87. Hochzeit!

When I had the new sword in its scabbard again Númendil approached and bowed to me. He would hold the new sword for me until it was time to present it to Éomer. The boy's expression was solemn; he was intent on his task. But when our eyes met there was a faint smile on his face. He stepped back, holding the sword at chest level, presenting it to the crowd.

I turned to face Éomer and suddenly my nervousness was gone. The crowd of family, friends, guests, dignitaries and onlookers was gone. There was only Éomer and I and above us the blue sky with a golden sun. Éomer looked at me and there was something like astonished disbelief in his eyes. For a moment he simply stared at me, as if I had grown wings. He had to swallow dryly before he could speak. When he did speak, his voice was a little husky, deep as always, but filled with a warmth and tenderness that left me giddy.

"People of Rohan, friends from Gondor, Lothlórien, Erin Lasgalen and the Shire, I ask you to be my witnesses here today, as my bride, the Lady Lothíriel, formerly of Dol Amroth and I, Éomer, son of Éomund, King of Rohan and the Riddermark, exchange the vows of marriage before Eru, the Valar and all our people."

There was applause and cheers rang out. Éomer had to wait a few minutes before he could go on. When the noise finally died down, Éomer smiled at me and I could see how he inhaled deeply. Without taking his eyes off me he drew his sword. It was a heavy Rohirric sword, made of grey-blue steel. Its blade was well kept and it was sharp as a razor, but the leather-wrapped hilt showed some wear. Éomer had carried this sword every day of his life since he was judged to be a grown man of Rohan and was allowed to ride on his first patrol as a young éored of the Mark. Its name was Gúthwinë, battle-friend. He carefully placed the sword on his palms and offered it to me.

"I give you this sword to save for our sons to have and to use. I give you this sword to be the shield of your family and your people in an hour of need – may this hour never come!"

"May it never come!" echoed the crowd.

Normally only the first sentence was used. The second part made me the shield-lady of the people of Rohan: the queen. There would be a ceremony with a crown placed on my head in the Golden Hall in a couple of days, but it was this sentence which really made me the Queen of Rohan.

I took the hilt of Gúthwinë and held it high, showing it to the crowd. Wild whoops and cheers erupted from the gathered people. Merry, acting as Éomer's squire came up to my side and offered me the scabbard. I sheathed the sword and gave it back to Merry. Then I turned around to take the new sword from the hands of Númendil.

As Éomer had done, I carefully, slowly placed the sword on my outstretched palms. I knew that it would be sharp as a razor and I did not want to end up with slashed palms on my wedding day. The blade was cool and heavy on my hands. I felt my arms tremble with the weight of the sword and the excitement of the day.

I looked into Éomer's eyes and felt my heart beat a happy, lilting rhythm of exhilaration.

"To keep safe your wife, your family and your people you must bear a blade. With this sword keep safe our home and our people."

Only then Éomer lowered his gaze and looked at the sword. Awe and joy at the wonderful craftsmanship flowed across his face. He carefully read the tengwar inscription on the blade. When he raised his head, he sought my eyes. For a moment he held my gaze, and I knew that it was perfect. I smiled and inclined my head just a little. I felt my heart swell with pride. Éomer inclined his head in a subtle bow. His face sombre, his eyes dark and filled with fire, he reached for the sword and raised it in a flashing arc of silver lightning, holding it high into the air. "Beriaron e·mellyn, dagnir e·gyth! Protector of friends, bane of enemies! This blade was made in friendship and is commanded to protect it as long as I shall live!"

The applause that went up all around was deafening. The bells of the watchtowers were struck again, their brassy cheer adding to the happy clamour of the inhabitants of Edoras and the guests from near and far.

The next part of the ceremony was the exchange of the rings and the vows. As Éomer's only male relative – and that only by marriage – the duty of presenting the rings to us and join our hands on the hilt of Beriaron fell to Faramir. Faramir, dressed in the black and white of the steward of Gondor, waited for the general din to die down. Then he walked towards us, a small wooden box in his hand. Seeing the box in our friend's hands caused my heart to skip a beat. The ceremony of exchanging rings and the vows to go with this ceremony were hauntingly familiar, as if the earth and Middle-earth were not separated by an endless void of time and space, but only by a heartbeat or a thought.

