A/N: This one is dedicated to my friends all over the world. You know who you are. :-)

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83. Pre-wedding Anxiety

"Stand still, please, my lady," Darla of the Golden Scissors hissed around a bunch of needles firmly held by her thin lips. The "my lady" came out as an after-thought. "Please, my lady, don't fidget like that."

I clenched my teeth and forced myself to hold my breath and ignore the tugging and prodding that was going on all around me. I was being fitted for my wedding gown. Míriël had wanted a blue dress for me. But Darla had shaken her head very firmly and secured a place in my heart forever. "Green and gold." She had said appraising me with narrowed eyes. "And she's still too thin. All that weapons' training does nothing for a female figure."

I looked at myself in the mirror. I was thinner than I had ever been on earth. On earth I had always thought how wonderful it would be to be really thin. But looking at me now, I rather thought Darla had a point. God obviously meant me to have a rather female figure. With my hip bones standing out and my breasts almost disappeared, I would have loved to have some of my chubbiness back. I could only hope that Éomer would like the way I looked without clothes nevertheless. Somehow I had the feeling that he loved women with curves. But I did not sigh; I only pressed my lips together. I knew why I looked the way I did. Even if I was no great shakes at sword fighting, at least I could defend myself by now. Hopefully. And remembering the sound of claws against a white wall was all I needed to forget about any thoughts about my figure.

Firmly I turned my thoughts away from dark thoughts about orcs and traitors and back to the rich fabric that had been placed across my shoulders. Gold and green. Those colours would at least make my eyes shine. Normally my eyes are, well, sort of muddy. But with clothes in the right shades, my eyes suddenly appear more like green, and gold, almost like amber. I never noticed that back on earth.

"What kind of jewellery are you going to wear?" I came out of my reverie and looked at the imperious dressmaker. My stomach did a somersault. I knew that Gimli was working on the beryl I had been given by Glorfindel. "Green beryl," I said, feeling my heartbeat quickening. Darla considered my answer and then nodded slowly, her expression one of satisfaction. She was passionate about creating an impression, not only a queenly gown. When she was finished with me, I would look like a work of art.

Míriël, who had accompanied me to the fitting, looked up from her embroidery. An amused smile tugged at her mouth. She was used to the demands of the famous dressmaker. "Has Master Gimli said anything about the sword?"

The next question that was not at all beneficial for my pulse. I gulped. In Rohan not only rings but swords were exchanged at the wedding ceremony. Éomer would present me with the sword of Théoden. It would be my task to keep it safe for his first son. I in turn had to give Éomer a new sword so he could defend my life and my honour. I thought that this was an exciting and beautiful ceremony.

There was one problem however. The new sword. Where could I get a sword suitable for a king? Aragorn had tried to offer me his best sword smith for this task. Gimli had gone purple in the face. So it was agreed that Gimli should be the one to fashion Éomer's new sword. I was relieved and gratified. Then Legolas had spoken up with additional suggestions – he was no sword smith, but he knew enough about the work of elvish smiths and sword design to have ideas. Gimli was enchanted. He agreed quickly that the new sword for Éomer King should be an elvish-dwarven cooperation.

And that had been a really bad idea.

I could not keep track of the number of designs and models I had been shown up until now. I had listened for hours to Gimli and Legolas and their elvish and dwarvish assistants going on about the various kinds of steel that could be used, about the way silver or gold or wood could be employed for ornaments of the blade and the hilt. I had made only one suggestion. I had asked if it was possible to use a topaz or a dark piece of amber with golden highlights in the hilt to mirror the colour of Éomer's eyes. At the moment I could not tell whether they had paid any notice to this suggestion, or indeed if the sword would ever be finished between the dwarvish and elvish search for perfection.

This time, therefore, I did sigh. It was a deep heartfelt sigh. I looked at Míri and I guess I scowled. Her smile deepened to a grin. "I hope that there will be a new sword in time for the ceremony. But at the moment I rather doubt that Gimli and Legolas will ever agree either on the steel or on the design."

"Well, they have more than two months left to get it done," Míri said reassuringly. "That should be sufficient. And I think the king keeps an eye on them."

I shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea how much time you need to make a good sword. And the Lord of the Glittering Caves and his evil companion, Prince Legolas of Erin Lasgalen are more than a match for the king." Then I pursed my lips as a thought occurred to me. "But I entertain the hope that Arwen will check on them."

Míriël laughed loudly at this remark. The elvish queen of Gondor was known for her modest ways, but by now those close to the royal couple knew very well just how stubborn the queen could be. "Then you shouldn't worry, Lothy. Everything will turn out alright."

I exhaled deeply. My days were spent sighing. Sighing over wedding preparations. Sighing over not being able to see Éomer who was involved in the negotiations with Harad, Umbar and Harondor. Sighing about my studies. Tengwar, Rohirric, the Cirth, weapons' training and other lessons still were a daily ordeal.

I had tried to make myself useful in the wedding preparations. I remembered how much work the wedding of a friend back on earth had been. I knew from Arwen's wedding that a royal wedding as an occasion of state was much more work. So I thought it was my duty to help.

But I was quickly forced to realize that in spite of a winter spent studying the laws and customs of Gondor and Rohan and the management of a noble household I still did not know enough to even begin planning my own wedding. For example, the invitations. The wedding invitations were done by court scribes. Although my use of the tengwar and the Cirth was improving, I had to admit that I was not up to writing invitations. But to my utter embarrassment I had even been dissuaded from signing the invitations.

Every now and again a dizzying feeling of vertigo would grip me and I'd think things like "I will never manage to be a good queen of Rohan"…

"This gown will look magnificent on her," Míriël told Darla. The dress maker stepped back a few paces, narrowed her eyes and looked me up and down once more. For a long moment she said nothing and only looked at me. Her grey hair was tied back in a stern knot. She was a tall, thin woman, her face bony and angular, and her eyes light grey and very keen. Finally she smiled a quick, thin-lipped smile. "Yes," Darla of the Golden Scissors said finally. "She will be a beautiful bride. And a magnificent queen."

Suddenly I felt a lump in my throat. I had the feeling Darla was not talking about gowns.

"Thank you," I whispered, feeling heat suffuse my face. For a fleeting moment that elusive smile returned to the lined face of the dress maker. "You're welcome, my lady."

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The afternoon found me in the royal apartments, having tea with Arwen and Éowyn who had accompanied her husband to Minas Tirith for the spring council and the following negotiations with Harad.

We had managed to get rid of Arwen's and Éowyn's ladies-in-waiting. I still had trouble remembering the names of Arwen's seven ladies – apart from Míri, of course. Éowyn employed only three ladies, and three maid-servants, but I did not really know them either. One was a lady of Osgiliath; the other two were girls from lesser Rohirric nobility. Probably chosen because they would not dare to contradict Éowyn… Although my friend had softened considerably with love and a happy marriage, she was still fierce and independent of spirit.

When I was queen of Rohan I would have to choose a third lady-in-waiting. I was glad that Rohan's queens customarily only had three ladies-in-waiting. To have seven women constantly in attendance would drive me crazy in next to no time, I think. The thought of the magical number of twenty-one ladies-in-waiting which had been the custom of the Númenorean queens, made my blood run cold. As it was, I was happy with Sorcha, uncomfortable with the Lady Elaine and hoping that I would find a nice Rohirric lady to fill in the third spot.

We sat on a terrace in the inner courtyard of the House of the King. At the door and at the steps leading down from the terrace guards of the Citadel in their sombre black livery were stationed. Security was never lax at the moment. Wherever I went I had at least Rhawion and Helmichis with me. Since Helmichis had taken over my instruction in Rohirric, I felt much more comfortable with my bodyguards. Rhawion had begun helping with my weapons' instruction. This had made things easier between the older guard and me. I knew that Rhawion still blamed himself for failing to notice the archer that day on the peninsula of Dol Amroth. I knew that my bodyguards were not far away at the moment, though I was not sure whether they were just outside the door in the hall or patrolling the courtyard. The same went for Éowyn's guards, handpicked by Captain Beregond.

