no fate for you are my fate."
Blinking back tears, Éowyn repeated the same as the green and white ribbons wound about their joined hands. It was a beautiful image, the pair of young lovers joined by their vows and bound to walk through life together.
Lothí tried to be surreptitious in swiping at her misty eyes. Weddings between two people truly in love never failed to move her. There was something almost magical about it. She could only hope that her own wedding was as full of love and light as this. As if drawn by a magnet, her gaze landed on Éomer.
He practically gleamed in the blazing sunset like a blessed king straight out of the legends. His brow furrowed as he watched his sister pledge herself to another man and a new life, the wealth of emotion written in each line of his face twisting her heart. Lothí wanted nothing more than to grasp his hand tightly, to remind him that he wasn't alone. She wished it so fervently that a part of her thought he'd heard—his gaze met hers in that moment, sending a shockwave dancing up her spine.
An elbow jostled her ribs then, breaking the spell with all the efficacy of a bucket of water on kindling. Imrahil's sidelong frown was clear: she needed to keep her head out of the clouds. A nugget of resentment nestled in her belly. Valar forbid his daughter wonder about her own impending marriage.
"Yavanna, grant them a life of plenty and prosperity—we pray this pair be rich in happiness and poor in misfortune. Elbereth Glithoniel, we wish these lovers to see their children's children and live a life of peace. May you be one another's safe haven forever more," Elessar said, his hands clasped around their joined hands. "As husband and wife, you may now kiss."
He hadn't even finished speaking when Éowyn surged into her new husband's arms. The guests all rang the bells that had been left in their seats, the cheery sound filling the air and punctuating the end of the ceremony with their sweet, brassy cries.
The crowd followed the newlyweds up the aisle and into the feast hall where the festivities awaited. She sought Éomer in the throng but couldn't find him before Imrahil hustled her away.
"Stop gawking," he instructed lowly. The hand on her lower back was firm as her father quickly escorted her into the Merethrond. They were among the first to arrive at the greeting line where Éowyn and Faramir stood, practically glowing with happiness.
"Uncle!" Faramir greeted, his smile flashing even wider at the sight of his family.
"Congratulations, young man," Imrahil said warmly, a stark difference to the way he spoke with his daughter. The men embraced and fell into light conversation, leaving the young women to their own devices.
"That was a beautiful ceremony," Lothí smiled, folding her hands to stop any anxious fiddling.
Éowyn pulled her into a fierce hug. "Thank you for your help today—I'd have been a terror if it weren't for you."
The princess was stunned. She hadn't expected an emotional display, even a minor one, from the Shieldmaiden. "Of course—we're family now and, I hope, friends."
Somehow the lithe blonde woman's embrace became even tighter. "We are. I never expected to find a friend here. For once, I'm glad to admit I was wrong."
Lothí laughed and squeezed her back. "You're a beautiful bride, and I'm so happy to call you 'cousin.'"
"Then, cousin to cousin, look at the head table for a little gift." With a wink, Éowyn released her and greeted the next person in line with a brilliant smile.
Shaking her head in bemusement, Lothí moved into the hall to investigate Éowyn's meaning. Her father was already inside talking with Belegorn, one of the king's councilors and spymaster. Even from a distance she could tell the whispered conversation was intense. Feeling no desire to interrupt, the princess instead sought out her family's seats for the feast.
She'd just discovered her place at the high table, not too far from her cousin's seat, when two large hands came to rest on her hips. The familiar scent of her golden king tickled her nose and Lothí felt herself relax under his touch.
"You're too delectable to be left unsupervised." Éomer's warm, gravelly voice washed over her like sun-warmed waves.
With a bright smile, she turned to face her betrothed. "You're in a happier mood than I expected."
"This is a happy day, no matter my personal demons." He gave her hips a fond squeeze before releasing her, one calloused hand instead twining with hers. "Éowyn has lived in shadow and darkness far too long—to see her smiling and happy has been one of my dearest wishes for years."
They both looked towards the greeting line where a practically glowing Éowyn beamed at every guest. She was so elated that the sun seemed weak and dull in comparison. The Steward stood beside her, his quiet smile doing nothing to lessen or hide his joy.
"I think it's safe to say your wish came true," Lothí said with a wistful smile.
He squeezed her fingers and couldn't hide the bittersweet twist of his mouth. "It did, and in a most spectacular fashion."
"Keep it close to your heart and wish for her continued happiness." She looked at the happy couple again, a strange pang tightening in her chest. "Faramir hasn't had an easy life—my uncle was a… challenging person and Fara received the brunt of it. I'm endlessly grateful to your sister for making him so happy."
