A/N: It's like I blink and then I have to keep editing my notes draft for each chapter in advance because yikes at everything happening. I hope everyone is staying safe, and for anyone protesting I especially hope you all are too. But let's keep demanding change, regardless of what country we're in because systematic racism is inherent within a lot of our cultures. I'm also sorry that this took a while, but with the plague and uni a lot of things dragged on but I was working on this and the other chapters as I went along. Also lmao why is there so much angst coming up, I didn't intend for this to be angsty but welp. But like hopefully 6000ish words make up for my absence.

Thanks so much for all of your reviews so far! It's great to know people do enjoy this story lmao.


Snm3- Noon idyll

It had occurred to Lothìriel, within minutes of awakening, that she was quite unable to move. And it was warm. Far too warm. Her body pinned between the dip of the bed and half a Rohirric King upon her side. She bit back the urge to laugh, teeth digging into her lips, watching as Eomer's deep breath caused a stray lock of hair about his face to flutter gently.

Her hand seemed to move of its own accord, fingertips gently running the length of his nose and the crest of his cheekbone. Emboldened at the warm of his skin, she began to gently run the back of her fingers along his jawline, revelling in the scratch of his beard. After a few moments she finally manage to wiggle out of his grasp, her feet dangling over the edge of the bed. She frowned, realising that she could not touch the floor. With a hop she jumped off the bed, pulling the furs back over Eomer's sleeping form, and began to explore the room.

The tapestries here were far richer than she could have ever imagined. Eowyn had warned her, but they were nothing compared to the sight of woven forest hues. And the sheer volume of them, it felt like hardly an inch of the wooden panels were visible behind the tapestries. Every spare inch of wall seemed to tell a tale, horses of bay and roan and greys galloping across a golden sea of grass. A couple of different sets of armour hung upon wooden forms, and a cape was

Pushing open the large shutters, her eyes began to take notice of the pale white beginning to dust the grey-browns of the town below her, wisps of smoke beginning to escape from large chimneys and hearths. Few people were awake, some women washing laundry in the streets, others beginning to set up the day's wares. She mentally took note of the industries, trying to wrack her brain for distant memories of lessons about Rohirric trades. Beyond the sloping mound of the town, the Misty Mountains made a formidable image upon the flat landscape, the skies overhead already dark and stormy- the signs of an impending blizzard. Her brothers once laughed at her for piling blankets atop her bed in the cooler months at Dol Amroth, but here it felt as if the iciness had pierced her soul. This was nothing like the cold shock of the sea, one that burned at first but became as familiar as breathing over time.

Before she could pull away, Lothìriel felt the warmth of an arm begin to wind around her waist, a hand holding her hip firm and the sturdiness of a chest pressed against her back.

"I'm afraid we have no sea for you to attempt to drown me in." A part within her, one she was becoming steadily more and more familiar with, revelled in the deep huskiness of her betrothed's voice. "You're cold, lass."

"How very astute." She smiled, turning to face him. She held back a laugh at the sight of his tangled hair and the mark of his pillow upon his cheek. "You're very warm." She felt like an idiot at how that sounded.

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips. "Aye, so I've been told. I am sorry I did not warn you soon enough about," he briefly let go of her to gesture around his chambers, "this."

She shook her head, pulling her arms around his waist tighter. She decided she very much liked it. "I suppose the fault is partly mine for never having paid attention to the marriage customs of other nations." Lothiriel headed over to the chest placed by the bed the night before, digging through for an appropriately warm dress. It seemed she was ill-prepared for the cold, with only two or three perhaps suited to this weather. "What do you do in the mornings?"

"Besides forcing the cat off my cloak?" Eomer gestured to a still-sleeping Ravo upon the mass of wool. "Eat, I suppose. Enjoy whatever I can of the day before duties begin."

"What of when you were with the eored?" She fumbled with the lacing of her boots, looking up at him with keen interest. "Surely there was something more interesting?"

"Apart from orcs?" She froze in place for a moment, praying to whoever would listen that she hadn't overstepped a line. Lothìriel relaxed as she noted the smirk upon his face, eyes glistening with humour, "No, mostly just did my duties. Though I did bathe in the rivers."

"Is that meant to imply that I have a chance of drowning you?"

