Chapter 16
On the morning of the wedding, Éomer was awakened by Éothain bursting into his bedchamber with quite the needless amount of clamour.
"Wake up, lad! Or do you want to miss your wedding?" the Captain bellowed as he came trampling through like an enraged mûmak.
Éomer cracked open one eye, though he didn't yet raise his cheek from the pillow.
"Nobody is marrying anybody at dawn and you know it full well", he informed his captain.
"Maybe, but you yourself asked to be roused early, so here I am. Your bath is ready", said Éothain as he snatched the blanket away from his king. Éomer grunted and hauled himself into a sitting position.
"Aye, I did ask to be roused, but you didn't have to be such an ass about it", he stated gruffly as he ran a hand through his hair.
"Stop complaining. Isn't this the big day you've been waiting for?" Éothain asked cheerfully, stoking the dying embers in the fireplace into new life.
Éomer did not dignify him with an answer. Grumbling to himself, he made his way to the bathing chamber where, as the annoying oaf had said, the tub was filled with steaming water and waiting for him. Briefly he wondered if Leofrun and Éowyn had had the whole royal household working through the night like a pair of madwomen. His sister had assumed her old role as though she had never been away at all, and for the past two days she and the old housekeeper had been terrorising the Golden Hall. He couldn't quite decide which of them seemed more gleeful.
He picked up a bar of finer soap than the kind he normally used and once seated in the tub, dumped his head under the water. He scrubbed his skin meticulously from neck to toe, washed his hair, and felt around his face to see whether his beard was in the need of a trim. Did it feel too long and coarse and would it bother her? When he got up, he cast a self-conscious glance down at himself. In general he didn't feel particularly modest about his nude self – life as Rider had long ago disabused him of such notions – nor did he worry over his partner's expectations more than a considerate lover would. Tonight was different. Lothíriel was to be his wife, he wanted tonight to be special for her, and he meant to share only her bed for the rest of his life. What did she expect? Certainly, she was not wholly ignorant or innocent in the issue of physical love – her responses to his affections so far betrayed she had considered these things before.
"Did you drown in that tub, lad?" Éothain's voice asked from the other room, abruptly interrupting his line of thought.
"No, but you're starting to make me wish I had", Éomer shot back and picked up a towel to dry off himself. He dressed in a plain shirt and trousers for the time being, knowing full well he was going to get frustrated with the royal regalia at least ten times today before the day ended; no reason to lengthen the ordeal any more than necessary.
He was combing his damp hair with his fingers when he stepped back into the bedchamber. From the front room, which would serve as something of a living area if the king had been in the habit of using his rooms for much else than sleeping and washing, he could hear Éowyn's voice.
"Is he up and decent? I'm not going to just stand about waiting with this tray, you know", she was saying to Éothain.
"You can put it here. He should be out any minute", answered the Captain.
"Here I am. You brought plenty of food, I hope?" said the young king as he stepped out of his bedchamber.
"Of course I did. We don't want you fainting in the middle of ceremony", Éowyn replied, beaming brightly next to a loaded tray as though she herself had made all the food on it – which he dearly hoped would not be the case. Éowyn and her catastrophical lack of skill in the kitchens were legendary throughout the Mark.
There was indeed plenty of food, from thick porridge to fresh bread and newly churned butter, some eggs and sausages, and an ample slice of cheese. Normally, he wouldn't eat so heavily in the morning, but today he had no desire to stand on ceremony with an empty stomach.
"Are you very excited? Nervous?" Éowyn wanted to know as he took a seat and began to eat.
"Mostly I feel unreal. For a time, I was sure this day would never come", he answered in the middle of bites.
His sister groaned out loud.
"I know the feeling. But I must admit you're much less cracked than I expected you to be at this point", she said, smiling brightly.
"He's just hiding it", Éothain muttered wryly. Éomer ignored his comment.
"Everything under control in the kitchens? Leofrun hasn't killed anybody yet?" he asked his sister.
"Aye, things are going along well. No need to worry about it, brother; you just focus on getting married", she replied with a bright smile.
"Oh, I intend to", he said, grinning back at her. "I hope you shall enjoy the celebrations as well. Go and comfort your husband. He was looking desolate yesterday – one might think you had abandoned him."
"That is nonsense. Faramir is a bigger man than that. He knows how important this is to me. I want to make sure my brother weds as is right and proper", said Éowyn with an airy gesture of her hand.
"Have you been to the camp by any chance?" Éomer asked, casting a hopeful look at her.
"Late last night, yes. All appears to be going well down there, and your bride seemed astonishingly calm. In fact, it looked like the ladies in waiting were more nervous and jittery than her! Though I overheard a couple of them criticising the way your wife lets her skirts and boots collect all sorts of mud and soil, and the other was certain she had seen the lady wandering outside the camp in moonlight", Éowyn said. She shook her head in a way that wholly discredited such talk, but Éomer knew it was not so unlikely Lothíriel had indeed sneaked out.
"Did you ask this tattler why she would be outside at night to witness such a thing?" Éothain inquired mildly.
"I did", Éowyn said with a wicked little smile. "She said no more after that."
"Did you talk to Lothíriel?" Éomer wanted to know.
"Yes. Like I said, she seems to be taking all this rather well. Of course, the camp around her tent was swarming with Swan Knights last night, and she was surrounded by a squadron of formidable matrons. Somebody seemed to think there might be foul play if the lady was left alone for too long", she replied in amusement.
"Understandable sentiment, though unnecessary. I could not have got away from my bachelor party even if I had tried", he said dryly.
"Is that so? I was half expecting Aragorn would make some excuse about taking her for a walk again", Éothain noted and gave a sharp glance at his king, but Éomer met the look with perfect innocence.
"By the way, she asked me to tell you not to worry about the beard, whatever that means", Éowyn said, raising an eyebrow.
There was only a momentary surprise on his part. He recalled thinking about it earlier, and if his bride would be bothered. What kind of a vision had betrayed this to her, he could only imagine – but if she had spied on him bathing, well, he wasn't offended.
"Ah, just what almost any man of the Mark wants to hear", Éothain muttered lightly. Éomer merely smiled at his sister in response.
She then came and gave him a neck-crushing hug. Fortunately, he had no food or drink in his throat at that moment.
"I'm so glad for you, brother! You deserve happiness like no other. Good luck for today!" she told him and only the faintest crack in her voice betrayed the intensity of her emotion.