The hall steadily filled up and any further conversation was cut off by the eager guests and well-wishers approaching them. Éomer gave her hand another pump before releasing the princess for propriety's sake.
The men offered their congratulations before inquiring after the availability of horseflesh while the women all wanted to ask about her own wedding plans. Éomer kept close to her side through the waves of courtiers—not that Lothíriel minded. The curious glances and raised brows didn't escape her notice whenever he'd touch the small of her back, but she'd been accused of far worse than a few light caresses. She was in love with an outspoken Rohir and decided then that she didn't care who knew it. If she was to be sovereign of that bold people, she needed to learn how to be bold as well.
The dinner bell rang, rescuing them from more of the same questions. As Faramir's next of kin, the contingent from Dol Amroth sat amidst the Rohirric representatives at the high table. Thanks to Éowyn's plotting, Lothí got to sit on Éomer's right for the entire evening. She felt like she was glowing with happiness—her cousin was euphoric, her new friend couldn't stop smiling, and her betrothed hadn't stopped finding little reasons to touch her.
Speeches were made by Gondorians and Rohirrim alike as the nobility politely pretended to listen while gorging themselves. It was a happy occasion on all accounts. Even Imrahil's stern countenance couldn't disrupt his daughter's merriment.
Food was piled high and the drinks flowed freely. Lothíriel's cheeks were warm from laughing so much. Faramir was in fine form, regaling his new wife and brother-in-law with stories of his time with the Rangers in Ithilien.
Through the happy chatter, Éomer's hand on her knee never wavered. He watched her smile flash, bright and warm, and felt his lips part in an answering grin. The effect she had on him was mad given the expeditious nature of their relationship, but he couldn't imagine ever being indifferent to her. From the moment he'd first laid eyes on her, he'd been struck full of feeling—desire, intrigue, annoyance and ire, tenderness. The princess cracked his hard outer shell and left him floundering in a sea of emotion. And, in a matter of mere months, there would be nothing to stop him from displaying those feelings openly.
As if reading his thoughts, a smirking Faramir said, "We'll be attending your wedding feast soon, Éomer-Cynig."
"Not soon enough," Éomer quipped good naturedly. The flush that stained his betrothed's cheeks was well worth the ripple of laughter. "I know you're familiar with that impatience, mîn brōþor."
"Yes, but my wait is over." He pressed a fond kiss to his bride's temple.
Éowyn laughed and nudged her new husband's shoulder playfully. "Do you think you're ready for a royal Rohirric wedding, Lothí?"
"Honestly, I'm not sure what to expect." The king grinned at her deepening flush, squeezing her thigh to silently convey his own impatience for their wedding day.
"This, but more." Éowyn gestured at the Rohirrim drinking and laughing unabashedly about the feast hall and animatedly chattering at the more reserved Gondorians. "Our people love a celebration and any excuse to prolong the Yule festivities will be eagerly met."
"But are there any specific traditions I should know about?" Her hand came to rest atop her betrothed's, fingers spasming with a slight case of nerves. Lothíriel was struck again by how little she knew of his culture, and it seemed a daunting task to learn it all in so little time. "For example, my mother's people give brides anklets of little bells to ward off evil spirits and Gondorians kiss over a mountain of sweet rolls to harken a prosperous union."
"You'll exchange rings and swords," Éowyn said after a thoughtful pause. "Not new ones, mind you. The blades must belong to an ancestor."
"There's also the morgengifu," the king added, twining his fingers with hers and squeezing. "That's just from me to you, though."
He wanted to kiss away the frown that puckered her brows at that. "That seems terribly unfair."
"It's really not," he said as a laugh rumbled forth to mingle with Éowyn's own bark of amusement.
"It's not so one-sided as you may think," the White Lady added with a wolfish grin. "The wedding night is your gift to him."
They all laughed when the princess blushed a deep scarlet and hid her face in her hands. It was perfect, or so she thought until the music started.
Lively music started up after the newlyweds kissed over a mountain of sweets and the center of the hall was quickly cleared for dancing. It quickly filled with a rainbow of twirling skirts and swinging limbs. The joy was contagious as even the prim Gondorians let themselves enjoy the exuberant dances of the Rohirrim. In the center of it all were Éowyn and Faramir, beaming at each other as they danced.
