Just to remind you… if you want to use anything that I have written, you should ask for permission – before you start writing. If I find stuff that has obviously been copied from my stories or other writings without permission and no reference, I will send one friendly mail to the person concerned. If there is no polite reply to that mail, I turn the matter over to admin.
I am quite willing to share some of my settings, ideas and characters, provided that you ask for permission first and you give a proper reference to the source. (As a matter of fact I am already sharing one of my OMCs, Helmichis, with the wonderful Aeneid at HASA who is writing the story of Helmichis' parents.)
But: I will not share the structure or phrasing of my profile. I hope you understand that I feel that my profile is a personal and private matter! And although you can do whatever you like to the canon-character of Lothíriel, I won't share my Tenth Walker/law student-Lothy. I will also never share the main original characters of my stories, so you don't have to ask about Nihil, Ulyssäi, Elanor, Jarro, Mina or Elentar.
85. Brydhlōp
I held Éomer's hand and cried as we turned around and faced the cheering crowd. The Hall of Kings was completely filled with people. Cheering, shouting, smiling people. Men and women, who cheered and shouted and smiled for Éomer and me. Children who were jumping up and down in their excitement, waving their small hands.
A feeling of unbelievable elation swept though me. The first part of our wedding was over. I was now officially Éomer's responsibility. As if ony cue his hand tightened around mine as he lifted our joined hands towards the cheering crowd.
All our friends were there.
Merry – resplendent in his livery as squire of Rohan – and Pippin – once more adorned in the black and silver livery of the guards of the Citadel – were right at the front, clapping their hands enthusiastically, their smiles as huge as I felt my own smile to be.
Arwen – seated on the delicate white throne that had been erected for the queen in front of the dais, to the lefthand side – was crying; her brothers – standing tall and beautiful on either side of her throne – were smiling at us, broad, graceful elvish smiles.
Éowyn, who stood to the side of the steward's black throne, was blinking furiously, fighting a loosing battle against some happy tears, but she smiled at the same time.
Sorcha had hidden her face in a huge silken kerchief. Helmichis grinned all over his face, standing with the other guards, but unmistakable because of his burly build and height. Mistress Ioreth of the Houses of Healing, still a little paler and thinner than she had been, was solemn in grey and black, but her smile warmed her eyes to a sparkling blue-grey.
Wherever I looked there were smiling faces, winking friendly eyes, waving hands.
Trumpets and clarions sounded a ringing fanfare, then harps and drums added their voices.
I felt my heart beating in the same happy rhythm as the music that was filling up the hall. Éomer slowly lowered our joined hands. Then he turned his head and looked into my eyes. With that deep, dark look of his. That look that melts me into a puddle in a moment. But his mouth held an unaccustomed happy smile, curling at the corners as if he had lost control of the smile. "Are you ready, my love?"
My heart thumped heavily. I had to swallow before I could answer without shedding more silly tears of happiness. "Yes, my love."
Éomer tugged my hand firmly into the crook of his arm and kept it covered with his hand. He gave me a wink and a smile, then he proceeded to lead me down the stairs. As we passed down the aisle to the great black doors of the Hall of Kings, showers of rose petals were thrown at our feet and poured over our heads. The air was heavy with their sweet perfume.
The doors of the hall were thrust open to a magnificent, resounding roll of the drums.
We stepped out of the Hall of Kings into the golden sunshine of a perfect morning in Yavannië. Much as I had seen it at Arwen's wedding our way had been secured with ropes and guards positioned at regular intervals; this was more or less expected, I knew that there were security measures all over the city today. That had been discussed at length. Along with all kinds of worst-case-scenarios. So I knew that I was as secure as I could be. What I had not known and not expected was that those measures were necessary to contain about as large a crowd of onlookers gathered around the Citadel as there had been at Arwen's wedding. When we walked out into the sunlight, it seemed to me for a deafening moment that even the great drums and piercing clarions of the royal musicians were drowned out by the cheers and applause that swept around the Citadel at our exit.
"Wow," I said stupidly and blinked. Then my right hand involuntarily went up to my eyes. I pressed my lips together. I had to look like a three days old corpse with the kohl smeared all over my face from the crying. What the hell. I knew why I had cried. There's no shame in happy tears. I felt more than heard Éomer chuckle next to me at my comment on the sight of the jubilant people of Minas Tirith who had gathered here today to have a peek at the wedding of Éomer King of Rohan and the Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth.