Éowyn swept out soon after to continue her reign of terror with Leofrun. Meanwhile, Éothain continued his good-humoured taunting, half directed at his king and half at young Guthlaf, who had now arrived to lay out the royal regalia and make sure each piece was in pristine condition. Why this was necessary when the whole gear had been inspected only last night and found in perfect shape, Éomer did not know, but maybe this too was Leofrun's doing.
As for himself, he was just finishing up his breakfast when the guard peeked in and asked if the bridegroom had time to talk with King Elessar.
"Send him in", said Éomer and pushed back the tray. He was already on his feet when Aragorn came inside with Faramir. Both were carrying packages in their arms.
"What's this now?" asked the Rohir, raising an eyebrow. His two friends exchanged a smile.
"I had thought to give you a gift for your wedding day", said Aragorn warmly, "but I admit I had trouble coming up with anything. I know you don't make much of earthly possessions, but hopefully I've managed to find something that will be of use to you."
With that, he and Faramir set down the packages on a table by the window.
"You should open them right away. Otherwise, Aragorn will spend the rest of the day wondering whether he chose well or not", Faramir said, grey eyes twinkling in good humour.
"I would be happy to. No guest should languish at my wedding", said Éomer and began to open the packages, neatly and sturdily made to weather the long journey.
Inside them, Éomer found several leather-bound volumes and a few scrolls that, by the feel of them, had been recently made. He must have looked rather quizzical, as Aragorn was quick to explain the contents of the package.
"These are books from my own library. I promise none of them have been idly chosen", he said and picked up one tome, decorated heavily at the back with the tell-tale knot patterns. He said, "This volume contains some of the most ancient tales of Éothéod, as they were recorded in Gondor in Eorl and Cirion's time. The perspective is of Gondor and there may be some misunderstandings, but I wondered if your people still recall these histories, and if it might interest you."
Éomer received it with eager hands. Certainly, the oldest legends of Rohirrim were a matter of much debate and a volume that went back to Eorl's time might shed some light on the issue – maybe even recall tales that were now lost.
Aragorn then gestured at a pile of several books.
"As for these, they contain studies and treatises by wise men and even a couple of women of Gondor. They talk mostly about statecraft and nature of kingship along with other related issues. I've found they have some very interesting ideas. I know you do not consider yourself a learned man, but perhaps you may find some helpful insight inside these texts."
"They are standard reading for all scions of Gondorian noble houses, if they mean to call themselves educated. Boromir did not make much of them, but I think these volumes contain many things that are needful to know for a lord", Faramir put in, eyeing the volumes like they were a part of dragon's hoard. And they very nearly were. Such a compilation of beautifully bound books were a priceless gift, and even Éomer, king of a people who had no literary culture of their own, understood this.
"Indeed. Théoden probably studied them as well in his time, when he was but a boy in Lossarnarch. He did not have a chance to prepare you for following in his footsteps, but you may feel his voice speaking through these. Council of wise men and women is good, but there are things a king should not leave for others to know in his behalf", Aragorn added solemnly.
"Thank you. This is most generous", said Éomer as he laid the volume in his hands gently down on the table and ran his hand gently over the supple leather cover. The royal study had some books, courtesy of Thengel and Théoden, but these volumes were a great addition.
"You are welcome, brother", said Aragorn, smiling now that he saw his gift was well-received. "May they help you as you shape your own path as a king."
Sometimes, dressing in the royal regalia did not feel that different from putting on his armour. It could feel like getting ready for a different kind of battle. The tunic was deep forest green with gold and white embroideries – some of the best work he had ever seen – and the breeches soft and supple buckskin. The boots had been polished and oiled, the cloak brushed and aired. The golden circlet felt as heavy as it ever did, but not quite as foreign as on the first few times he had worn it. Only recently, its counterpart had been brought forth from the royal treasury and polished after decades of disuse. Some nastier voices had muttered it was a wonder Morwen Steelsheen had not taken the Queen's circlet with her to Gondor.
Once his sword was bound to his side, Éomer was ready. He took a deep breath and glanced down. It felt a bit like looking at someone else's body. Would a day ever come that he would feel comfortable wearing all this?
"You look marvellous, brother. If only Mother and Father were here to see this day!" said Éowyn from his side, and he turned to face her. She was radiant in her pale yellow gown, her long hair tumbling down freely, and a delicate gold circlet gleamed on her fair head. She had come to make sure he was ready for the wedding to start and was now carefully brushing non-existent wrinkles from his cloak.
"What would they make of their children, I wonder?" he asked her softly, knowing his smile must have become bittersweet.
"I'd like to think they would be proud", said Éowyn at length as he hand stopped on his shoulder. "Though the sad fact is, you knew them more than I ever did. Sometimes I can't remember Father's voice."
Somehow she looked guilty at this confession, and gently he reached his arm around her shoulders. It made sense she would have harder time recalling their Father; he had died so suddenly, but Mother's passing had been a slow torment for them all. The pain of it was sharply drawn in the memories of both orphans.
"That is no fault of yours, sister. I know Théoden was more a father to you than Éomund. I think his regret would be much greater than yours for never having a chance to know the woman you are now", he told her firmly.
"Do you think they can see us, wherever they are?" she asked him quietly as she pressed her head against his shoulder.
"I hope so. I'd like them to know everything turned out fairly well, in the end", he replied.
"Aye. All things considered, there is much we can rejoice in", she agreed and raised her head again. Her smile became lighter again as she patted his arm. "Now, get you going! Everybody's ready and waiting for the madness to start."
"Start? From where I'm standing, it looks like it never ceased", he commented, adjusting his sword-belt one more time, breathed deeply, and began to move.
On his way outside, and in the courtyard many folk of his household were gathered. Their faces were excited and glad, and many spoke their blessings when he passed by. Éomer met their looks with smiles, feeling his own thrill grow with theirs. This was a great day for them all.
Firefoot waited outside, his coat gleaming like never before, and there were many braids in his mane. The stallion seemed to sense the unusual mood and he pranced cockily, as if he had determined to get his fair share of all the attention. The King's Guard were arrayed in their best as well, their armour freshly polished and oiled, and their spears gleaming in the sun.
At his signal, the company rode forward, heralded by the royal standard. The great horns of the city were blown and with that, he felt his heart begin to race.
On the streets people were already gathering, waiting for when the King would ride back with his bride. A cheer swelled when he and his Riders rode through the capital, rising like a wave. The gates of the city were already open and on the battlement stood more people than he could count.
At the Amrothian part of the camp, his company was greeted by lines of Swan Knights in bright mail, their blue and silver banners swaying in the gentle breeze. Here among Gondorians, the mood was more solemn, perhaps echoing the grave loftiness of their stone halls. Everywhere Éomer looked, he could see wedding guests wearing silks and velvets, and jewels and gold shone on their necks and hands.