Faramir came to stand in front of us and smiled at us, a slow, sure smile of friendship and blessing. "People of Rohan, friends from Gondor, Lothlórien, Erin Lasgalen and the Shire, we are gathered here today in the sight of Eru, Bema and all the Valar, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy matrimony. Marriage is held holy by the One and the Valar, because in the love that lives in a marriage of man and woman, the spirit of the Flame Imperishable burns brightly and the Song of the Ainulindalë rings true. Together husband and wife may add their verse to the Ainulindalë in a way they could not as a man and a woman on their own. With steel and rings and oaths the union of Lothíriel and Éomer shall now be wrought, with love it shall be blessed, with happiness it shall be crowned, from this day onward until the end of Eä."

Faramir paused for a moment and opened the small wooden box. On dark green velvet I saw the gleam of gold and a flash of brilliant green. Beryl again! Faramir held the open box out to us. Then he continued. "Therefore I now ask you, Éomer, son of Éomund, wilt thou have this Woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

Éomer looked at me. His face was filled with a mixture of awe, tenderness and love. His eyes were glowing. He smiled at me. And before I could ask myself how it was at all possible that I was standing here, in Edoras, in Middle-earth, with this wonderful man about to marry, Éomer opened his mouth and, his deep, dark voice loud and clear said: "I will."

Then Faramir turned to me: "Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

I looked at Éomer. My heart was in my mouth. I felt dizzy with happiness. I swallowed and moistened my lips. I exhaled deeply. Then I answered, as clearly as possible: "I will."

Faramir took Éomer's right hand and my right hand and clasped our hands together. The touch of Éomer's hand sent heat like a flash of lightning racing through my body.Faramir raised our joined hands high, for all to see. Cheers went up from the assembled.

Faramir grinned at us. When the crowd had quieted down again, he went on. "Now," Faramir said, "I ask you to make your oaths to each other that shall bind heart to heart, body to body and life to life, for as long as you both shall live!"

I had spent days to learn the oaths by heart. They were heart-wrenchingly similar to the vows I knew from back on earth.

Éomer held my gaze and my hand, and then he spoke the holy words, his voice firm and mellow. "I, Éomer, son of Éomund, take thee Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, for fairer or fouler, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us depart, according to Eru's and the Valar's ordinance; and thereunto I plight thee my troth."

Now it was my turn. I clutched desperately at Éomer's hand, my heart racing suddenly. When I started, my voice sounded at first thin and frightened, but when I reached the part where I had to say Éomer's name, I suddenly grew calm, and my voice was as clear and bright. "I, Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil, take thee Éomer, son of Éomund, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to be bonny and buxom at bed and at board, to love and to cherish, till death us depart, according to Eru's and the Valar's holy ordinance; and thereunto I plight thee my troth."

Faramir let go of our hands. Slowly we lowered our hands. I felt reluctant about letting go of Éomer. I think he felt the same, because he suddenly grinned at me. A grin that said, just you wait, in a few hours it won't be only our hands that I won't let go off. I released his hand then.

Now it was time for the rings. Rings to bind us in love and happiness, in faith and honour unto the end of our lives. To invoke the One's and the Valar's blessings on the rings, Faramir held them high into the air, into the directions of the mountains, which are the symbols of the One.

"Bless these Rings, Eru Ilúvatar," Faramir intoned. "That those who wear them, that give and receive them, may be ever faithful to one another, remain in your peace,and live and grow old together in your love, under their own Telperion and Laurelin, and seeing their children's children, may pass beyond the circles of the world in bliss."

At that point I started crying.

Merry offered Beriaron to Éomer, who carefully took it, holding it horizontally and as still as he could. Faramir offered the box with the rings to Éomer, who took the smaller one and placed it carefully on the hilt of the sword. Moving very slowly, so that the ring would not fall down off the hilt, Éomer extended his new sword to me, a symbol of the trust he placed in me.

With trembling fingers I picked up the ring. Éomer gave the sword back to Merry and reached for my right hand that held the ring. Taking the ring, he placed it onto the thumb of my left hand.

"With this Ring I thee wed," he said, his voice husky with emotion.

He placed the ring on my index finger.

His face filled with a happiness that knew no words and yet found the right words to say in this ancient oath. "And with my body I thee honour."

At last he slipped the ring on my ring finger, where it would stay from now on until the day I died. "With all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of Eru Ilúvatar and all the Valar and before all our people."

Then it was my turn.