On the Place of the Fountain pavilions of an almost sheer white cloth had been erected. Here family, friends and important guests would gather to congratulate us and to bring out a toast in our honour before we would set out for Edoras.
Éomer – all the time maintaining his firm grip of my hand – led me towards the fountain in graceful, measured steps. My dress whispered and sighed around me, here and there adorned by rose petals. As we walked by, more blossoms were thrown at our feet, over our heads all the time. I'll never know how they managed to find so many flowers, or how they managed to get them so high into the air that the petals actually rained down on us – but they did, and it was just like in the movies, only, this was me, this was me, and this was real: with the sunshine warm upon my face, and the perfume of roses so sweet in the air. It was my name that was chanted as we passed, and more: they did not only call "Lothíriel". They called "Lothy, Lothy, Lothy"! The men looked at us with expressions of friendly good humour on their faces, raising their hands to their foreheads in the greeting that was the due of a captain of Gondor. The women's applause was caught between smiles and tears with the magic of it all. They waved bright silken kerchiefs at us and threw handfuls of herbs and blossoms into the air to sweeten our way to my new home. The children, especially the little girls, seemed to be simply thrilled with the beauty of it all and their high sweet voices rose like flutes above the music that followed us from the Hall of Kings to the Place of the Fountain.
Then we arrived at the main white and blue pavilion right in front of the fountain. A servant offered us two silver goblets with sparkling wine on a silver tray.
Éomer smiled at the servant. "Just a moment, please. I have to kiss my bride first."
My heart echoed his words with little skip. I was no longer his betrothed. I was his bride. And in only a little over two weeks I would be his wife.
Then I couldn't think anymore at all, because my lips were covered with the firm, hot, silky touch that belonged to Éomer's lips. I opened my mouth to him, and for the first time our tongues touched, entwining each other in hungry delight. I felt as if I was drowning in Éomer's dark eyes. The happy amber flecks started dancing all around me.
Suddenly he let go off me with his lips. But luckily he kept a firm hold of me with his hands, or I would probably have crumbled to the ground in a heap. I gasped breathlessly. I realized that I had closed my eyes. When I opened my eyes again, I found us surrounded by friends and family. As a matter of fact I was looking right into the eyes of Gimli who was blushing furiously. At once I felt an answering heat suffusing my own cheeks. I had not noticed anything around me at all, from the moment Éomer had touched his lips to mine.
The servant was still there. He had waited patiently for the King of Rohan finising his kiss and was now politely offering the silver tray and the goblets to us again. Éomer grinned at me, as he took one of them and held it out to me. I glared at him. Well, I thought that I would glare at him. I think what I actually did looked more like a besotted smile. I accepted the goblet and felt quite accomplished when I found that I could hold it without trembling.
Then Éomer turned towards me with the other goblet in his hand. "Here's to my Lothíriel!" he called out, and his clear voice surely reached the last and most remote corner of the Citadel.
I smiled back at him and replied – my voice a trifle shaky, but bright with happiness. "And here's to my Éomer!"
"To Lothíriel and Éomer," Aragorn echoed our toast, walking towards us with a goblet of his own in his raised hand. Arwen was at his side, looking and smiling like the angel she is.
"My friends," she said and lifted her goblet to us. "Happiness on all your ways!"
The wine was cool and tart and tickled slightly at the back of my mouth. When I had taken but a small swallow I was forced to put the goblet down again, because family and friends who had gathered around to congratulate us would wait no longer for their turn to hug and kiss me.
Everyone was there: Míri and Ada, Elphir, in his sombre uniform as captain of the guard, Númendil, in the green uniform of a page of Rohan, Mel, in the colours of Dol Amroth just like his Dad. Aragorn and Arwen, first and foremost, but of course Faramir and Éowyn were also there. Elladan and Elrohir, elegantly elvish both of them. Legolas and Gimli, smiling broadly and assuring me that everything was ready for the brydealu. Sorcha and little Solas with flowers in her hair and insisting on a kiss. Elaine, Ioreth, Erkenbrand, Helmichis, Rhawion. Húrin of the Keyes and his family, the lord and the lady of Tarnost. And various lords and ladies of Gondor and Rohan who floated by me as if in a dream, all of them bowing, curtsying, embracing and kissing.