"Love, I hardly think you need to ride out to the river." He nodded in the direction of a smaller chamber off to the side she had yet to explore. "The bath would certainly be more comfortable."

Her mind processed that last sentence for a moment, mouth agape she only just realised what had been relayed to her the night before. They really were giving her free reign of her betrothed. This really wasn't what she was expecting at all. At best she supposed she would have some time to see him in between his duties and her own lessons.

But this?

"My love?" Her voice felt constricted in her throat, hands grasping at the edge of the polished stool she sat upon. "I, uh…"

She watched her betrothed make his way before her, kneeling down and pressing their foreheads together. Pain flickered in her breast, aching at the sheer tenderness of it all. She idly registered the now-familiar callouses of hands against the skin of her cheeks, cradling her head between them.

"Was this too much?" She met his concerned gaze, shaking her head. "You can tell me, I won't judge."

"I just… it's nothing,"

"Lothìriel."

"It's not that I don't enjoy, I suppose, getting to know you better in this sense," She took a deep breath and Eomer nodded for her to continue, "I was simply never raised to expect this from a betrothal. Gondorian courtships are all chaperones and so much as looking at a boy being forbidden."

"Gondorian maidens must be blind then, if they cannot look at a man."

"Oh no, you just admire them through their reflection in the glass. Much easier." She hesitated a moment before leaning forward, pressing a kiss to his lips. For the briefest second she felt his breath against her skin pause before he returned it, tilting her jaw with his hands as she deepened the kiss. She could willingly spend hours here, warmth flowing through her body as her hands found themselves tangling in his hair. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," Eomer pressed one more kiss to her cheek before taking both her hands, pulling her up to face him and wrapping his arms about her waist. "But what bothers you?"

"Should I be more… physical?" She struggled to find the right word, her eyeline barely leaving the embroidered collar of his tunic. "I don't wish to offend your people's customs or hurt you in any way."

Cupping her cheek, he tilted her chin up to look at him, understanding clear in his eyes. "Perhaps I do admit to cradle-snatching," Lothìriel snorted and Eomer bit back an exasperated sigh, "Despite your Gondorrian notion of we Rohirrim being brutes-"

"I don't think that,"

"I know. But I will only ever return what you wish to give." She nodded, her heart gently releasing itself from that constricting feeling at the sight of his smile. How could anyone have ever thought Eomer was a stoic man? Well, if she was being honest, his softness was her privilege. "You need only say. Though I apologise if I offend, we are brought up to be…" His brows furrowed, trying to find the right word.

"Tactile?" She offered, he gave a small nod. "I'm afraid all we have are words and truly dull songs. So if I wish to kiss you?"

"I would be a fool to refuse, love."

"If I told you I wanted to start working on all fifteen children I am intent on having?" She laughed at the quick expression of sheer panic that passed before his face. "I jest, but thank you." She stood upon her toes, lowering his face to press a small hiss upon his cheek. "I'll figure this out as I go along, I suppose."

"Of course," With a final kiss upon her lips, he left her embrace, scooping up the now mewling cat upon his cloak. Lothìriel quickly shook the cloak free from any strands of coppery hairs before placing his cloak upon his shoulders. With a quick fumbling of ties she hooked her arm about the crook of his elbow and allowed him to lead her to the great hall.


Upon awakening from her black sleep in the Halls of Healing, Eowyn had been made aware of the immediate political situation. Partly out of prudence, she was after all, second-in-line to the Riddermark. But also due to her quiet conversations with her future husband, shy as he was at times, he never seemed to stop worrying about a great many things. At the time of their talk a young cousin of his had been at the forefront of his mind. She'd only come of age by Rohirric standards a year or two ago, Faramìr had told her, though by Gondor it was a year or so off.

"Does she sleep anymore? She need not help me, and yet she remains." His head had rested upon her shoulder as they both continued their vigil at the east-ward horizon. "I feel I failed my brother. He always doted on her, said that at least one of us should be let to run wild."

"I like the sound of her." She had said at the time.

And in truth she was right. Lothìriel had made herself known to Eowyn after a couple of days, profusely apologising for not having introduced herself earlier.