But when his company reached Imrahil's tent, he felt quite like leaping from the saddle and throwing himself at Lothíriel. She was not yet outside, but her family was there, again with the same company as a couple of days before. Aragorn and Faramir were beaming, and today Arwen's strange Elvish glow seemed to wrap around them all; Imrahil looked just as a father might on the day of his only daughter's wedding, but her brothers wore welcoming grins on their faces. The red on Amrothos' cheeks betrayed he had already been toasting for the health of the bridal couple – or maybe just making sure that the wedding mead was up to his high standards.
Éomer cast them all a bright smile. Then Éothain spoke in a strong voice as formality and tradition would require.
"King Éomer of Rohan has come to claim his bride, Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. Will she go with him?" asked the Captain, and while his tone was loud and brisk, his face was beaming. Obviously, he took great pleasure in this moment.
"What say you, daughter?" asked Imrahil as he turned to face the tent.
Two Swan Knights lifted the cover at the tent's doorway. Then a figure in white and silver stepped out, almost aglow in bright sunlight.
"I will gladly go with the Lord of the Mark", replied the lady. It took Éomer a second to realise she was actually saying it in Rohirric!
He felt like his heart might just permanently relocate in his throat for the sheer wonder and ache at her loveliness. Her long, white gown was amply embroidered with bright silver that shone under the sun. The sleeves were wide and sheer, almost like a silver mist about her arms and hands. All her jewellery – a chain on her neck and the familiar bracelet on her wrist – consisted of pearls. Her hair fell freely down her shoulders, a stark contrast against the pale fabric, and on her head was a garland of spring flowers. She met his gaze boldly with her dear, knowing smile and her eyes were bright and glad. This here was not a timid bride, given to the king of northern barbarians as a token of good will and politics. Somehow, with her every step, she seemed to be declaring she herself had chosen this path.
He dismounted, somehow managing to steer himself straight and true, even though he simply wanted to collapse on his knees before her. What a wondrous thing. This woman half his size held him in the palm of her hand, and with a single word she could command him, or break his heart. Never had he thought to feel so soft for another, or so willingly vulnerable; the likes of Gríma Wormtongue had tried all evils to break him and yet such men would never overcome him like Lothíriel of Dol Amroth.
Ever so gently, he picked up her hands, cool and soft, yet she didn't seem to be cold in the chill of spring morning without her cloak.
"Will you ride with me?" he asked, so taken by emotion that he spoke Rohirric before he even realised it.
"I would be honoured", she replied in his tongue. Her accent betrayed she was not a native speaker of Rohirric, but she pronounced the words carefully, and her pitch was lower than when she spoke Westron or Sindarin.
Thankfully, no more words were required at this point. Feeling more than a little light-headed, he led her to Firefoot and helped her to mount the horse. She managed it despite her skirts, and what a sight she made on the top of the great stallion in her shining gown and flowers in her hair! So might Lady Læs herself appear, should she wish to ride with Béma on his great horse. Taking a deep breath, Éomer flung himself in the saddle behind her. Gently he wrapped his arm around her.
Knowing full well what an evocative picture this made to the Eorlingas present, he did not urge Firefoot to move right away. Indeed, a great cheer rose among his people. They did not see just their king and new queen, but also Béma and Læs, together renewing the land once more.
Éomer pressed his heels gently against the sides of his horse and Firefoot began to move. The stallion pranced like the finest court dancer, his mighty head held proudly, as if he was the one being observed by all. Lothíriel leaned confidently against her bridegroom without holding on to the horse, but Éomer held her tight. Even so, Firefoot knew not to let her fall.
For the first stretch of the ride, he was simply too overwhelmed with emotion to really appreciate the moment. So many faces lined their road to the gates of Edoras, and there on the streets of the capital waited countless people to see them pass. Cheering grew almost deafening and the road before them was paved with wild flowers, thrown there by the onlookers. But eventually he began to feel a little steadier, and when he did, he couldn't help but appreciate the feel of her slender body pressed against him. She sat there so easily, hands folded in her lap, or occasionally taking support of his chest.
It felt right.
The courtyard of Meduseld was packed with people, and there was only just space for the horses and stable-hands to take them. The cheering quieted a bit, turning into a slow murmur as the King dismounted first and then lifted down his bride. She gave her surroundings a sweeping glance, seemingly taking it all in at once – her new home.
Then Lothíriel put her hand on his arm, and together they began to descend the steps that lead to the twin doors of the Golden Hall. On the top of the stairs they met Éowyn, smiling brightly and holding in her hands a long woven ribbon. Next to her stood Erkenbrand. As the eldest female of the House of Eorl, and renowned in her own right, Éowyn was very much entitled to stand here with them, and Erkenbrand the Marshal, loyal and loved by the people, stood as the advocate of Rohirrim.
"Who are you, and why have you come to this place?" Éowyn asked, loud and steady.
"I am Éomer King of the Mark, and I bring to my home Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, to live as my wife", he replied evenly. Many times had he witnessed this ceremony, but never had it filled him with such a solemn, earnest feeling.
"I am Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, and I come to this house with Éomer King of the Mark, to take him as my husband", said Lothíriel, delivering the words with practised ease; her and Freola must have gone over it many times during the winter.
"Then let your hands be joined for all to see", said Erkenbrand, and Éomer turned to face his bride. He pressed her smaller hands inside his own, covering them completely. Lothíriel met his eyes with a soft smile. There was a blush on her cheeks, perhaps both from the chill and excitement, but her eyes were glad and shining.
Together, Éowyn and Erkenbrand began to wrap the long ribbon around their joined hands. As they did, they recited old prayers and blessings, and the longer they went on, the more their voices sounded like chanting. Down below in the courtyard, the audience was watching in commplete silence.
"I bless thee and bind thee, Lord Béma, protector of the land", Éowyn said, her voice bright and clear next to the Marshal's deeper tone.
"I bless thee and bind thee, Lady Læs, mistress of Spring and renewal", Erkenbrand spoke, and round and round their hands the ribbon went, until at last it ran out and the Marshal and Éowyn made a small loose knot on the top.
And so it was done. As far as Eorlingas were concerned, Lothíriel was now Éomer's wife. What a staggering thought it was, and how dizzyingly happy he felt! This was where his new life, his own family, started.
He bent down his head and kissed her for the first time as his wife, and she tiptoed into it, gasping softly against his lips. Only vaguely he was aware of Éowyn and Erkenbrand's voices: "Westu hal, Éomer Cyning! Westu hal, Lothíriel Cwen!"