My fingers cold and trembling I picked up the ring. The ring was quite heavy. The jewel of my ring was a multi-faceted, perfectly cut. Éomer's ring held a jewel, too, but its surface was flat and carved with the royal seal of Rohan, the head of a horse.I released a shuddering breath and held the ring to the broad tip of Éomer's thumb. Éomer's thumb was broad and quite long. Suddenly I remembered a joke about the size of a man's thumb in relation to his… ahem… A horrible urge to giggle rose from the pit of my stomach. I resisted, smiled broadly, and my fingers stopped trembling.

"With this Ring I thee wed," I said. I retrieved the ring from Éomer's magnificent thumb and slipped it over the tip of his index finger.

"With my body I thee honour." I took the ring from his index finger and firmly slid it over his ring finger and down towards his hand.

"With the love of my heart and my soul I thee endow. In the name of Eru Ilúvatar and all the Valar and before all our people." I ended, holding on to Éomer's hand.

Merry offered the sword to us again.

"You first," Éomer whispered. I nodded imperceptibly.

I reached for the hilt of Beriaron. The grip of the sword felt smooth and good against my palm. Then Éomer's hand covered mine and my stomach did a somersault. Once again it felt as if a current of electricity passed through our bodies, making the tiny hairs of my body stand on end, making me shiver and gasp with barely concealable desire.

Together we lifted the sword for all to see.

"Joined by steel, joined by oaths and joined by rings, I declare that you, Éomer, son of Éomund, and you, Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil, are now wedded husband and wife, from this day onward until you pass beyond the circles of this world." Faramir called out. Then he turned to the crowd. "Ye people of Rohan, ye guests and friends from near and far, I ask you to witness and acclaim what you have seen and heard here today: Éomer, son of Éomund, and Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil, are now husband and wife, blessed by Eru Ilúvatar and the Valar, joined by steel and oath and rings. Now witness and acclaim what ye have seen and heard, ye people of Rohan!"

At that everyone started shouting at the top of their lungs. I understood shouts of: "We hear! We see!" "Hail, Éomer and Lothíriel!" "Hail!" "Wes ðu hal!"

But for the most it sounded like banshees screaming, it was a level of noise to bring down the mountains, and the shouting and screaming and clapping and thumping did not seem to end.

Dazed from the sudden noise I barely noticed that Éomer lowered the sword and gently pried it from my grip. Then I found myself in his embrace, his soft, warm, firm lips on mine, and I was so dazed that I barely noticed the noise around us anymore.

"Now it's time for feasting and dancing, for eating and drinking, for singing and merry making until the moon wanes!" Faramir shouted suddenly, scaring Éomer and me apart.

For a moment I blinked at the Prince of Ithilien without comprehension.

"Don't you want to carry your new wife into your home, my friend?" Faramir winked at Éomer.

For a moment Éomer looked as confused as I felt. Then a huge, happy grin spread across his face. "Would you like that, my wife, wif min?"

Suddenly the highs and lows of nervousness and perfect calm that I had been through today seemed to dissipate into a feeling of relaxed happiness. I gave a small, happy giggle and said: "There's nothing I'd love more!"

Right on cue the door guards thrust open the doors of the Golden Hall. Merry hurried over to the doors and placed Éomer's sword across the threshold.

Éomer picked me up, and Éowyn was suddenly there to pick up the trailing train of my dress, her cheeks streaked with tears, but smiling brightly. "Leofest sweostor min! My most beloved sister!" She said and grinned at me, hurrying to keep up with Éomer who was making straight for the doors of Meduseld.

Without a moment's hesitation Éomer stepped across sword and threshold, to the applause and cheers of family, friends and guests who were crowding towards the hall behind us.

As we entered the hall, music started.

A mixed group of Rohirric drummers, guitarists and trumpeters and harpers from Dol Amroth were assembled to the right of the door. It was a triumphant fanfare that accompanied us as Éomer carried me to the thrones at the far end of the hall. On the dais where the gilded throne of the king surveyed the hall, a smaller throne had been placed next to the seat of the king.

The throne of the queen. After many years with only a king, Rohan again had a queen.

Éomer ascended the dais and carefully lowered me in front of the smaller throne, allowing his sister to arrange my skirts and the rain of my dress so that I could be seated comfortably. Only when I was sitting he released me with the softest of kisses, to the applause and cheers of our guests, who had followed us into the hall.