Éomer quickly claimed her for a dance, easily navigating through the other pairs though his eyes never left hers. They moved together as if in a dream, like they'd done this all their lives instead of intermittently through the last two months. The world fell away as they danced leaving only them. Delicate, purposeful touches of her hands sent waves of goosebumps rising on his skin. His strong touch and sure footwork had Lothí floating on air.
She didn't know how many sets they danced together, only that the spell was broken when Éothain came charging up to demand a dance with his future queen. After being tossed about by an exuberant Éothain, she danced with her brother, Faramir, Legolas, and a dizzying swirl of other partners until she was breathless. Lothí had to beg off any more dancing after that—her feet ached something awful and she needed a drink. Despite her summery gown, the activity left her far too hot.
She excused herself as graciously as she could to pour herself something cool. Everyone was laughing and smiling, the polite disinterest finally worn away with the combination of sheer joy and the ever-flowing wine. The hall was filled with music and laughter. Lothí fancied that it was such a perfect night that no one could have an ill thing to say.
Among all the smiling nobles and glittering groups, one woman sat alone. The princess cocked her head at the strange situation. Cerphedis was usually at the heart of the party, flitting like a butterfly from flower to flower as she laughed and chatted the night away. But now she was alone, her delicate brow puckered as she stared into her winecup.
Lothí carefully made her way over to the other woman, unsure of what she was doing but more bothered by the scene than she cared to admit.
"Is this seat taken?" the princess asked warily.
Cerphedis just huffed and gestured absently, taking a deep sip of her wine. The younger woman took it as an invitation to sit, nervously plucking at her skirts while the awkward silence dragged between them. It was odd to sit in a quiet pocket like this when the rest of the room was filled with light and music. Lothí was even more discomfited than before.
"I wanted to congratulate you on your betrothal," she started slowly. "I'm sorry for not doing so earlier."
"Yes, it is most advantageous," Cerphedis sneered, her blue eyes cold as she turned towards the princess. "Lord Duinhir's holdings are vast, putting him on par with princes and kings. My mother couldn't be more thrilled about this new connection."
Her words were those of a proud woman, but her voice was hollow. Lothí looked closer, noticing the red rimming the older girl's eyes and how drawn her face was under the tasteful rouge and kohl. Cerphedis's hands tremored just a fraction, and she quickly raised her drink again to hide it. It seemed that one person was less than delighted, however advantageous a match it was.
"Cerphedis." Lothí's heart went out to the other woman who clearly knew the sort of man her life was now tied to. "You don't have to do this. If you don't want to marry him, I would understand. You've got a whole life ahead of you, and it shouldn't be ended prematurely by a man we all know cares little for his wives."
"That's rather presumptuous, princess," Cerphedis spat. "Even if I knew what you meant, this is not your place."
"I think you do know exactly what I'm talking about." She could see the faintest quiver of her once-rival's chin, the way she paled under her sparkling appearance. "We've all heard the stories about their miscarriages, the hemorrhaging, and the bruises—why would you risk the same happening to you? You're beautiful and clever, and you deserve better than that."
Lothí paused for a moment as she watched the other woman blink away moisture in her eyes. She meant it, she realized. Whatever qualms the princess had with Cerphedis didn't mean she deserved to suffer. She didn't have to like someone to wish the best for them.
"Let me help you," she offered, warming to the idea instantly. "Quietly call the betrothal off and stay in the city this summer. I can help find you someone better, kinder. We can get you invitations to her majesty's salons, introduce you all around to the eligible men—you'll find someone better in no time at all—"
"Stop it!" Cerphedis hissed, face contorted in rage. "Who are you to meddle so? I'm lucky to have caught the lord's eye—he's titled, wealthy, and holds more power in Gondor than any other man on the market. Not all of us are so fortunate to be born a princess. I don't have the luxury of using my title to land a husband."
"Cerphedis, I only meant—" She blinked, taken aback by the woman's venom.
"I'm sure." Her beautiful face fell into an ugly sneer as she continued her tirade. "I had the king's eye first, you know. If it weren't for your ridiculous title and your entire family's meddling, I would be his queen—None of this would have happened if it weren't for you! And now you have the nerve to pity me? No, I think not."
"I'm sorry for presuming," Lothí said ruefully, shaking her head as she realized that Cerphedis's anger was not entirely misplaced. "You're right, and I apologize for meddling. But my father and Éomer-Cynig had an arrangement long before this summer that I was not privy to. This is neither of our faults, and I want you to know… I will be glad to help you, should you ever decide you need it."
"I won't." She slammed her glass down with a sharp smack before whirling away in a storm of spring green skirts and black hair.