Other voices joined them, and some cheered in Westron or even in Sindarin. But he kissed her long, holding still her hands tight between his own, and she was short of breath and her eyes were dark when they finally broke apart. Éowyn cleared her throat, but when he glanced at her, his sister's eyes twinkled in gentle amusement.
"Done yet?" she asked pleasantly.
He kissed his wife again just to spite Éowyn.
After the handfasting, they stepped inside Meduseld at last. Lothíriel was not given a long moment to adjust, though her eyes surveyed the surroundings keenly and curiously. Most likely, she had already seen glimpses of this place, but he guessed it might be disorienting to actually perceive it with her waking eyes.
A table had been brought near the entrance and on it rested the marriage contracts, ready to be signed at last. Some of their witnesses were already waiting for them there, but others were coming inside just then: her father came with his trusted companions, and Éomer's own council along with some of the leading nobles of Rohan were present. All their eyes fixed on the bridal couple.
As right and sacred the handfasting had felt like, this was stiff and formal. While he signed the contract confidently, it still felt like he was putting his name under some kind of a business transaction – even if this was just it from the perspectives of his office and of Gondor. He took a small measure of comfort in seeing her sign her own name in flowing script next to his.
Then Lord Ormar stepped forward and lifted the contract, and he read it aloud for the council and witnesses. Éomer paid only passing attention to it: he was more busy admiring his bride, staring at the thick mass of her long dark hair, and wondering if the soft, pleasantly sweet scent around her came from the flowers, or if it were her perfume. She was seemingly trying to listen to Ormar, but every now and then she cast her new husband a look that was a mixture between amusement, exasperation and reproach.
It seemed to take forever to read the contract, and close to the end of it Éomer was sorely tempted to shake the man and tell him to hurry up. Ormar appeared to sense his impatience and cast him a stern look from under his eyebrows. When at last he finished, the company around them gave a mighty cheer.
With a beaming smile, Éomer regarded his advisers and the company of nobles of the land.
"My lords and ladies, it is my pleasure to introduce you Lothíriel, Queen of the Mark", he announced, turning to look at the woman by his side. Her face was solemn but friendly as she nodded her head.
"I greet you all, and thank you for joining us on this joyous day. I am honoured to stand before you as the consort of your king; and in whatever humble way I may assist him in guiding the fortunes of the Riddermark, I shall attempt it", she said, her voice clear and strong, and her Rohirric confidently delivered. Then she repeated the same words in Westron, courtesy of her father and his Gondorian companions, who did not understand the tongue of Eorlingas.
How proud he was of her! Such queenly grace could not be forced – one had to naturally possess it. Though Éomer was more than little giddy with her excellent presentation, he still kept a sharp eye on the faces before them. Many appeared suitably pleased with how the new queen had addressed them, but there were some whose doubtful look did not subside. Eadwig was among these.
For the moment, he did not worry. She would win them over sooner or later. So he offered her his arm and led her forward, introducing the new queen to the lords and ladies of the land one by one. It went fairly well: even if there were some misgivings, all maintained a polite front and addressed Lothíriel with all due respect. Her demeanour remained calm and smiling and only once did he sense anything different from her. When they were face to face with Eadwig, she suddenly pressed Éomer's arm harder than before, though her expression did not change in the slightest. It certainly made him curious, but he knew he had to wait for a more private moment to ask her.
At last they had greeted the whole company of advisers, lords and ladies. Éomer let out a deep breath. It had felt much like passing the muster of an old and critical captain. Glancing at Lothíriel, he wondered if she had felt the same, even if never once had her features betrayed any uncertainty.
But now was to follow the slightly less formal part, and so he offered her his arm again, and they made their way to the dais, where their seats were prepared. This moment gave a brief chance for exchanging some words.
"When we met Lord Eadwig, you clutched my arm hard. Why did you?" he asked her in a low voice as they approached the dais.
A slight crease appeared on her brow.
"I thought I recognised him. I think I may have seen him before", she replied softly. He didn't need to ask for her meaning.
"In a good or a bad way?" he wanted to know as he waited for her to take a seat. He undid his ceremonial cloak – a beautiful but damnably heavy thing – and carefully released it into the waiting arms of his steward, who would probably send it back to the King's rooms like some kind of a relic to be protected at all costs.
"I'm not sure", she said, and then seeing his look, smiled slightly before continuing, "What I see doesn't always make sense even to me."
He sat down as well, glancing about the hall. Long tables were set and they were only moments away for when guests would begin to pour in.
"Well, at least I do know why he wasn't most enthused by meeting you. He thinks his daughter should be sitting next to me today", Éomer muttered under his breath.
"Yes, I could see it in his eyes. He doesn't look at me kindly. Yet I do not think his blood will soon sit on the throne of Rohan", Lothíriel said very quietly, eyes veiled.
He looked at her sharply, and would have had half a dozen things to say, but right that moment guests began to stream inside. For the better part of next hour, he and his new queen were met with countless guests from both Rohan and Gondor. Eadwig's daughter Guthild was among the guests, and she greeted the King and Queen without any hint of hostility. Though Éomer was watching Lothíriel from the corner of his eye, her look did not change. She had a way of seeing into people's hearts, but seemingly found nothing alarming in Guthild's.
Slowly the hall filled as guests took seats in the long tables, and steadily the murmur of many voices rose. At last the final pair of guests had found their seats. Then Éowyn came with a golden cup of bridal mead, and she was beaming at her brother when she offered the cup to him. He rose to take it, and lifting the cup in toast he welcomed all the guests to the feast and gave thanks both on his own and Lothíriel's behalf.
He gave the first taste of mead to her and she sipped it carefully, leaving for him over more than half of the contents. When Éomer had drained the cup, their guests raised their own drinks as well. So began the feast.
At this point, Éomer certainly had developed a healthy appetite, and was glad to see Lothíriel showed no signs of turning into a jittery bride; she curiously tried this and that dish, savouring the smell as well as the taste. If any kitchen staff were watching her reactions, as he was sure they were, they would probably bear word to their peers that the new queen was not picky over Rohirric fare. Although to be fair, the opulence of food brought to the tables, the vats of roasted meat, potatoes smothered in butter and herbs, fresh loaves of bread, various sorts of pies both sweet and savoury, berry tarts and sugary sweets, vegetables in different assortments, small fluffy honey cakes, at least ten different kinds of cheese, and even a few trays of baked fish, was rather the exception to the rule. Even in Meduseld there had been some lean times especially in that first winter after the Ring War, but the cooks of the royal household had not lost their skill: everything he tasted was delicious and delightful.