Merry had picked up the sword again, sheathed it and now stood to the left of Éomer's throne, holding the sword for his lord and king. Sometime later he would be relieved by Númendil. During the celebrations now weapons were carried, but the new sword sworn to protect me had to be kept ready for Éomer throughout the day. With Merry and Númendil taking turns as squire respectively page I was fine with that, but to have one of our friends standing and holding a sword all day and well into the night that would have been too cruel. And I knew that both of them were very proud to act as squire and page to Éomer on his wedding day. I smiled at Merry, and the hobbit winked at me, surreptitiously giving me a thumbs-up-sign.

Then I turned to look at the hall. Garlands of flowers, many bright lanterns; long tables decked out for a feast in front of the dais, a room for dancing in front of the doors, and the music was still sweeping, drawing people into the hall. Éowyn had remained at my side, watching the crowd filling up the hall. "When everyone is seated, you present the bridal ale to you husband," she reminded me. "To begin the feast."

I nodded. I had been very well briefed on every step of the ceremonies and the festivities of the day. And night. My stomach did another flip. And night!

"We bring out a toast and drink, and then Éomer passes the goblet to Aragorn. Then we sit down together and the feast begins," I murmured, reciting the relevant procedures.

Éowyn smiled. "Exactly. Do you think you will be able to eat now?"

I grinned at my friend and sister-in-law. Sister-in-law! "Yes, I think I am. It's more than a little surprising, but I really think I am hungry."

Finally everyone was seated at the long tables. Servants were hurrying around, providing beer, mead, wine and cider for every guest. When everyone had something to drink, the goblet with the bridal ale would be brought to me. It was the huge ceremonial goblet I had seen Éowyn offer to Aragorn as stirrup cup many months ago, before we had set out for the paths of the dead. It was a heavy goblet made of gold, set with green jewels and carved with an ancient Rohirric blessing.

Suddenly the mistress Gosvintha appeared at the edge of the dais. In her hands she held the goblet with the bridal ale. She widened her eyes at me in an unspoken question, "Now?"

I quickly cast a glance around the hall. Everyone was seated and seemed to have a goblet or a mug in front of him. I nodded to her. She inclined her head in acknowledgement and ascended the dais, swiftly crossing the distance towards me. Even with the heavy goblet in her hands, she managed a dignified curtsy. "Bless you, my lady!" She said in her throaty, dark voice.

"Thank you, Gosvintha," I replied, rose from the throne and reached for the goblet.

"Careful, my lady, it's heavy!" The older woman cautioned me.

I pressed my lips together and nodded. I knew that I mustn't spill a drop of the bridal ale. Spilling the bridal ale meant bad luck, infertility. The goblet was heavy! But as I had expected this, my grip was firm. I turned around to Éomer who was sitting on the throne of the king, waiting.

As the guests caught sight of the goblet, the noise of many talking and laughing voices was hushed. Silence spread through the hall of Meduseld. Once again, every man, every woman and every child looked at Éomer and me.

The fragrance of roastedmeat wafted into the hall from the hall-way where the servants were already waiting with the first course, ready to start serving as soon as the bridal ale was brought out and the traditional toast was made.

I smiled at Éomer.

My facial muscles were hurting from smiling so much.

But I could not keep from smiling. There was so much happiness inside of me that simply needed a way out.

I held the goblet out to Éomer and recited carefully the Rohirric words that went with the goblet of bridal ale:

"Ale I bring thee, thou lord of mearas,
With strength blended and brightest honour;
'Tis mized with magic and mighty songs,
With goodly spells, wish-speeding runes:
Ale I bring thee, thou lord of my life,
For blessing Iask thee!"

Éomer accepted the goblet. He gave me his deep, warm smile. Then he raised the goblet to the assembled.

"To my wife, to wif min, my own Lothíriel!" He cried, his voice clear and loud.

He raised the goblet to his lips and drank deeply. When he lowered the goblet again, his lips and beard were wet with the ale.

Then he passed the goblet back to me.

"To my husband," I replied. "To hlaford min, my Éomer!" I put the goblet to my lips and swallowed.

The ale was strong. Dark, and strong. It flowed coolly across my tongue and down my throat, tasting of malt and a hint of honey. I gave the goblet to Éowyn. Éowyn walked to the centre of the hall, between the long tables and the dais of the thrones and held the goblet high.

"To Éomer and Lothíriel," she called out.

Raising their goblets and mugs to us, everyone in the hall echoed her toast. "To Éomer and Lothíriel!"