When I finally found myself next to Éomer again, my goblet was empty and I felt all giddy and dizzy. Éomer looked a little dazed, too. The musicians had struck up another lively tune and everyone around us was talking animatedly. Servants hurried around, busily refilling the glasses. It was a little like being caught in the eye of a storm, a veritable whirlwind of celebration. We stood so close together that I was almost sure I could feel the rhythmic drumming of Éomer's heart echo inside of my body. I tilted my head back a little to look into those warm dark eyes of his that I loved so much.
Suddenly the music and the voices around us seemed to subside and fade away. It was as if we were all alone in the golden sunshine, the blue blue sky above, a bright future stretched out before us. We looked at each other in silence for a long moment. I smiled. All of me smiled. I smiled from the crown of my head to my tips of my small toes. Éomer's expression was almost solemn. His eyes almost blazed with a dark fire, the glowing embers of his heart alight in his eyes. Then his expression changed. Quite suddenly. It was like the sun breaking through the clouds after a summer rain. A singularly sweet and tender smile curved his lips when he spoke finally.
"Let us go home, my love."
I could not find any words to reply. I only nodded my head, blinking away new tears of happiness. Éomer put his arm around me and led me away from the fountain, through an arch of beautifully carved white marble and into the tunnel that connects the Citadel with the sixth circle of Minas Tirith.
The white walls of the tunnel were bright with the golden flames of many torches. Our steps echoed around us in a shared, smooth rhythm. Behind us the clarions sounded a fanfare to signal our departure. Éomer's hand was tight and warm around mine.
We were on our way. On our way home.
When we emerged from the tunnel, the brightness of the sunshine was again almost blinding. For a moment I blinked in confusion.
Frohwein, Éomer's squire, bowed to us deeply, but not before I had been able to glimpse a happy, congratulatory smile on his face. In his hands Frohwein held Hiswa's reins. The grey stallion snorted impatiently and moved forward to greet his rider and friend. Éomer turned to me. "It's Rohirric custom for the bride to ride home sharing a horse with her husband. We don't have to obey that custom for the entire ride, but I thought you might enjoy riding with me today."
"I'd love to," I said. The memories of the last time we had shared Hiswa on our way back from Tarnost were among the happiest memories of my life. "If Hiswa is o.k. with it?"
I extended my palm to the horse. Hiswa butted his nose against my hand. I breathed gently against his muzzle. Hiswa flicked his ears gently and gave a small grunt. Éomer chuckled. "Hiswa says, let's get going."
With an easy grip Éomer helped me into the saddle, and then mounted the stallion to sit behind me. Holding the reins in his left hand, he used his right arm to gather me in a firm embrace against his broad chest. I felt his cheek touch my temple in a brief caress. Then he whispered to me, "Comfortable? Ready?" I felt my smile grow even broader than it had been. "Aye, my lord," I answered.
"Then let's go!" Éomer cried, his voice ringing.
Hiswa pranced for two or three steps, the excitement of his riders communicating to the horse. Then he gave a challenging neigh and galloped down the street towards the tunnel to the fifth circle of the city. Behind us Frohwein and Éomer's personal guard, as well as my bodyguards mounted their horses. The banners of Rohan and Dol Amroth at the front, carried by Frohwein and Gawin, our escort sped up behind us, the hooves of the horses like thunder on the pavement.
As we descended from the Citadel, passing down the six circles of the city of Minas Tirith cheers and applause accompanied us, and a continuous rain of flower petals seemed to fill the air. Finally we reached the Great Gates.
The guards crossed their spears in front of us and their captain asked, "Who are you and whither do you desire to go from here?" His voice was strong and stern, but he smiled when he said that and his eyes sparkled.
"Éomer King of Rohan am I, and my bride Lothíriel formerly of Dol Amroth is with me. We are riding for the Golden Hall of Meduseld in Edoras in the Riddermark of Rohan, our home." Éomer answered his voice clear and proud. My heart thumped heavily in my breast. For a second Éomer lowered his gaze and I gasped at the light of love that shone in his eyes.
The captain of the guard bowed very low. "If that is your desire, your highness, then pass the Great Gates of Minas Tirith with the blessings of all our people. Godspeed, and may Eru and the Valar lead you home on the safest paths!"
The guards raised their spears and stepped to the side of the Great Gates. The silver spearheads glinted in the sun. Groaning the gates began to move. Slowly the great iron doors moved to the side. Outside the fields of the Pelennor shimmered red and green and gold, flowering poppies and ripening grasses.