"How do you like Meduseld so far?" he asked her now that most guests were content with the plates of food before them, and further entertainment was not yet required.
"It is even more wonderful than I had thought – and so different from my father's castle by the sea. There are so many beautiful and intriguing things here, I have to remind myself not to go and explore", she told him with a smile.
"I'll give you a tour as soon as possible, but we may have to wait until after the guests have left. I don't expect we'll be left much alone for the coming days, unless we are in our own rooms", he said and quietly considered whether they could just barricade themselves in the King's chambers. The thought was attractive.
"Hmm. Well, at least there's one place in this Hall where I get to have you for myself", she said casually, seemingly unaware of how thrilling such a statement could be. He swallowed hard, reminding himself it was hours still before it was considered polite for them to retire.
So he took a hearty gulp of his ale, cleared his throat and decided to keep things on the more formal side for the time being.
"I trust Éowyn sent people to fetch your things? At least she was saying she would yesterday", he said, idly noting conversations in the hall were growing a bit louder at this point.
Lothíriel nodded.
"She did. Few of your own knights appeared to carry my travel chests to Meduseld only this morning. They said those would be taken to the Queen's rooms?" she said, casting a quizzical look at him.
"Aye, your things will be waiting there. Your rooms are next to mine, and there's only a door between. You won't have to sneak around in dark hallways in the middle of night", he reassured her. He didn't mind who he ran across in his own hall, and what state he was in at the time, but by her expression he guessed she had more modesty than him in that regard.
"That is relieving. Otherwise, I might get lost", she quipped, taking a small sip of her mead and leaning back in her chair.
"Is it even possible for you to not know where you are going?" he asked her half-seriously.
She looked at him as if he had just asked something with the most obvious answer in the world.
"I find my way better than most – usually", she simply said and drank some more mead.
Now most guests had had their fill, and many were leaning back in their seats after a mighty effort of eating the King of Rohan out of house. Ale, mead and wine continued to flow, and on one side, a group of musicians were now trying out small tunes. A merry mood could be felt in the hall and not even the likes of Eadwig seemed presently intent on dampening the atmosphere. A sense of contentment came over Éomer. He was in his own hall, surrounded by friends, and next to him was his wife. It was true, what his friends had told him: happiness consists of simple things in the end.
"Fancy taking a turn around the hall? I'd like to stretch my legs a bit", he asked her, putting aside his now empty cup and holding his hand above it when a servant moved to fill it.
"Why not? I'm starting to feel a little stiff, too", she agreed and put down her own cup as well.
Arms linked they walked by the long tables, and were honoured by many cheers and toasts especially by Eorlingas; there were even a few wolf-whistles, but he directed one of his more chilling looks at any who did so. Not that he expected Lothíriel to be dismayed by this uncouth manner – she was remarkably resilient in that regard – but some respect was due to the new queen.
There were also moments to pierce one's heart. One was when they stopped by her father, and Imrahil rose up to embrace his daughter. There was a look on his face Éomer had never seen before, a joy mixed with poignant sadness. He could only wonder what it felt like, parting with one's youngest child – the one that Imrahil must have thought of so sorely in the need of protection. Abruptly it hit him what it must have cost Imrahil to let this happen, and what it still demanded of him.
But Lothíriel smiled and whispered some words to her father, and this seemed to be enough for the time being. She tugged Éomer's arm gently, and so they began to move again.
"Will your father be all right?" he asked her quietly.
"In time", she replied in a soft voice. "Soon enough he will recall what he had with my mother, and that ultimately, he wishes I could have it too. He never thought I would."
There was nothing he could really say to that, nor did he really have a chance; they came across Erkenbrand and his daughter Alfwen, the tall Shieldmaiden. The Marshal was glad to introduce her to the new queen and for a while, Éomer and Erkenbrand pretended to have a conversation while spying whether the two women were getting along or not. At first, it looked like both were measuring the other, and it was a little amusing in a certain way, for the contrast between them was so great. It was hard to imagine two women more different, with lives so very dissimilar. But then Alfwen noticed the bracelet on Lothíriel's wrist, she smiled, and a fairly pleasant conversation started between the two.
When they moved forward again to meet more of their guests, Lothíriel leaned closer to him and whispered, "I liked her, just as I thought I would. I've seen her before, and I think she's going to be my guard."
He blinked. At times, it still took him aback to hear her announce things that had not yet happened. On the other hand, Lothíriel and Alfwen were certainly two people he had never imagined having anything to do with one another. But what did he know? Their talk, brief as it was, had been perfectly amiable. Maybe there was potential for a lasting friendship.
"I'll ask if she'd like to stay after the celebrations", he said at length, already wondering what Alfwen would make of such a request, not to mention Erkenbrand. However, if the Shieldmaiden was as serious about following in her father's footsteps, serving as the Queen's own guard would certainly help her on that path.
Lothíriel smiled and quickly kissed his cheek. To himself, Éomer considered that actually living with this woman was going to take some getting used to, if she declared her prophecies so confidently and often.
Continuing their walk, they met with a few small groups already in the middle of games Eorlingas were so fond of, word puzzles and riddles and the sort, but they did not follow these for long. Lothíriel's Rohirric was not yet good enough to keep up with trick questions and word plays, even if she looked like she might have wanted to try it out nevertheless.
It was not long that Éomer noticed a few expectant looks thrown their way, and he was quick to observe their reason. The band of musicians were now ready, tables had been cleared, and there was some more ceremony to be performed.
So he bent his head closer to hers, and whispered, "What would you say to some dancing?"
"In the front of all these people?" she asked back doubtfully.
"I'm afraid so. It's an old wedding dance, accompanied by a song. I believe men and women of our household have been practising it for weeks. It's... a bit hard to explain, but it's supposed to bless the marriage, and to ensure it is fruitful. You'll understand later", he replied, choosing his words carefully, though he knew it was not that easy to insult her sense of propriety. He didn't mention that in the older version, the one common folk usually performed, the bridal couple would have to be much more drunk than he and Lothíriel were. Although in his opinion it rather defeated the purpose if both the bride and the bridegroom were on the brink of passing out.
"Well, we've been performing since the morning, so I suppose a little more won't hurt" she said and allowed him to lead her to the centre of the hall, where empty space had been cleared for them. Members of the royal household stood there in line, and others gathered around to watch. Eorlingas murmured among themselves excitedly, but Gondorians observed the scene with some curiosity.