Éomer and I sat down again.

At once servants hurried over to us, carrying a table that was placed in front of the thrones on the dais. Quickly the table was laid out with the finest white linen and silver tables, goblets and cutlery. There were bowls of white porcelain filled with rose-scented water in which rose petals floated.

A fanfare was sounded and the doors to the hall-way were opened. An army of servants flooded the room, bearing trays with bowls and plates filled with all the delicacies a good harvest in Rohan and Gondor could yield.

We were served a feast, not a menu.

There were three courses as such, but each course included a soup, was followed by a wide range of baked, roasted, and boiled dishes, and finally an elaborate 'sotelty', a lifelike – more or less edible – scene sculpted in coloured marzipan and cakes. The only thing that was relatively sparse at this banquet was fresh fish, because it was too difficult to transport it to Edoras.

Each course was interrupted frequently by music, songs, artistic presentations of various kinds – fire-eaters, jugglers, acrobats and clowns.

That way the feast went on throughout the day and lasted well into the night.

The banquet was a feast that satisfied even hungry hobbits and greedy dwarves.

It started with pastries with pine nuts and cakes with almonds; made with real sugar, no less, precious, imported sugar from the hot and lush lands of Far-Harad. There was cabbage flavoured with cinnamon and cloves. Fresh mushrooms. A variety of vegetable stews and salads.

Delicate "potages" or soups. Rohirric brede, of course, brown bread flavoured with ale and various preserves to go with the bread. Tarts filled with spicy veal and dates.

Stuffed roast of suckling pig. I could not eat that, because they had left the head and the feet and even the little tail intact. In its snout they had inserted a red apple. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the sight of the piglet. I preferred the goose. This was served in a sauce of grapes and garlic and did not resemble the living animal so horrifyingly.

Apart from that there were roasted partridges, pheasants, quail; whole calves' heads (gilded and silvered – which I did not try either), capons (still in their plumage – I have no idea how they managed that!) and pigeons, a whole wild boar, still festooned with its long yellow teeth. Roast sheep with a sour sauce of cherries.

Then there were various spicy and sweet pies. Spicy and sweet dishes were served at the same time which was quite confusing, but made for interesting combinations of aromas. There were tiny sausages and meatballs, seasoned to a very hot flavour. Quinces cooked with sugar, cinnamon, pine nuts, and artichokes. Uncounted tarts and cakes, and an abundance of candied fruits and spice. An assortment of cheese, served with grapes, dates and raisins.

Mulled wine laced with spices. Mead. Ale and beer. White wine from Gondor. Red wine from Dorwinion. Cider from the Wold.

Soon the first guests were singing merrily along with the musicians when the banquet was interrupted for some entertainment. I tasted a little bit of many dishes, taking care only to sip my wine. I knew there would be dancing later on, and I did not want to fall over my feet dancing with Éomer on our wedding.

Suddenly the hall fell silent. The music had just sounded a lilting fanfare to announce another break. But then it had suddenly stopped. Now everyone was silent and watching the tall, stooped figure of what looked like an old man and a small boy walking to the centre of the hall, between the tables and the dais.

I gasped with astonishment as I recognized the man. It was the harper from the field of Cormallen. I turned to Éomer, who smiled at me and nodded. He knew how much I had liked the singer.

"He came to Edoras in the spring time. Apparently he spent the winter in some mountain village up in the Ered Nimrais. That's where he found the boy, too. He asked to stay here, in Meduseld until the boy is old enough to take the road."

"And what did you say?" I asked. I hoped that Éomer had allowed them to stay. Théoden's minstrel, Gléowine, was a wizened old man who had never really gotten over then old king's death. The singer from Cormallen seemed to be quite old, too, but there was an air of strength to the way he carried himself, and his voice was untouched by his years.

Éomer smiled at me. "I told him he could stay as long as he wants. And I asked him to compose a song to my own Lothíriel, my blossom-lady."

We turned our attention to the old man and the small boy. The man gave only the slightest indication of a bow. The boy bowed as deeply as he could.

He was cute little boy of perhaps five or six years, with flaxen hair and slivery-blue eyes. The man nodded to the boy, the gesture almost hidden under his mane of straggling grey hair. He gripped his old harp firmly and began to play.