Noeneth approached then, watching the older woman go with concerned frown. "She doesn't seem happy. Are you alright, Lothíriel?"
"Yes, just reaping the rewards of meddling where I'm not wanted." Lothí sighed before rolling her shoulders back and shooting a friendly smile to her brother's paramour. "If I ever overstep, feel free to tell me—though I'd prefer it be done a little less dramatically."
"I promise to very lovingly tell you to butt out." Pearly teeth flashed in a grin as Noeneth held out a hand to help the other girl up. "Come on, I think it's almost time for you to help prepare the bride for her wedding night. Do you think she's nervous?"
Lothí wound her arm through hers as they made their way towards the bride. "I think it's only natural to be nervous—it's not like we receive an education on what happens between men and women."
"I suppose they think our ears would fall off," Noeneth teased with a roll of her dark eyes. The beads in her braids clicked pleasantly as they walked.
"Or that we'd find the first young man for a more practical demonstration."
They laughed together at the ridiculousness of fathers, their merry giggles drawing a few looks. Many looked kindly upon the young women laughing so and enjoying their youth; it was a wedding, after all, and what girl didn't get a little giddy at such events?
Éomer watched her from his place with her brother and a few lordlings surrounding Faramir, and he couldn't stop the soft smile from spreading over his face. His betrothed's easy humor had yet to leave him unsmiling, though a distant part of him worried at putting so much pressure on one so young. So far, she'd risen to every challenge and proved herself more than capable of navigating the quagmire of court life. Sometimes he forgot just how inexperienced she truly was and seeing her laugh with a friend drove that reminder home.
Lothí escorted Éowyn away towards her bridal suite, talking and laughing like the best of friends. Catcalls and suggestive barbs echoed around them as they dashed across the hall towards the Steward's quarters. The two women were both red in the face from the innuendos and cries for a quick conception, allowing themselves to collapse in laughter once they were safely out of sight.
"Béma!" Éowyn exclaimed as she caught her breath from darting up the stairs and dodging well-wishers. "I don't know how many weddings I've been to, but I never realized how truly ridiculous that tradition was until now."
The chamber door was safely locked behind them, the only other entrance was the one between this room and Faramir's. The Steward's dressing room was prepared for the bride this night with a vanity set against one wall, and a seamstress's mannequin stood ready with a nightgown of frothy lace draped about it.
The bride quickly settled in at the vanity, doffing her jewels into the waiting jewelry box, and plucking the flowers from her hair. Their colorful bodies fell on the tabletop like a strange, summery snow. Lothíriel helped rid her of a few flowers more difficult to reach, her nimble fingers working quickly. It was odd that it was just them tonight. Preparing the bride for her wedding night was usually reserved for a mother or sister—tonight, a cousin-in-law and future sister-in-law would have to do.
"Are you nervous?" the princess asked as she undid the laces on Éowyn's wedding dress.
"No." And she wasn't lying. There was a content, knowing gleam in her eyes that betrayed her confidence in going to her new husband. "We… well, I've already lain with him."
"Really?" Lothí's eyes went wide at the confession.
"In Edoras last summer, and again upon our reunion here." The flaxen-haired bride smiled at her companion. "I am not afraid because I've already conquered the bedroom. Have you and my brother…?"
"No, though he's… been teaching me other things," she hedged, flushing at the older woman's new tack. "The rumors about it aren't true."
Éowyn slipped behind the changing screen, wearing only her chemise, to change into her nightgown. Lothí tossed the matching robe over the top of the screen before arranging the beautiful wedding gown over the mannequin.
"You know, you can lay with him before you wed," Éowyn said from behind the screen. Fabric rustled as she moved about. "I know it's taboo here, but it's not uncommon in the Mark. It would certainly make your wedding night easier."
"But what if it left me with child?" Lothí asked, softly. Her hands stilled in their work. "There are six more months between now and our wedding."
"Do you think my brother would be anything less than happy at that?" The robe slithered off the other side of the screen. "If he knew, he'd ride here like a madman to sweep you back to the Mark with him. Who knows? Maybe he'd carry you off anyway, child or no."
"I-I think I'd be too afraid of what could happen to do it so far out," Lothí admitted, trying to ignore the heat coiling in her belly at the thought of simply making him hers. She was already believed guilty of it—what was the point in waiting if everyone thought her maidenhead plucked already?