"Things are rather fraught between Harad and Dol Amroth at the moment, though they've stopped a vast majority of their incursions, but with the militant Umbar Corsair that allied themselves with Mordor-" She was harried and the shadows beneath her eyes were all too-familiar to Eowyn. She noted that Lothìriel was dressed in the Gondorian style of mourning, in a gown of inky black. An ancient band that seemed far too heavy for her brow was decorated with the dual symbols of Gondor and the principality of Dol Amroth, holding a sheer silken veil over her face and hair. That was why Faramìr had been so worried for her, she was Sovereign Princess.

"Highness, please," Eowyn, accustomed to the freely-given touches of Rohan, watched as the young woman flinched at the feeling of her hand resting upon her tense shoulders. "Please, let us not talk of business. You are in a place of rest and should be free to rest as the rest of us."

Eowyn wasn't sure at what point the thought of Lothìriel as a potential sister-in-law came about, but it came all the same. Indeed, it had been her husband who had bought it up first. In the end it hadn't taken much effort on their part at all, Eomer seemed absolutely besotted with her and the poor girl was both confused and elated at falling in love with him too.

"Faramìr, can you lend us money?" Eowyn was shook out of her reverie at the sight of her favourite Dol Amroth cousin.

Her husband immediately reached for the small book he kept his accounts in, thumbing through to find a page on expenditure. "How much do you need Amrothos?"

"Well, we were just informed here by the very amiable Marshall Erkenbrand that flowers at this time of year are an astronomical cost." Erkenbrand raised his tankard at the sound of his name before resuming conversation with Erchirion. "I should have foreseen this, my sincerest apologies cousin, I had believed that flowers were the easiest undertaking in this planning. I will not fail you once we get to robes-"

"Amrothos, what exactly are you planning?" Eowyn felt the impending sense of dread well in her stomach. It may have also been the babe. It was touch and go there.

"I was hoping for some exotic blooms from all over the continent. I know that the roses of Ithillien are particularly fragrant-"

Eowyn rubbed her temple, unsure of how she was even doing this at this time of morning. "Amrothos, it's nearly winter," she said in a deadpan voice, unsure of where Amrothos even got his harebrained ideas from. "I hardly think our gardeners have had time to place them within the hothouse."

"Yes, but there is nothing wrong with being optimistic in the face of failure, dearest Cousin Wraithsbane!" She decided that his grin was far too sunny for this time of morning. Fara was right, the man was a walking puppy.

"We shall see what alternatives can be made," Faramìr slid his account book back into a fold of his robes. "Wife?"

"Yes?" She stopped her idle-minded rubbing of her belly, turning to face her husband.

Faramìr paused for a moment, staring deeply into his mug of hot malt and chocolate milk before continuing, "What ales have been made available? For the wedding, of course."

"Well, I believe my brother and your cousin intend to sample them and see which is to their taste. It seems a little unnecessary-" She began to answer before feeling a calloused hand clap upon her shoulder, "Erchìrion, is there anything you wish to say?" She sighed.

"My dearest cousin. I only wish to say that my brother and I should be made party to that session, in your stead of course." He winked. Eowyn held back the urge to roll her eyes at the auburn-haired man's antics. "After all, we cannot have sub-standard drink at our beloved sister's day of all days."

Looking down at her swollen belly, hoping to Bema or to anyone who would listen, that her babe would hustle along with their arrival already. Fine ales were something she had most certainly come to miss. Eventually the sound of distant murmurs drew closer as she noticed her bleary-eyed brother and his exhausted betrothed enter the halls, a cat held fast in his arms.

"...You really are far too warm." She yawned, greeting her brothers before carrying on her conversation.

"Love, you were the one who kept tossing the blankets on and off the bloody bed." Eomer sighed into his mug.

She apologised, taking a bite of some toast handed her. For a moment Eowyn could have sworn that Lothìriel seemed taken aback at the pile of food upon her plate, before hastily plastering a pleasant smile upon her face. "I am sure we will figure out this debacle with my inability to maintain my own body heat."

"Aye, hopefully soon."

"Aren't you two meant to be basking in the afterglow of a night of debauchery, or something to that extent?" Eowyn supressed a sigh at Amrothos, now beginning to saunter over to where the pair had sat. She supposed that it was her turn to save her poor brother and decided to mark a course of interception before any barbs could be passed between the siblings. With deliberate steps across the polished floors of the hall she not-so-gently bumped Amrothos out of the way, murmuring something about precedence as a woman heavy with child.