By now I was able to judge the quality of harp play – with the harp players of Dol Amroth counted as the best in all of Arda it was hard not to. But this strange minstrel, with his blinded eyes and his crippled hand made even the best of the best pale in comparison.He played a hauntingly sweet tune. Even without words, it seemed to sing of love and home and family, of a happiness that could last for a lifetime.

But this time it was not the old bard who sang. It was the little boy. In a voice as high and pure and clear as the voice of any angel, the boy sang a love song in Rohirric. A love song of Lothíriel and Éomer.

I never noticed when I started crying. But when the boy finished his song, I saw that Éomer's eyes also glittered with tears.

"Thank you," I whispered. "Oh, thank you!"

Éomer's hand tightened around mine in a wordless answer.

Then it was time for dancing and merry-making. And that was the time I lost control. Not that I had not enjoyed myself up until that moment, but I had taken care about how I moved, smiled, ate. I had been exhilarated and happy and all that, but still a little self-conscious.

However, when Éomer held me against his chest and swept me away to the fast and merry rhythm of a traditional Rohirric dance, every rational thought fled from my brain. Everything was music and laughter and I was whirling, swirling, flying in Éomer's arms, feeling his hands, seeing his smile, smelling his spicy perfume.

I did not only dance with Éomer. There were Faramir, Aragorn, Imrahil, Erkenbrand, Elfhelm, Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas, Gimli, Merry, Pippin and even the Lord Celeborn who claimed a dance, and gladly I granted it.

When the dancing began, the formal seating arrangements were done with. Everyone sat where he or she liked, forming smaller or larger groups eating, drinking, talking or playing games together.

The various artists mingled with guests, presenting their tricks and talents as they moved about.

I spent some time with Éowyn, Míri and my other women friends.

Together with Éomer I sat down at the table where the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn were seated with their entourage, the sons of Elrond and Legolas and Gimli. The news from Lórien was good. Dol Guldur was completely destroyed and they were working together with the Silvan elves of Mirkwood to turn these vast woods into forests that deserved the name of Erin Lasgalen again.

When the music started again, this time for a round dance, the elves of Lórien joined in the dance.

Dancing, singing, talking, laughing, drinking, most of the time with Éomer at my side, the hours flew by. I never noticed when the sky darkened outside the stained glass windows of the golden hall of Meduseld. Nor did I hear the bells being struck for the hour of midnight.

But midnight was the time the newly wed couple traditionally departed from the feast to consummate the marriage. I might be too caught up in the fun of the feast to remember this detail, but our guests did.

Escorting the newly wed couple to the brydlac, the bridal bed, was the highlight of the feast.

Everyone accompanied the bride and the groom to the bed chamber, where they were bid good-night with much hilarity and levity.

Drums rolled.

Éowyn stepped into the centre of the hall.

Suddenly the hall was silent once again, with all eyes turned to the White Lady of Ithilien, standing there all flushed and pretty, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Now it is time to escort Éomer and Lothíriel to their chamber and see to it that the brydlac is properly hallowed. Where are the seven witnesses called for by our laws of old?" She asked, mirth clearly audible in her voice.

I felt heat rise to my cheeks and my stomach cramped together with sudden nervousness. Éomer stepped closer to my side. His hand sought my hand and squeezed it. His eyes were bright; his face flushed with the exertion of the dancing, sweaty tendrils of golden and dun hair had escaped his braid.

"Here's one," Aragorn called out and came forward.

"And here's another," Erkenbrand cried, grinning broadly as he made his way to the centre of the hall.

"And here," added Faramir.

Finally the lords of the five provinces of Rohan, the king and the steward of Gondor were assembled at the centre of the hall, looking at Éomer and me expectantly.

"If I must, I must," Éomer said, bent back my head in a long, deep kiss that tasted of ale and smoke from a hobbit's pipe.

When he released me, I gasped, my mind reeling with a mixture of dread and desire. I had longed for this night. I had waited so long for this night. How would it be? Extraordinary, of course, was the thought that flashed through my mind as the crowd started chanting a bawdy song to accompany our steps towards our sleeping chamber.

Éowyn led the way. Behind us followed the seven witnesses. After them came my women friends who would help me get ready for bed and behind them many of the other guests crowded into the hallway to the royal apartments. The elves were the only one who stayed behind. Apart from the twins, of course. Elladan and Elrohir had spent too much time with men, and especially the Rohirrim, to feel uncomfortable with such barbaric customs as this one.

The royal apartments face to the west, at the back of the golden hall. Their windows go out to the orchard behind the rose garden. A beautiful, peaceful view.