"I will have to stand very close to you, but at this point I expect your father and brothers will have no issue with it", he whispered to his bride. She smiled wryly.
"Yes, one would hope so", she agreed, and met his eyes steadily as he closed her left hand in his own and pulled her close to himself by the waist. She was a little to his side, so that her hip was against his.
"I don't know the steps", she said a little bit worriedly, but he smiled in reassurance.
"Don't worry about it. Just follow my lead", he told her, and then he could already hear the first beats of the drum, the hands clapping rhythmically, and many feet stomping the ground.
It started like so, the drum accompanying the voices of people. Both the men and the women were now singing a low, almost monotonous tune. He stood still, and Lothíriel did so as well, her look curious and expecting. As strangely repetitive the start of the song was, there was something hypnotic about it – the sound was like a heartbeat. Then suddenly one clear female voice rose above others, and as though by instinct Lothíriel knew it was the sign, and so she practically leapt to action in time with him.
The tune changed entirely into a quick and lively song, which was very much reflected by the dance. The steps were essentially simple, but the dance itself was rather sensual even in Rohirric standards. There was a lot of contact between the partners, and even without understanding the words, one would have no uncertainty what it was about. Éomer did not worry about how it might be perceived by the guests who were not Rohirrim. In fact, most he was aware of was the music and the woman dancing with him. There was something overwhelming, intoxicating even, about the supple way she responded. And when the song grew more vigorous, so did their movements, and the air around them was thick with the smell of flowers and fragile petals falling off, disturbed by the sheer force of their dancing. At first her look was concentrated, her movement calculated, but then the song began to take over, and she was no longer performing for anybody except maybe for herself and him. As it should be.
He could only imagine how the dance would feel like if one were considerably more drunk on mead and ale.
The song faded with the single female voice and the dance ended with a lift – he raised his bride high by the waist, and then let her slide down against him, until she was still half in the air and he was supporting her against himself with just one arm. They were both breathing heavily, her cheeks were flushed, and she was staring at him with a heady look in her eyes. Around them the cheering and whooping had grown almost deafening, but he paid the audience little attention still.
For a moment neither of them seemed to be able to talk, although the crowd was already moving around them, and the musicians were starting another tune. At last he was able to let her down and back on her own feet.
"That... was something", Lothíriel uttered at last, hands still against his chest. "Are all Rohirric dances like that?"
"Some are", said Éomer in a low, hoarse voice. How soft she was, and how easily she leaned against him!
"Well, I do hope you won't be dancing other ladies like so, even if it makes me sound like a jealous prude", she said, seemingly trying to overcome her outburst of feeling by wry humour.
He made a coarse sound in his throat.
"I have no such intentions, wife mine", he told her and took a deep breath. It was not yet the time to retire, no matter how the dance had roused them both. Béma, would the evening ever come? Even looking at her was a trouble – he simply wanted to pick her up, toss her over his shoulder and leave this endlessly continuing feast for the rest of the day and night, damned be whatever anybody thought of it.
She met his gaze evenly, most likely reading his heart and mind like she always did, and said in a shaky voice, "Do you think it's possible to get something to drink in this crowd? Dancing is thirsty work, I find."
"Finding drink in Meduseld is more likely than you think", he said, still struggling to keep his calm. At least her request gave him an objective to focus on for the time being.
They made their way back towards the dais, but going was not quick or straightforward, as several Rohirrim stopped them and congratulated them for the excellent dance. Lothíriel looked a little flustered by this attention, and the fact that dancing in such a bold way before a crowd might be considered a good thing, but he decided he was glad if it had made a good impression. After today there would be less comparison between the new queen and Morwen Steelsheen.
At last they reached the King's table. There they found cups and pitchers filled with ale, mead and wine. Lothíriel reached for some water, though; a wise choice, which he decided to go for as well. Passions were still high after the dance and there were a few hours to go yet.
"How did I do?" she asked him after emptying a full cup of water. Her glance at where a new dance had started revealed her meaning.
"You were wonderful. For the duration of that dance, there existed no other woman in the whole world", he told her in earnest.
"Oh dear. I do hope my father wasn't watching too closely", she said, cheeks growing red again. She took another huge gulp of water.
"Well, even if he disapproves, he can take it up with me, for you're my wife now", he stated firmly and pulled her close to his side.
"Indeed I am. Though I am still having hard time believing it", she said, settling comfortably next to him – taking that place with such ease and naturalness that one might think they had been married for ten years instead of just one afternoon.
"Likewise", he muttered, leaned close, and kissed her for a while, never minding any of the cheers or whooping that it roused once more among their guests.
It was a happy night in the Golden Hall. Few times in his years had Éomer seen the place so full of truly joyous people: no shadow lay on the days ahead and the merrymaking did not hold the desperate tinge of trying to enjoy life while it was still possible. Songs were played and sung, dancing would continue late into the night, and laughter rose and fell freely among the guests. As the celebration went on, even some of the usually stiff and proper Gondorians began to loosen up. Here and there dark heads bent close to fair-haired ones as peoples mixed together. Amrothos conducted more than just one drinking game, and everywhere there was a warm sense of friendship and camaraderie. Éowyn happily joined him for a dance, radiating joy on his behalf, though she couldn't resist the chance of lecturing him on the subject of how to treat his new wife. All three of Imrahil's sons renewed their threat of "be good to her or else".
As for Lothíriel, she was currently twirling around with Lord Ormar, who now proved himself to be quite the dancer, rivalling even some of the finest of Gondor's royal court. But the young queen was still smiling and radiant after a long day of being everybody's business. At this point, her garland had vanished – the flowers had at last wilted – but there were still stray petals and buds stuck in her long hair, which tumbled freely down her shoulders. If ever had a woman worn the likeness of Lady Læs, it was her.
With these thoughts in his mind, Éomer came to stand next to Imrahil. For much of the wedding feast, he had rather looked to be observing than partaking. He held a cup of wine in his hand as he watched the dancers. and his expression was distant. Before the young king spoke, it occurred to him that he was now looking at his father-in-law. It was a strange thought, even if he and Imrahil had been friends ever since the war. Ties of family were different, though, and there was responsibility in being the husband of a beloved daughter that Éomer had not known simply as a friend of Prince of Dol Amroth.
"Is all well, Imrahil? You seem lost in thought", he observed carefully. All through these celebrations, it had been clear the Prince of Dol Amroth had not given his daughter's hand in marriage easily.
Imrahil seemed to startle, but then a slight smile appeared on his noble features.
"Forgive me – I did not notice you", he said sheepishly. It was rare to catch this man unawares, and Imrahil seemed to realise this too.