Eomer greeted his sister good morning as she made her way towards them, though he was slowly beginning to regret agreeing to discussions as their breakfasts were cleared away. He had hoped at the very least that there would be an opportunity to show his betrothed about the Halls. And, no matter how ill-mannered his sister painted him to be, he knew how to recognise a courtesy in need of repaying. After all, had Lothìriel not shown him about the palace and the city of Dol Amroth?

At the very least, he mused, his betrothed had silently moved her hand into his, holding onto it as he watched her stare very intently at one tree just visible beyond the window. He was sure that there were whole sieges that lasted for less than these idle discussions of fripperies had.

He couldn't believe he agreed a whole day off from duties for this.

Perhaps this was some polite Gondorian form of punishment? Eowyn seemed far too amused by the entire situation. Well, he supposed some things never changed. He swore his heart had momentarily stopped beating at the sight of the amount of gold available to pay for this one wedding.

"After all, between the money we have been putting aside from our soldier's pay, the money Lothì invested after receiving her inheritances, and the money cousin Boromìr left her," Erchìrion recounted quickly on his fingers, "Oh, and cousin Fara set aside a sum as gift."

"Now, I briefly sketched some ideas for the decorations and there are some samples of fabrics for both draping and any participants within the ceremony itself." He felt himself choke on his tea as Amrothos began to unfurl a large scroll of parchment, intricate sketches filling up almost every inch of the sheet. Lothìriel's hand patted small circles upon his back and he pressed a small kiss to her temple in thanks. He decided he liked the sudden flush of colour that came to her cheeks. "I was informed that we are to use this Hall as is tradition. And I could not have chosen a more ideal spot, however,"

"Yes?" Eomer sighed, attempted to recount the list of matters that had yet to be solved. Elfhelm briefly mentioned something to do with the bride price alongside matters of garb and settlements in the (hopefully unlikely) scenario that he were to perish within the near future.

"We have to do something about the tapestries," Amrothos gestured around the room.

"Is there something wrong?" Elfhelm bristled a little, folding his arms and levelling a glare at the young prince. Erkenbrand too shifted within his seat. "I was unaware these tapestries were… lacking for a princess of Gondor."

Amrothos' mouth lay comically agape, eyes darting between the individuals who sat at the table. It would have been funny had it not been for the tense air in the room. "No, they are grand and a testament to your people's skills. But surely there are more… romantic tapestries? I hardly think a battle is something suited for a wedding."

"They are a reminder as to what line your sister shall marry into," Erkenbrand finally spoke, raising a pale brow. "Though I believe there are… more tasteful tapestries available."

"Excellent!" Amrothos clapped his hands before pulling out yet another godsforesaken scroll. "No decapitations, that was the main idea. Father frequently says they are bad for digestion. Now, the dowry-"

Eowyn stood from her seat and all quickly looked towards her. Was it the babe? Eomer sincerely hoped it wasn't the babe. "I thought there was to be no speak of a dowry. The House of Eorl is more than capable of taking care of their own and we would not ask Dol Amroth to part with anything more for a brýdgifu. If I am not mistaken, both Marshalls are here to discuss the bride price?"

Elfhelm and Erkenbrand stood once more, fetching halved wooden sticks with some etchings and a small chest resting by the hearth. Elfhelm glanced nervously at him and Eomer nodded, though he had the distinct feeling it did little to reassure the man. "We, your Marshalls, have settled the brýdcéap as the lands of Lossanarch that are part of your inheritance, sire. We believe this to be most convenient as, should you perish much later on, will situate her highness nearby her blood."

"We have also," Erkenbrand quickly shuffled through the debt sticks in his hands, "Considered a morgengifu equivalent to…" He felt Lothìriel stiffen at the large sum offered. He swore she mentioned something under her breath about the value of particular trade goods.

"And of course, additional sums and lands within The Mark for any children that should be left. Of course, this is if you happen to fall within the near future," Erkenbrand threw a particularly heated glare at him, "Due to your stubbornness. Though, of course, this is alongside any regency period her highness will undertake if your heir is not yet of age. Is this agreeable?"

Eomer looked about expectantly around the room, noting the stormy expression about both his future good-brother's faces. He briefly met Faramìr's worried gaze before Erchìrion broke the heavy silence.