The sun was warm this day in early June, and the iced tea that had been served us a moment ago was delicious, cool and tart with the flavour of oranges and some southern blossoms. I was fidgeting. Arwen reclined on her chair, her slightly rounded belly plain in sight. She radiated with a calm happiness that only increased my nervousness. Éowyn grinned at me impudently. I had asked her to tell me about royal weddings in Rohan. Judging from her evil grin I did not need to be a mind-reader to know that Rohirric royal weddings were just as much fuss as Gondorian royal weddings. And the Lady of Ithilien had managed to get married with almost no frills and a lot of fun…

"Don't worry, Lothíriel. You will have a lot of fun at your wedding, too," Arwen told me comfortingly. I grimaced at her. "I thought that your elda powers are gone?"

The queen of Gondor laughed at me. "Yes, they are. But it was an easy guess to figure out what you are thinking. You are really impossible, the two of you." Arwen shook her head at us. "As a young elleth I think I spent centuries dreaming about every second of my wedding day. I would have spent a thousand years designing my wedding gown if Ada had allowed me to." I shuddered at hearing the word wedding gown. Éowyn was shaking her head. "I wonder if Aragorn knows what a frivolous wife he has… thinking about nothing but dresses and parties…"

"For hundreds of years!" I added in mock reproach. "But thank you. I am looking forward to my wedding. You know I am." I sighed and swirled the cold tea around in my cup. "It's only… there's still such an awful lot I don't know about Rohan, about how the wedding will be… about what it will mean…" I trailed off.

It was not only the thought that I would be Éomer's wife in three months. I would also be crowned the queen of Rohan. My responsibility would not be only to my husband and later to my family, but to a people. I was nervous about being a wife and hopefully a mother. I was scared about being a queen and the head of the royal household.

Éowyn had apparently decided that she had teased me sufficiently. "Don't look so scared, Lothy. Rohirric weddings are fun. Really. It will be the event of the year in Gondor and in Rohan." I made a face at her. "That's why you got off so easily. With a nice informal party with family and friends mainly."

"And a few orcs camped just outside the walls," Éowyn added. When she had heard about the orcs and the traitor she had thrown a fit. Faramir had been hard put to persuade his enraged wife not to lead a company in search of the orcs herself. When the company he and Beregond had sent out had returned without any success or more information, Éowyn had been not amused at all.

"You wanted to tell Lothíriel about Rohirric weddings," Arwen reminded the white lady of Ithilien. Éowyn sighed, and smiled at me with an effort. I knew by now that the reason for her violent reaction to the presence of orcs near the mansion in Emyn Arnen was mainly fear for Faramir. She had told me with tears in her eyes how she felt about her happiness in these dangerous times. Fragile… She had said. He is, I am, our happiness is – so easily shattered by war and death…

"You are right, my lady Arwen," Éowyn said. A sparkle of mischief returned to her eyes as if on cue. "Rohirric weddings and especially royal weddings are grand affairs. The wedding feast of my cousin, Théodred, went on for a week. And my mother told me when I was a little girl how beautiful the wedding of my uncle was."

Éowyn's smile softened with the memory of her family. Théodred's wife had died in childbed. Éowyn's mother grieved herself to death. Her uncle had been slain only a year ago in the war against Sauron. It was Faramir's love and understanding that made it possible for Éowyn to speak about her beloved dead at all.

"I have also been in on the planning of this particular wedding, I have to admit," Éowyn continued. I turned around and stared at my friend. Éowyn's smile broadened to a grin. "Well, my dear brother is hopeless at this, and your adoptive mother wanted to make sure that it will be a splendid occasion that does justice to the kingdom of Rohan and the fief of Dol Amroth."

Then she wrinkled her nose. "It's politics, of course. Those lords of Gondor and Rohan… and probably of Harondor and Harad and Khand have to be suitably impressed. I won't call those upstarts from Umbar lords when they are not present."

I did not comment on that. I did not groan and I did not sigh. There was only the cold feeling of fear inside of me that I would not turn out to be an adequate queen… that I would not manage to suitably impress anyone. Éomer!