"It is fine. It's quite a crowd", Éomer commented and gave a sweeping glance at the guests around them. Most were now merrily into their cups and feasting. He and Lothíriel would probably be able to make their exit soon enough.
He looked at his friend again, "I hope this day has not been too difficult for you."
Imrahil's look was bittersweet.
"It is what it is. But I see the way my daughter smiles, and I think it is worth everything", he said softly, and so his eyes were drawn to her again. She was now at Elfhelm's arm, laughing at something the Marshal had said.
The Prince watched the two of them for a moment before adding, "She fits in here better than I imagined."
"I'm glad to hear you think so", Éomer said, and for a moment they were silent. Seconds went by as he hesitated. He had sought Imrahil out with a purpose, but was this the right place to say the words? On the other hand, would a better time ever come?
So he breathed deeply, and he said it quietly so that only Imrahil heard him, "She's told me about herself – about the things she sees."
Imrahil looked at him sharply, alarmed and worried. Éomer lifted his hand on his friend's shoulder and continued, "Do not worry. She is safe with me, for I am the wise fool."
The Prince of Dol Amroth stared at him for a long moment in silence. Alarm gave way to wonder, and then at last to something like acceptance. Then a slight smile appeared.
"How extraordinary. Do you know, it does make a strange kind of sense", Imrahil said at last and shook his head.
"Aye. I'm starting to see it now, too", Éomer conceded.
Imrahil let out a breath. Around them, the music and the laughter rose, but in this moment it all felt a hundred years away.
"She told me so before, of course. But I suppose a part of me always doubted and wondered – if she had put these words somehow in your mouth, not out of deceit but because she wished so badly them to be true. For all her wisdom and all her gifts, my daughter is still as anyone… aching to be loved and understood", said Imrahil slowly, looking at his daughter. Then he turned his gaze at Éomer again, "It's different to hear it from you. That you say these words, with this confidence, means that you understand. And she saw it all rightly, once again."
"Whatever it means, I do not know. But whatever gifts your daughter has, I did not ask to marry her because of them", said Éomer gravely.
"No, you wouldn't", Imrahil agreed. He gave the Rohir a stern, level stare. "Even if it doesn't matter to you, you have not married an ordinary woman. This you must remember in coming days. But I suspect you knew it from the start... there's some fate about you and her that I can feel, even if I do not have my daughter's gift. May it be a good one, as you deserve. And as she deserves."
"I do not know about fate. I'd rather shape it myself. Is that a strange thing to say for a man who has just married a woman who sees the future?" asked Éomer.
Now his father-in-law smiled faintly and put his hand on the shoulder of the King of Rohan.
"No, I don't think so. If it means anything, perhaps it is that she has chosen the right man."
Soon after his talk with Imrahil, Éomer and Lothíriel retired. The sun was setting outside and the celebrations were at the peak in Meduseld and everywhere in Edoras. Tonight, the sky could fall upon the capital of Rohan and nobody would notice. Lothíriel had given her sign to her maid and Leofrun by producing a handkerchief and meticulously folding it over and over. Then the two women had appeared as if from nowhere and whisked her away. Éomer himself had asked only Éothain to accompany him.
They shared one final drink in the front room of the King's chambers. The bedroom would be made ready – bed clothes pulled back, a low fire to keep away the chill of spring night, and bits of choice things from the feast in case the bridal couple fancied a late snack. He thought of Lothíriel in the Queen's rooms, seeing them for the first time and knowing these would be hers for decades to come. Was she nervous? Happy? Did she like her new home – and feel like it was a place she could build her new life?
Soon enough Éothain perceived he was not needed anymore. His king was too distracted at the moment to be of use to anybody but the new queen. Not to mention, the feast still went on and there was a rare collection of veterans of the Ring War gathered for it. It was clear where the best company was to be found. After downing his drink and congratulating the new husband once more, Éothain left.
Éomer took a deep breath and listened for a moment. The bedchamber was yet quiet, but further away he could hear the sounds of feast going on. Obviously, the guests were not bothered by the fact that the King and Queen had vanished.
He left most of his clothes neatly folded on a chair nearby, knowing Leofrun would give him an earful if they were found messily discarded and wrinkly. He tied a deep green robe around himself – a piece of clothing he rarely used, but Lothíriel probably did not expect him to parade in stark naked. While she had not seemed nervous before, her mind might have changed by now. And more than anything, he wanted her to feel safe and comfortable.
At last Éomer heard the sound he had been waiting for: the door opened in the King's bedroom and he knew she had just stepped inside. A shiver went down his spine and with one long stride, he reached the door between the front room and the bedchamber.
It was true he had imagined this moment many times before now, and fantasised about it rigorously. His wife finally with him, alone and away from the prying eyes of the world. For a long time, the idea of having a wife – of being a husband – had been but an abstract concept for him, difficult to imagine and vaguely unpleasant to accomplish. She had made it into an attractive, hopeful prospect.
Lothíriel was standing in the centre of the room, her eyes slowly taking in her surroundings: the big four-poster bed, the soft glow of fire and candles, the rich tapestries on the walls, his polished armour piled on a tall stand, few personal objects here and there... in the same moment, she both seemed to belong to this picture, and yet was somehow an alien sight. She was dressed in a light shift and a soft blue dressing gown. Her long dark hair had been carefully brushed so that no more flowers were in it. The bracelet remained, as ever, on her wrist.
Something very strange throbbed and grew in his chest. He felt weak with tenderness for her, and so glad he wanted to both weep and laugh. For once, everything was so right. All those years of struggle and lonely toil now made sense, and he would go through it all again, knowing this was in store for him.
Her grey eyes met his own, and somehow she looked both so young and yet so wise. She stood with her shoulders back, hands clasped loosely before her, and she was smiling. He could see no trace of nervousness on her features or in her posture. A little bit dazedly he thought: There's no one like her in the world.
"How beautiful you are", Éomer managed to speak, though his voice came out low and hoarse. His hands burned to touch her, to push her back to the bed and have her right now. But he banished that thought quickly. His wife was to be loved and cherished, and treated with care and respect.
A soft blush appeared on her cheeks.
"Please, dear. I'm trying not to just throw myself at you, and there you stand being like that..." she said, making a vague gesture at him and leaving it unclear just how he was being. But he could guess.
He swallowed hard. Yes, she was right: there was no reason to rush. They had the whole night ahead of them.
"In that case, would you like to drink something?" he asked her. Passions were certainly running high at the moment, but a bit of wine might help.