But as we walked down the hallway and down the corridor of the cloister, this was the least thing on my mind. I was all of a sudden wide awake and very nervous again.

The ceremony of the brydlac was bad enough, but the thought that after such a long time of waiting, wondering, hungering for Éomer it was finally time to act on what we felt for each other… it made me more nervous than I had been when I was a virgin and my first boyfriend had decided it was time to change that.

Éowyn thrust open the door of the royal bedchamber. I saw the bed and swallowed hard. It was a huge, massive, four poster, hung with heavy green fabrics, made up with white linen, eiderdown pillows and covers, white bees-way candles on the nightstands… doors on either side of the room led to the dressing room of the king and the queen. King to the right, queen to the left.

My heart thudded. My stomach dropped. I felt my palms go cold and clammy.

Éowyn turned around and grinned at us. "Broðor min, take your entourage in there and get ready!"

Éomer – suddenly pale – groping for a ribald comment finally only nodded meekly and allowed himself to be led off into his dressing room by the witnesses and some friends.

Míri, Sorcha and Elaine had already gone into my dressing room, puttering about, joking and laughing.

The rest of the spectators stayed at the door, fighting over the best position – the position that allowed them a glimpse of the bed.

I made no move to disappear into my dressing room. I stood rooted to the ground, like a deer in the headlights of a car, or as if I found myself face to face with thirty hungry orcs. Éowyn, her face alight with amusement, walked towards me and gripped me at the shoulders. "Don't you want to go to bed, Lothy?"

I felt my cheeks grow hot. Laughter, cheers, jeers and snorts commented on my reaction from the hall-way. But I did not, could not move. Finally Éowyn simply towed me into my dressing room.

She closed the door behind us and collapsed into laughter. Tears of mirth were running down her cheeks, "Your face, Lothy! You should see your face! OH, you are priceless!"

Míri rolled her eyes at the Lady of Ithilien. Then she embraced me warmly, patting my back. "Don't worry, Lothy. They will only tug you in! Then everyone will go back to the hall and you have all night for… er… well…" Now it was Míri's turn to blush.

"If I might suggest something? Perhaps we should get the Queen of Rohan ready for her wedding night?" That was Arwen, calm and sympathetic.

I exhaled deeply. Arwen had made it through about the same procedures. The queen of Gondor gave me a reassuring smile. "It will be over before you know it. And after all, you know what to expect afterwards."

I nodded. Yes. I knew. But… I had never made love with Éomer… and the last time… I swallowed hard and turned my thoughts away from that memory.

It was Sorcha who put a stop to the talking and the dithering by simply beginning to remove my gowns. She swiftly untied the laces at my back. Arwen shook out a beautiful white nightgown that was dripping with finest lace. I would look like a fairy in that. Suddenly the gown came loose and dropped to the ground in a heap of green and gold fabrics. Ini had prepared a bowl and ewer with steaming hot water.

I had no choice. Like it or not, the next moment I stood naked in front of the queen of Gondor and my other friends and was quickly washed from head to toes.

Elaine offered one of her special body oils. I tried to protest, but before I could say more than, "I don't…" Éowyn was already slathering the oil all over me, reducing Arwen to undignified giggles.

Míri only remarked dryly, "I pity the poor children you are going to have, Éowyn… they won't stand a chance."

Then I found myself dressed in the beautiful nightgown. I was smelling heavenly and my heart was still beating like a drum.

"Wonderful!" Arwen looked me up and down and smiled. "You are so beautiful, Lothíriel!"

Éowyn narrowed her eyes and scrutinized my appearance. "You look almost like an elf, Lothy! You will turn my brother into a gibbering fool!" There was a note of satisfied amusement in her voice. Then she frowned. "We have to comb your hair! Look, Míri, there are still some tangles in there, at the back!"

Míri nodded. "Yes, it has grown beautifully. I love those waves." She reached for a brush and started on my hair, carefully separating strands and tangles. The sound and the feeling of having my hair brushed were soothing. My heartbeat slowed down, and I felt my cheeks grow a little cooler.

Arwen placed the bridal crown of flowers on my head again.

I was ready.

It was time to return to the bedchamber.

I entered the bedchamber – and my nervousness was back.

The seven witnesses were lined up in front of the door, handing a goblet of wine or ale back and forth between them. Erkenbrand and Elfhelm were sputtering with laughter at something Aragorn had just said. I frowned at them.