"Absolutely not."

"Your Majesty, with all due respect, you expect us to agree to these terms?" He'd never so much as heard Amrothos sound irritated, let alone offended. Eomer frowned, unsure of just how his men could have caused offence. "You barely knew our sister, didn't even sing beneath her window nor offer us gifts, and now you refuse a dowry and expect us to be paid?" Beside him Elfhelm stood, hand ready by his sword. Erchìrion stood too, face as hard as flint as he reached for the dagger resting upon the table. "I suppose the next thing I shall be hearing is that the hall be stripped bare and-"

"Enough! Both of you." Lothìriel beside him shouted, her hand grasping his hand harder now. He turned to look down upon her, her face contorted in heat and anger before passing into calm serenity once again. Like one of Eowyn's favourite dolls as a child. "Amrothos you are being an embarrassment to not only our people, but to me."

"Your betrothed, as kind as he is, has not even acknowledged any of our customs." Amrothos began to explain, though he looked appropriately remorseful at the reprimand. "You are my sister and I care not whether you are marrying the King of Rohan or a stable boy. You are half of this marriage and I demand you be paid equal respect."

"Amrothos, I don't care about the decorations or the flowers or even the cake!" Eomer watched as Lothìriel lifted their clasped hands and placed it upon the table before them. "I will marry Eomer, and if you so much as hinder me, I swear to Ulmo I'll elope." He felt his heart begin to beat faster at the threat sister levelled against brother. Though he knew the threats passed between himself and his own sister often held no weight, he simply had no idea just how determined the children of Dol Amroth could be.

"You wouldn't" He squinted at his sister.

"I would." Lothìriel matching his tone. "Or worse, I'll be too large with child for you to plan a wedding soon enough."

"You definitely wouldn't." He scoffed.

"I most certainly would." She returned back. Eomer wasn't sure whether the determination in her voice, the utter surety of it, was something that terrified him or aroused him.

At that last thought he quickly realised things were getting out of hand, clearing his throat he nodded at Faramìr, the only other sane person at this table. "Please, there is no need for a family bloodbath at this table." Faramìr placated. "As it stands, cousin, you cannot elope. Though I am sure the thought amuses us all. However, Amrothos, Lothìriel explicitly stated that she wished to follow Rohirric marriage custom as Eowyn had followed Gondorian custom. But perhaps we can negotiate upon the Mark accepting a dowry as I doubt the people of Gondor will take well to an outright refusal."

"It will wound the pride of The Mark's people, to think they are not sufficient for a new Queen." Elfhelm finally conceded. "They already feel beholden to the many supplies and crops that were given in good-will after the war."

"Then you must understand we cannot, at the risk of displeasing our forefathers, allow our sister to marry without providing." Erchìrion responded, his hand resting upon his brother's still tense shoulder.

"Well," Eomer kept his face as still as possible, it would bode ill to betray the sincere gratitude he felt at his sister's interruption. "The drapers and tailors have arrived in order to fit you for new clothes, Lothìriel. Perhaps we should attend that. Brother, there are a selection of ales that require your attention."

He could have screamed for joy.


Lothìriel, half-asleep and too busy trying to figure out how best to figure out the current issue with her apparent monetary worth, quietly suffered as her brothers had suggested dress after dress. There were many beautiful ones, she had to admit, though this particularly… frothy was the only word for it- dress that Amrothos had thrust into her arms was less than ideal. She was sure she had a doll that once looked like this, all porcelain and yards of gathered silk. That may have been the doll that did not survive the several-foot drop at the top of the watch tower…

Well, one last dress.

With the help of one of the handmaidens now assigned to her (Gertha, she recalled her name was, a shieldmaiden in the flesh at her towering height and pale hair), she slipped on the silken gown of pale silver.

She stopped, staring into the glass placed before her. The cut was wrong, there were places it could have sat better or her shoulders exposed or…

She already had that gown. The one she had sworn she would only wear once. Truth be told, she wasn't even sure if her brothers' stitches would have lasted beyond that single evening.

Well, her mind was made now. Removing it from her body she quickly gestured for Gertha to fetch her woollen gown before stepping before the awaiting crowd. Would they hate her for this? It felt cruel not to, at the very least, choose a gown or even a bolt of fabric she preferred. Her mind turned, recalling the amount of gold available to her. Well, she had some form of a plan, hopefully it wouldn't be seen as too presumptuous.

