Author's Notes: Thanks to all my reviewers!
Epilogue
*****
"Aldarion! O, hear my plea! And shift your sails billowingIn eastern winds upon the sea
To western land of Numenor
Where waits your lady, whispering,
'I beg of you, return to me!'
Upon her face tears glistening
For fear you come to her no more…"
Éomer admired his bride's voice from his place of honor at Imrahil's table. His wife sat upon a small wooden chair on the highest tier of the dais, right next to her father's empty throne. A harp rested upon her lap and her fingers upon the strings. She was singing this at his request, for he remembered well that the first time he had truly loved her was when he had heard her sing this song. That had been his sister's wedding feast.
This was his.
They were in Dol Amroth, in Imrahil's great hall, but half of Rohan had come to witness the ceremony. Almost all his lieutenants were present. Most importantly, however, his sister had come with Prince Faramir. They were the last of immediate family and he was pleased that they had been able to leave Ithilien so soon, for it had not been more than three months since they had left Meduseld. His sister's presence meant much to him. And although he hated to admit it, Faramir himself was turning into quite a good friend. He still bore himself too seriously at times, but he had more than proven his ability to be at the brunt of everyone else's jokes and still remain good-natured. Yes, Éomer, liked this most about his brother-in-law.
Of course, now that it was his own wedding night he did wish that he had been a little less aggressive with the Steward. Éomer just knew Faramir was plotting revenge. He could see it in those shifty dark eyes of his.
"…The sea birds of the harbor cried That overhead did gently soar Then came the sailor, hastening, With sword of mithril at his sideAnd coat of armor shimmering
To step onto the rocky shore…"Éomer momentarily allowed his gaze to shift from his radiant Lothiriel to Prince Faramir, jibing with his cousins near the ale barrels. He fidgeted nervously. He could have sworn that he'd heard his name being mentioned in their conversation.
Nevertheless he returned his attention back to Lothiriel, from whom he did not remove it until Faramir plopped down beside him, holding a mug of ale in each hand. "My cousin has a beautiful voice, does she not?"
Éomer nodded, not even bothering to hide his happiness. After all, Faramir was a married man. Unlike his new bachelor brothers-in-law, Faramir understood the joy a woman could produce.
But that did not necessarily make him a safe person to be with on this particular night.
"Drink up," ordered Faramir, shoving one of the ales in his face.
Éomer observed the eagerness in Faramir's face and smiled knowingly. "Oh no," said he with a laugh. "You're not going to get me so easily."
"Why, brother, whatever do you mean?"
"You've put something in that ale," Éomer answered, taking it from him and setting it a safe distance away from him upon the table.
The Prince scoffed. "Oh come off it. I have not!"
Éomer crossed his arms, still fully confident in his assumption. "Oh yes you have."
"No I ha…" started his brother-in-law, but stopped mid-sentence as if realizing how ridiculous they were being. Finally, Faramir took a swig from his own ale and shrugged.
"Have it your way, then. I, on the other hand, know not to waste good brew." The prince looked around, obviously looking for someone, but stopped as his eyes rested upon Éowyn, sitting at one of the nearby tables with the Queen Evenstar.
Éomer blanched. "You're not giving that to my sister, are you?"
"Oh, actually, I was going to offer it to the Queen, but she does not seem to like ale," said Faramir. "On the other hand, maybe you're right. Maybe I should give it to Éowyn, for she would appreciate it more." And he got up in order to give it to her. Éomer watched him with keen interest as he rounded the table and approached his wife. He watched as Éowyn took the proffered drink, wondering if he ought to prevent her, and also feeling reluctant to fall into any trap. He held his breath as she took the first sip.
Nothing happened.
Apparently there had been nothing wrong with the ale at all, and Éomer scowled. He felt somewhat irritated that Faramir had not played a trick on him. He wanted to get it over with so he could enjoy himself. Suddenly it occurred to him that Faramir's joke might be that he wasn't playing any jokes. Perhaps he was just going to make him especially paranoid. Or maybe he had sawed the slats of the wedding bed in half. Or maybe he would arrive at the wedding suite to find that Lothiriel was in fact Amrothos wearing a wig…
The possibilities haunted him all night and grew more and more imaginative as the night wore on. He was barely aware when his wife's song ended, for he was only brought back into reality by the warm touch of her hand upon his own.
"Are you all right, Éomer?" she asked. "You seemed to drift off during my song. Perhaps it was too somber? I didn't change it like last time."
"No it was perfect, darling," he answered, kissing her hand. He was rewarded with the expected cheering of the wedding guests. Éomer rolled his eyes. "Shall we take our leave?"
He was rewarded with an eager blush.
*****
In the morning Éomer awoke to the sun pouring in through the window, which pleased him to no end. Nothing had gone ill last night: no broken bed slats or spiders in the mattress. There had been no outside noises, or brothers-in-law in his bed, or drugged ale or anything at all. However, the best thing was that his beautiful Lothiriel was still sleeping soundly beside him, and there was no sign that either her brothers or Faramir had any intention of bursting through the door and hauling him to the beach for an unexpected morning bath. It seemed his brother-in-law was not as apt a joker as he, but he couldn't help but feel grateful. He liked the peace and quiet.
Impulsively, Éomer leaned over and kissed Lothiriel's exposed shoulder. She stirred at his touch and looked up at him, the love clearly shining from her eyes.
"Good morning," was the first thing she said. It was followed by, "I'm hungry."
Her stomach growled as if to confirm what she had said, causing Éomer to laugh. "After last night's feast?"
"I did not feast as much as you. Someone made me sing through much of the evening," she teased.
"Ah," said he. "Well, in that case I shall get dressed and call one of the servants to bring us some food."
She groaned reluctantly, but after one kiss she let him go. Éomer pulled on his pants, but he didn't bother with his tunic. He would just pop his head out the door, bark for someone and then return to the bed.
But when walked up to the door and pulled the handle, he instantly realized something was wrong. It didn't budge.
Éomer tugged once more, but nothing happened. But then he laughed as he saw that he had forgotten to unlatch it.
He unhooked the chain and pulled the wooden bar aside, and then pulled at the handle, expecting it to come open this time.
But again nothing happened.
From across the room, Lothiriel noticed his discomposure. "Is something wrong, Éomer?"
He pulled one final time, without answering, and at last began to pound frantically on the door. He heard a peal of laughter coming from outside the room, which sounded suspiciously familiar.
Éomer fumed. "FARAMIR!!!!!!!!!!"