Éomer did not bother to wait for the escort to catch up. He spurred Hiswa on, and in an exhilarating, dizzying burst of speed we were racing along the road across the fields of the Pelennor, towards the northern gate of the Rammas Echor. I had no opportunity to look back, I could only gasp and laugh at the joy of our race and the warm strength of my Éomer, my bridegroom, behind me.
After an hour we reached the northern gate of the Rammas Echor. By that time our escort had caught up with us, even though the rest of the company – the carriage with Arwen – the king, Faramir, Éowyn, Ada, Míri and the others were still far behind us, only now getting ready to leave Minas Tirith. They would reach our camp sometime in the evening – giving us some time to spend (almost) alone together that way.
The fields of Anórien gleamed in rich colours in the sunlight before us, golden wheat, green stems of corn and yellow sunflowers. Fifteen miles to the east the Anduin glittered in the sunshine. Behind us to the left, its cap of snow brilliant against the blue sky, its slopes a vibrant violet with the blooming heather the mount Mindolluin rose high above the white walls, turrets and cupolas of Minas Tirith.
It was a perfect day for travelling, for riding through the sun-kissed lands of Anórien.
It was a perfect day for everything.
It simply was a perfect day.
When we had passed the Rammas Echor, Éomer slowed Hiswa down to a walk. Our guards remained as far behind and in front of us as security allowed. We were almost alone. I relaxed against Éomer. He lowered his face against my head, so that he could smell my hair. I felt him inhale deeply and sigh. A sigh that was deep with happiness and contentment. The smile that seemed to have taken on permanent residence on my face today grew once more. I sighed back in answer to the unspoken question. "Ich liebe dich," I said softly, my heart skipping inside of me, as I thought: my bridegroom! My Éomer!
I felt his lips twitch against my hair. "Ich liebe dich," he replied, doing an extremely life-like imitation of a hissing cat at the "ch"-sounds. Hiswa flicked his ears and shook his head a little at the strange noises issuing from the mouth of his rider, but kept up his smooth walk. I could not hold my happiness inside of me any longer. I started laughing. A loud, free, silly, happy, abandoned laughing that shook my body against Éomer's and took my breath away.
I felt Éomer's lips move against my head, as his smile broadened at my sudden outburst of hilarity. He tightened his hold on me, keeping me safe in his arms. He listened to my laughter for a few moments. Then he let go of the reins. Directing Hiswa's progress only with the pressure of his legs to the beast's sides, Éomer carefully moved my hair out of the way and bent his head towards me. He silenced me quickly and effectively with a slow, deep kiss.
When he finally let go, my laughter and my smile had turned into a helpless gasp. It felt as if a current of electricity moved through our bodies in an endless circuit of desire. Éomer exhaled in a heavy sigh. "I wish we had not promised to camp at the Grey Wood tonight," he remarked. "I wish we had not promised to take our time on this journey. I find that I am more than eager to return to Edoras. To exchange the holy vows with my bride. To finally claim my bride as my woman." His voice lowered to a deep growl that sent shivers down my spine. I felt my body arch against his. He tightened his hold on me, and I felt just how eager he was to get to Edoras. My answer was a shivery sigh. I was looking forward to reaching Edoras, too.
But I have to admit that I enjoyed the slow ride on the great, grey Meara that day. The sun was golden and the sky was blue, the air was balmy. Éomer held me in his arms, and now and again we kissed, softly, gently, deeply.
And that was the way the whole brydhlōp went by: golden sunshine, a blue blue sky, air like glass filled with the fragrance of the fading summer – and everything was drenched with soft kisses, gentle touches and deep, deep looks.
A/N: I am happy that so many of you are still out there and enjoying my story. Thank you for your kind and encouraging comments. The story of Lothíriel is for you, and always was.
I know that some of you are impatient about the updates and especially about the wedding chapters. I am very sorry that I have slowed down somewhat, but the deadline of my degree paper is approaching and Christmas is a time for family and friends, for real life… so I really can't do more than one or two chapters a week.
Nevertheless, here is the second part of Lothíriel's wedding, hopefully in time for Christmas:
I wish all of my readers and reviewers a very Merry, Happy Christmas: you have made my life so much richer with your questions, your comments, your impatience, your criticism and your praise. Thank you and God bless you.