The many seamstresses and drapers looked expectantly at her now. Part of her tried not to be irritated at Eowyn for commanding their attention now, and the sheer number of eyes upon her made her skin itch.

"I am enchanted by all these wares, and they speak highly of the many gifts of the people of The Mark. I know as Queen I will be deeply proud of your work and I know I will be wearing many of them. I hope that with this joining of houses, we will be able to rebuild trade networks between not only Dol Amroth, but with our northern neighbours at Dale and Erebor." She took a deep breath, willing herself to continue those small, polite smiles to them all. "However, I wish to honour the hand my brothers have had in my upbringing. I had no mother and it came to them that they make my coming of age dress, as is Dol Amroth tradition. It would be cruel to spend such a large amount of coin upon a single dress when so many are starving and the nation needing to be rebuilt."

Was it cruel to lie? Was it a lie? Perhaps partially, after all as part of her dowry she had bought many bolts of cloth that could be used at no cost at all. But there was something else, something that tasted like pride and fear and desperation at the back of her tongue.

For the first time this whole time it had finally sunk in. The finality of it all.

All her life she'd chased after her brothers, begging them to let her join her games until one relented and handed her a wooden sword.

And she wouldn't have them anymore. No Erchì to drag her to arithmetic, no Amrothos to run around the markets with. Elphìr wouldn't be there to lecture her for yet another transgression against common decency before playing her a little song on his lute.

Her father she'd made her peace with, but this?

"If you are not disagreeable, I would be more than happy to purchase personal gowns, both for present use and future. But the dress itself has already been chosen."

Making one last round of eye contact with each seamstress, she gave a deep curtsey and proceeded to walk around the room, politely selecting garments from each one. A small voice in the back of her mind longed for the sight of pale silks, however at the sight of deep velvets she resisted all urges to purchase a dress in every colour. She did her best to keep track of the many names presented before her, asking polite questions about their seasonal fabrics and the impact upon their supplies. Lothìriel also quickly remembered a tidbit about Dale and their current lack of wool. Hopefully Dale would send their ambassador along soon, she had missed their forthright manner of conversation.

Though it may not have been exactly what they had intended, her shrewd observation of the many candidates gave her some hope that they weren't too sore about missing out on her wedding dress. If anything, a couple seemed relieved. She did, however, stop at one artisan whom she had been informed was a specialist in detail work and decoration. She was trained, the guild mistress informed her, by her late father before he perished in the war. Lothìriel nodded, an idea forming in her mind.

"My lady," The girl seemed young, far too young, all sloe eyes and flaxen curls. "Is there something you require?"

"What is your name?" Lothìriel asked, idly running her hands over the samples of needlework presented to her by the guild mistress.

The girl straightened up, tucking hair behind her ears. She determinedly met her gaze and answered back, "Sigerun, my lady."

Lothiriel smiled and gestured for the trunk that her brothers bought into the room, having it be placed before her. Lothìriel, picking up her skirts, knelt down and began to look for the bolt of fabric she had dismissed earlier that afternoon.

"Have you ever worked with Harad silk?" Lothìriel began to unfold the bolt, allowing the girl to run the translucent fabric through her fingers. At the shake of her head, she handed her the bolt. "This was gifted to me by Ghasan, the leader of the nomadic Dadu peoples of Harad. It was woven by his wife and a gift of peace between our peoples."

Many of the seamstresses and merchants moved closer now, Lothìriel giving a nod of ascension to those who silently asked to examine the fabric.

Sigerun cleared her throat, "It is very fine, highness. Is there anything you had in mind?"

"No, nothing at all. Only that it respect my father's house. I trust that your skills and the skills of your fellow guild-artisans will speak highly for the Mark."

With a final deep curtsey to all present she nodded at Eowyn, the taller woman leading her through the room and into the corridors beyond.

"Forgive me, but I am afraid I feel tired. Will you be able to return to your rooms? The servants will not hesitate to direct you, it is of no shame." Lothìriel took in her good-sister's flushed face, the small line between her brows indicating she was hiding the true pain she felt. It seemed she and Eomer possessed that same habit.