"I see no harm in it. The odds of conception the first time are astronomically low—I've never known a woman to get pregnant after only doing it once." Éowyn stepped out, a vision in the pale pink lace and ivory satin. Flashes of skin peaked through the lace and the chemise was cut suggestively low, trimmed with matching lace in the most evocative places. "How do I look?"
"He's going to devour you," Lothí teased, smoothing her friend's hair with a final, quick brush.
"Perfect." A smug, animalistic smirk flashed over the bride's pink lips before she turned to the younger woman. "Whether you do it or not, I think you're perfect for my brother. Just don't let anyone else hold you back."
With that, she moved through to the Steward's chambers to greet her new husband. The door closed behind her, and Lothí doused the candles before leaving the dressing room. She doublechecked that it was locked before returning to the party, Éowyn's words swimming around her mind. The princess did want to lay with Éomer—she loved him truly, but also didn't see the point in waiting further. Everyone already believed her to be unchaste, so why not simply make the rumors true? There was no benefit to being deemed a hussy without ever having known a man.
That in mind, she quickly found her betrothed and requested a stroll. At some point while she'd been gone, the guests had slipped from happily intoxicated to messily drunk so no one noticed. Voices were louder, songs bawdier, and their majesties had already excused themselves for the night. A final, quick glance about the hall told her that her father and aunt had also retired already.
"I can't believe my sister is married," Éomer said as they walked about the Merethrond and through to the guest quarters. "She was always a terror as a child, sullen or wild by turns, and determined to be better than any man in the éoreds."
"And my cousin was always the bookish sort, more prone to flights of fancy than the present. I think they complement each other," Lothí said, squeezing his arm fondly.
"That they do." He arched a brow at her, curious about her quiet smile. It hadn't dropped since she'd tugged him away. "Where are you taking me, lufestre?"
Lothí hummed noncommittally, scanning the halls for any prying eyes, before maneuvering them into a dark corner. "I thought a little privacy wouldn't be amiss."
"I like the way your mind works." His face lit with a pleased grin and he followed, prowling after her like a cat stalking its prey. His senses awoke as she pulled him close. Her lithe frame fit snugly against him, warm and pliant under his large hands.
She wound her hands around his shoulders, her fingers twining through his hair, so that she could capture his lips with her own. Lothí slid her lips over his and tasted the spicy wine lingering there. His hands tightened in her skirts, bunching them at the small of her back, and he pressed closer until she was trapped between him and the wall. Despite being pinned there by his strong arms and solid mass, she knew there was nowhere safer than in his arms.
Lothí nipped his plump lower lip and ground her hips slowly against his. He growled low in this throat, sending a thrill racing through her at the primal noise. One hand roughly massaged her breast through her gown and slotted one leg between hers, creating a tantalizing pressure against her sensitive bud. She mewled in response to his delectable torture and she careful moved her body against his hard thigh. The friction made her moan. She wanted more, wanted to feel him over her and filling her. The heat spooling through her, coiling tighter and tighter in her core, told her that this was right. If he could get her so riled now, she shivered to imagine what he could do with a bed and no clothes.
"Where are your rooms?" she asked hoarsely. They were both panting with want when she pulled back, restrained only by the lack of privacy.
Realization dawned over his face and Éomer cursed roughly. His head dropped to her shoulder as he sought to compose himself. Lothí could feel each heavy breath since he was still in her arms. He didn't care. He needed to exert some control over himself. Éomer would not allow himself to carry her off and claim her like some barbarian if she didn't really want it.
"Why are you asking, swete?" The words rumbled like distant thunder against her ear.
"Because I want to be yours and to make you mine," she replied simply.
"No, this… this had to come from somewhere." Éomer lifted his head to peer at her, watching every flicker of those silvery eyes and every quirk of her lips for a clue.
"Éomer, I'm fine. Truly." The princess nuzzled his bearded cheek and pressed lightly against him for good measure. She could still feel the way he wanted her pressed hot and hard against her belly. "I want this."
"You're still raw from the test," he said at length. It was nothing more than a suspicion, but her expression—shock and a bit of guilt—confirmed it.
"What does it matter? It didn't happen and everyone thinks me unchaste anyway. Why not actually enjoy this thing I've supposedly done already?" Lothíriel lifted her chin defiantly and met his gaze with no shame. "It doesn't change the way I feel about you."
"No, swete." Éomer sighed and stepped back from her, though he didn't let her go. He pressed a kiss to her hand, hoping she'd understand why he had to put a stop to this even though every nerve in his body was screaming for him take her.
"Why not?" she challenged, eyes flashing.