But then I saw Éomer. He stood on the other side of the bed, dressed in a light green nightshirt and a dark green dressing gown. He was flushed and his eyes were sparkling. When he beheld me, walking towards the bed in the white, floating nightgown, his eyes flared up with dark fire.I gasped. My heart skipped the proverbial beat (or two or three).

Slowly Éomer walked around the bed. His hair had been freed of the braid and combed out. It flowed in a great golden and dun mane down to his shoulders, emphasizing the dark fire of his eyes. His lips were moist and full, kissable close. He gave me a smile that said more than any words.

Then he reached for my bridal crown, the crown of the virgin bride and removed it from my head. He placed it carefully on the nightstand. This was the sign for the witnesses to gather around the bed.

Every man held a lit torch in his hand, bright light to chase away any evil spirits lingering around the bed. Aragorn reached for the bed and folded back the covers.

I sat down on the bed.

The mattress was filled with fresh straw and crackled lightly under my weight. There were herbs mixed in with the straw to keep away the bed bugs, giving off a pungent, spicy smell. My stomach did a somersault. Slowly, careful to keep down the nightgown I lifted my feet up on the bed and lay down.

Aragorn smiled down at me in a reassuring way. Faramir winked at me. I was glad that my friends were on my side of the bed.

Erkenbrand and Elfhelm escorted Éomer back to his side of the bed.

The mattress heaved and rustled. For a moment I felt as if I was lying on sloping ground. Then I felt the heat of Éomer's body so close to my body, and my heartbeat quickened once again. Getting married is really something I can't recommend to the faint- or weak hearted.

"Time to tug you in," Faramir whispered. Aragorn's lips twitched. He was at least trying not to grin. Grimsir who was standing at the foot of the bed, scowled at the Prince of Ithilien. Eutharich snorted.

Then it was indeed time to tug us in.

Aragorn reached for the cover on my side of the bed. Elfhelm did the same on Éomer's side.

Together the seven men said, "We are gathered here tonight to bear witness on the brydlac of Éomer, son of Éomund, and Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil. Bound by steel, by oaths and rings, they are now bound in body, too, and we judge their marriage fulfilled and consummated. So do we swear, aver and affirm!"

And even as they spoke, Aragorn and Elfhelm placed the covers over Éomer and me.

Cheers and applause went up outside the door, and I was happy that my Rohirric was not yet up to some of the jokes I heard being shouted.

Then the candles on our nightstands were extinguished and the seven witnesses left the room. We lay in the darkness and listened to the crowd of witnesses, family, friends and guests moving away.

Finally the noise of laughter and joking voices died away.

We were alone in the silent darkness.

There was only the sound of Éomer's breathing, a faint rustling sound of the straw in the mattress taking the weight of our bodies. My heartbeat echoed in my ears.

I gave a shivery sigh that was echoed by a weak chuckle from Éomer's side of the bed. "Finally," he breathed. "We made it. Sometimes I was not sure at all that I'd last the distance." Éomer's voice was slightly slurred with drinking and fatigue. His breath tickled my hair against my ear. "But we made it. And now… you are mine!"

I felt excitement wash through my body. "Yes, now I'm yours… or almost yours!"

A deep throated laugh rumbled through Éomer's body. "I'll show you just how much you are mine! Just you wait!"

Then he suddenly yawned. The yawn was followed by a burp that was as deep throated as the laugh that had sent shivers down my spine a moment ago.

Éomer turned around and snuggled up against me.

My breath caught in my throat as I felt the length of his muscular body pressed against me. Slowly he reached out for me with his left arm.

Slowly, enticingly his hand began a stroking journey down my body.

After a while, his hand rested on my lower stomach, a warm, heavy weight that made me feel liquid and floating, barely tied to the earth, ready to fly away on the wings of desire…

Suddenly Éomer's head was an even warmer, heavier weight on my shoulder.

A strange, purring sound filled the silence of the room.

It took me a moment to realize what that sound was.

The sound was Éomer.

My husband had fallen asleep during our wedding night and was now snoring, comfortably curled up against me.

A/N: The words for the offering of the bridal ale are an adaptation of a verse from the Sygdrifumal, the Poetic Edda. The description of the feast is based on the menu served at the marriage of Marquis Gian Giacomo Trivulzio with Beatrice d'Avalos d'Aragona 1488 in Milan.