"No, I think I remember from here. Please, don't exert yourself. I'll doubtless receive one of Fara's famous lectures about imposing on others." She tried to reassure Eowyn. At the hint of a dismissal she gave a small sigh of relief.

"Hopefully, Lothìriel, I get to hear one of those famous lectures soon."

"Oh we can only hope. Just don't birth on the rugs Erchìrion selected for the wedding." At that, Eowyn laughed and began to make her way towards, what she assumed, were her chambers.

Lothìriel turned a corner, the tapestries seeming familiar to her. Honestly, she couldn't believe that she was navigating purely by tapestries. But, they appeared to be guiding her in the right direction to the room she had shared with her betrothed. At the sight of Amrothos in his ridiculous fur-trimmed coat Lothìriel paused in her steps. Surely he'd outgrown his childhood games of following her into her own room, and there was absolutely no hope of bypassing him without being noticed.

"Sister!" Amrothos called after her, she walked faster, her skirts held in tight fists. She quietly cursed every Valar under her breath for gifting her brother with legs as unnaturally long as his. "How did it go?"

"No." She muttered back, doing her best to ignore the numerous traits her wedding dress must possess by his reckoning.

"And after all, you are quite short sister dearest. The dress must balance that out-"

"Amrothos!" Lothìriel snapped, feeling like the child she once was without resorting to stamping a silken-clad foot upon the ground. "I've chosen the dress, and you cannot change my mind."

"Lothì, I know I speak solely from vanity, but your clothing is rather important at this, a political event. I don't want to see you embarrassed or slandered by people who do not deserve you." Well, he always had been the one prone to dramatics and exaggeration. But she knew he meant well. Of all her brothers Amrothos was the one prone to tears and fits of hysterics, father had once told her that you could hardly have someone of his brightness and joviality without balance upon the other side of the scale.

Lothìriel sighed, walking up to her brother and placing her hands in his, "Rothos, I'm wearing the dress you and Erchì and Phìr made. I can't- don't want anything else."

Without warning she felt her brother come crashing into her arms, his own winding around her as his chin came to rest over her shoulder. A laugh stifled itself in her throat as she felt her skin become damp at the feeling of tears, Amrothos' chest and shoulders shaking in her embrace.

"I am happy for you, I swear it." He finally managed to choke out.

Lothìriel only held on tighter.


Hot take: milo is better than hot chocolate don't me.

Most Rohirric bridal customs are taken from englatheod which details Anglo-Saxon and Viking wedding practises. Brýdgifu refers to a dowry that the bride's family give for the bride's personal use, brýdcéap the payment given for the bride by the groom's family, and morgengifu is the morning gift given the morning after the wedding. Like I've said in the past chapter, I'm not sticking entirely too close to these practises as I like having some room to explore different things though I do acknowledge that Tolkein based Rohirric culture off these traditions.

Dadu (also known as Khanbaliq) was the capital of the Mongol Empire under Kublai Khan, and is now modern-day Beijing. I think I like playing with the idea of Harad as a more silk-road esque sort of place with vastly differing cultures and landscapes. The archaeology of the silk road is pretty lit.

Also to answer a guest review left here who asked about the tradition of getting pregnant as a condition of marriage:

If a couple failed to conceive after a given period of time, they would be asked to separate (though of course there would be rare exceptions). If the woman were to conceive with another man, then it would reflect upon her first fiancé and he would perhaps be taken out of the marriage pool so to speak, and be given a position within Rohirric society that was riskier and saved for men with little familial ties. And vice versa with a woman who could not conceive. I like to think it isn't something that would be viewed with shame, but more just parenthood as a 'career' isn't right, and it would be more efficient if you did something else. Traditions such as this have existed in the past and the T'boli tribe of Luzon in the Philippines did something pretty similar (but the couple were locked up in a smexy times tree house for a bit), and a community could work out if an individual was infertile or if a couple were just not well-suited to each other. But I like to think that as marriages for romantic love became more commonplace- moreso within the House of Eorl and other noble families, then this sort of tradition died out or was used a lot less. But uh, people will always be people and if the mess that is Medieval marriage (and divorce) is anything to go by, then they were eloping left right and centre.

Anyway, if you made it this far, thank you all so much for your reviews and let me know what you thought of this current chapter 3 I've loved hearing from each and every one of you!