Arwen – missing eldapowers notwithstanding – seemed to have read my mind once more. Perhaps it was only the intuition of a friend. "Éowyn, I don't think Lothíriel needs to hear about that right now." Éowyn halted in her speech. And although she did not blush, she looked at me with a fairly sheepish expression on her face. "Sorry, Lothy. I guess I'd better simply tell you what we have planned by now. It's rather simple, actually. The first part of the wedding ceremony will actually take place here. Actually it should have been in Dol Amroth, but Aragorn wants to show that you are under his special protection, so it will be done here."

"What will be done here?" I asked, feeling confused and delighted at the same time.

"Then your guardianship, the mund, will be transferred from Prince Imrahil to Éomer. In Rohirric that's called the brydgifta. The bride price and the dowry will be paid accordingly to your betrothal contract." I nodded. I still felt strange about this. But it was the Rohirric law and custom.

"And what will happen then?" I asked. Éowyn sniggered. "My brother will hoist you on his horse and ride with you to Edoras… clinging to his arms rather than to the saddle and panting all the way, presumably. That's called the brydhlōp."

I felt my cheeks grow hot. "Éowyn," I croaked. "Really…"

Arwen shook her head at the shield-maiden of Ithilien and repeated, winking. "Éowyn, really!"

Éowyn grinned at me unrepentantly. "But don't worry, all of us will be there and watch out for you, so that my brother doesn't have his wild ways with you before you have exchanged the proper vows."

I groaned. I looked at Éowyn and tried to look disgusted. "Marriage does not agree with you, lady Éowyn, if it makes you tease poor innocent girls like that."

"On the contrary," Arwen remarked at her driest. "I think the joys of marriage have gone to her head and turned her brains to mush."

Hearing one of my silly expression uttered by the queen of Gondor had Éowyn staring at one another and then collapsing into laughter. When we had calmed down we raised our cups with the iced tea and smiled at each other: happy, relaxed smiles of friendship.

"Right. Before you were making stupid remarks about me and Éomer on a horse, Éowyn, I think you wanted to tell me about my wedding?" I reminded my friend. I really wanted Éowyn to tell me about the plans. Míriël tended to add a lecture to about everything she had to say to me these days. She took her responsibility as my adoptive mother very seriously.

"Well, when we reach Edoras, it's time for the wedding ceremony. We call it brydðing. You can also say brydealu – though that refers more to the feast than to the vows. Anyway, the vows will be spoken on the terrace in front of Meduseld. First the swords will be exchanged, then the rings."

I groaned. I did not want to think about the swords. Arwen glared at Éowyn. And the miracle happened: Éowyn did not tease me about the swords. She simply continued. "Well, after the vows we will go into the hall for the feast: the brydealu. At the beginning of the feast you will drink the bridal cup with Éomer, the brydeala. Then there will be food and drink and singing and dancing… until it is time." She stopped and looked at me, waggling her eyebrows in a comical way. Then she made a face at me. "Only you won't be as excited as I was… because you know how what will happen…"

I felt heat return to my cheeks. I bet I was blushing once again. And I felt like heaving a deep sigh. I could as well have been a virgin, as excited and nervous as I was about finally being with Éomer. It had been a long year. All this waiting was turning me into a nervous wreck. This time Arwen only smiled an enigmatic smile and stroked her belly.

But Éowyn took pity on me and went on. "In Rohirric it's brydlac or brydniht. But we don't hold with such barbaric customs as presenting a bloody sheet to the witnesses."

I sighed in relief. Arwen stared. Éowyn favoured us with a wicked grin. "We make do with seven witnesses tugging both of you in on your first night."

I gasped. Arwen started laughing. Éowyn looked supremely content. That cat-ate-the-canary kind of look.

"In the morning you get your morning-gift, and don't ask me what my brother has in mind. I don't know it. And if I knew I wouldn't tell you." Éowyn smiled at me. Arwen smiled at me.

Suddenly my stomach was full of fluttering, happy butterflies.

I will marry the man I love.

I will really, really marry the man I love.

I had to blink quickly, because for some reason there were suddenly tears in my eyes.

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A/N: I hope you like this. All of you. And thank you for every encouraging comment. Always.