"If it's about the test, about expectations and rumors, then it isn't about us." He held her hand firmly, refusing to let her go. She needed to hear this, to understand. "When I take you, it will be about how I love and desire you. And when you take me, it will not be about your father and other detractors. I will not have you regret this. Do you understand what I mean?"
She deflated at his words, realizing he was right: she had been keyed up for the wrong reasons. Her desire hadn't been motivated by her feelings for him—though those played a strong part, it was wrong that they weren't the only motivation. When this happened between them, she would come to his bed for no reason other than her feelings for him. Nothing less was worthy of him.
"Yes, but understand me: I may have been wrong tonight, but that doesn't change how desperately I want to be yours." She pressed a slow kiss to his knuckles, careful to hold his gaze the entire time.
Éomer bit back a growl, firmly clamping down on the instinct screaming at him to carry her off like a wild man and make her his, principles be damned. Instead, he forced himself to step back and smooth his rumpled clothes. She did the same until she looked utterly unravished apart from her swollen lips.
"I think it's best that we find your brother and get you home," he said, leading her back to the Merethrond.
They took their time walking through the crowd, ensuring that people saw them together and that nothing untoward was happening, while they searched for her wayward brother. Courtiers nodded and bowed, nothing but respectful as they couple passed. Once their backs were turned, the whispers started, the hissing following them around like an angry snake.
"Are you ready to return to the Mark?" Lothí asked to distract herself from the talk. Her skin prickled at the shrill laughter and obvious stares. All tact had gone out the window with copious amounts of wine.
"I am," the king replied fondly, smiling as he thought of his home. "I love it there in the summer, all gold and green. It's a sight to see, and one I can't wait to share with you."
She smiled at that, warmed by his words. "How do you always know what to say?"
"You bring out the poet in me, though I can't promise my letters will be as flowery."
That made her laugh and squeeze his arm. "I won't care so long as they're from you."
"Tell me, what will your first letter be about?" Éomer asked, giving up the pretense of looking for her brother. They were under the scrutinizing stares of the court once more and their time together was quickly running short. He'd steal every moment he could with her and damn the naysayers.
Lothí thought about it for a moment, content to continue circling the room by his side for as long as they could. "How much I miss you and hate waiting to see you again; a thousand questions about the Mark; and, probably, a pinch of complaining about Glîrion's sour mood."
"Why is he sour?" The king frowned at that, unaware of her friend's woes.
She froze at that—she knew there was a way to answer him honestly without betraying her dearest friend's confidence but worry gripped her. She didn't know the Mark's stance on such relationships, much less its king's. She'd only seen him angry a few times and she was still uncertain of how he would react to this piece of news.
"He… he's been having problems with his lover," Lothí said at length, satisfied that it wasn't a dishonest answer. "He came here for some distance, but it hasn't improved his mood."
"His relationship… with Amrothos?"
"What? How—?" she squawked. How had he known? How long? The man bewildered her at every turn.
Éomer simply shrugged. "It's not uncommon for some men to seek comfort with each other on long patrols. They're alone with only their éored in the empty land between villages for weeks at a time. So long as it doesn't happen against anyone's will, everyone else pretends they don't see it."
"Then… it doesn't bother you?"
"Why would it? It doesn't affect me, so why would it bother me?" He looked puzzled by her question before shaking his head. "This is another fool propriety thing, isn't it?"
"Gondorians aren't quite so willing to accept such pairings as you are," she said simply, deciding to leave it at that for the night. "But yes, my brother can be a petulant ass when anything changes. With our betrothal and Erchirion's new courtship, Amrothos isn't handling things as gracefully as you might hope."
"Invite Glîrion to our wedding then, insist that he join my musicians and play," Éomer offered. "And then invite him to stay and transcribe some of our songs for as long as he likes."
Lothíriel blinked up at him, surprised once more by the delightful man beside her. "Are you serious?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" The king smiled, warming to this spontaneous idea the longer he thought about it. "He needs distance, you'll need a friend—and I'll need someone who knows you best to tell me all your secrets."
"Éomer, I-I don't know what to say," she said softly, marveling up at him.
"You don't need to say anything, swete."
Sweoster: Sister (Old English)
Before Queen Victoria, brides typically wore light colors or their best dress to their weddings. Blue was the color of purity and faithfulness, so it was favored by brides.
Kissing over a tower of cakes or sweets was also common because a successful kiss meant a prosperous marriage. Aren't old wedding traditions fun?
Mîn Brōþor: My brother (Old English)