"Yes please", she agreed, and he made way to the table, where a pitcher and a light snack for the night was laid out. He poured the drinks and offered a cup to her. She accepted it with a smile and then cast a look around, as though unsure of what to do with herself now.
"Please, take a seat", he hurried to say. Without a further ado, Lothíriel went and sat down on the edge of the bed. He swallowed hard and prayed for strength when she patted the spot next to herself in invitation.
He couldn't well refuse, and so he went and sat down by her side, aching to touch her but knowing better than to allow himself too much contact. He had slept in this bed for more nights than he could count now, but it was in fact the very first night a woman was to share it with him. And not just any woman, but his wife; not just any wife thrown at him by his council, but Lothíriel.
She cast him a smile and then looked down; there was a most delightful colour on her cheeks. He realised he must have been staring at her very directly and brazenly, and even if she was not acting anxious, this was a new and strange situation for her.
"You know, we don't have to do anything tonight if you don't feel ready", Éomer said eventually. No matter how much he wanted to be with her, fulfil certain desires that at this point were near agonising, he needed to give her a chance to back out and breathe. For weeks now, her life had been in a complete tumult, and these past few days had been total madness. If she felt tired, or just unready, then he needed to let her say it.
She raised her eyes again and shook her head. There was a gentle smile on her features.
"Nonsense. I wish to be your wife in every sense of the word, and is it not my duty to conceive as soon as possible?" she asked him calmly.
He almost grimaced.
"I would like you to think of our marriage bed as more than that."
She put her hand on his own and pressed his fingers.
"I do, but we both know there are many who consider this my first and foremost obligation to you and the people", Lothíriel said evenly.
"Maybe, but I'd rather not think of it tonight, even if everyone else is. Just... may we not be simply a man and a woman taking joy in being together?" he asked, and at his words, her expression softened.
"We may be that, absolutely", she agreed and put aside her cup. Her fingers now curled about his own, and she looked at him in a way that he felt in his very bones. He could see trust and invitation and acceptance – that whatever happened next, it was because they both wanted it.
He put down his drink as well, and then lifted a careful hand to her cheek. Ever so gently, he brushed back the lock of hair that rested there, and ran his fingers through her unbearably soft tresses. He almost didn't dare to put his hands on her again, as if his touch might somehow mar this loveliness he saw before himself.
But Lothíriel leaned into the touch, pushing first her cheek against the palm of his hand, and then her lips in a tender little kiss. And that kiss broke whatever spell had been on him. He moved closer to her and brought his mouth eagerly to hers.
So it went on for a while, tentative at first and then increasingly bold as hands took part in the deed. She grasped his hair in a way that could only be called greedy, and then her fingers trailed down, finding the edges of his robe and curiously brushed just inside.
He pulled back so that he could meet her eyes. Both his hands were on her shoulders, but her chest was rising and falling faster than normal, and there was so much that he wanted to explore... he glanced at the robe and decided it had become unnecessary.
"May I?" he asked her hoarsely, and Lothíriel nodded. In a quick tug he undid the belt and she wriggled out of the garment. Underneath she wore a sleeveless shift so light and sheer, he almost could see through it. He couldn't decide whether this frustrated or excited him.
Her breathing hitched when he pressed both his hands against her. The soft roundness of her breasts, the gentle curves of her hips, the supple warmth of her thighs... he was rather preoccupied examining these marvellous things and so didn't notice her working at his robe until she was already attempting to push it back. How anything could be done in this tangle of excited hands and fingers without collisions and fumbling, he couldn't clearly say.
Éomer shrugged the garment off, glad to be rid of the thing. He would have leant to kiss her again, but then he took notice of the way she was watching him, and he recalled he was most likely the first naked man she had ever seen. Indeed, her eyes studied every inch of him, eager and fascinated, and lingering especially long in the region of his stomach and below. Perhaps it was an absurd consideration, but he thought of her regarding him with that same keen scrutiny that would have her escort halt in the middle of countryside so that she could examine some herb she had spotted by the side of the road.
"Do you like what you see?"
"... yes, I do", she replied. She met his eyes with such a bold look that he felt like he might just go mad with want for her.
He took a few deep breaths to keep calm. No matter how alluring she was, he could not lose his grip.
"Good to know", he said, low under his breath, and then drew her again into a kiss.
It grew more and more heated. He felt like some kind of an intoxication was growing on him, fuelled by the smell and feel of her hair and her skin. He craved more of it, and when his hands impatiently tugged at the hems of her shift, she was quick to assist. With a careless movement, he tossed the soft garment away, not minding where it landed. And Béma! How beautiful was his bride!
"Please. I need your skin against mine", she uttered. Her voice was lower and huskier than he had ever heard it before, and her eyes blazed with a heady, urgent light.
He was glad to comply. With a deep growl, he pushed her back on the bed and followed swiftly suit. Her arms gripped him tight, as though she had decided never to let go. What bliss! Her skin was something unimaginable, so soft and warm and supple. The mere touch of it against his own made him almost painfully hard, and she looked at him in anticipation and perhaps a hint of anxiety. He studied her momentarily, even if clear thought was extremely difficult at the moment, and her tentative smile confirmed his suspicion. That anxiety he saw did not mean she was second-guessing – it was merely standing before something that she had never experienced before. Interesting circumstance for one with foresight, and it almost made him smile. So it was with particular glee that he directed his attention on her cheek, the sensitive skin just below her ear, and then the earlobe itself. His wife trembled at the touch of his lips, her hands growing unsteady. She gasped softly when he began to move downward, trailing his way with everything he had. There a spot may get but a brush of lips, and then hint of a tongue, and at last the sudden grasp of teeth. The further he moved from her neck to her breasts and below, the more frequent her little whimpers grew.
It was half the pleasure, watching her slip more and more out of control. Most of the time she saw much further ahead than others did, and met things calmly as they came. At length she was almost writhing under his merciless touch, and calling him in some rather ludicrous names. His own need now became unbearable.
Lothíriel barely seemed to notice it when he shifted, but when he positioned his hips against hers and moved forward with one deep thrust, her eyes popped open. She gasped out loud. It was the most endearingly comical thing – this complete astonishment on the face of the woman who so rarely was surprised by anything.
"Are you all right?" he asked, even though he might have enquired himself that same thing. Béma! He could not have imagined beforehand the sublime softness of her, or the wondrous way their very shapes seemed to meld – as though this was how it was meant to be. He nearly wept with wonder and joy and love for her.
"... I think so", she whispered, clutching his shoulders in breathless shock.
For a moment, he remained there motionless, although her closeness and the feel of her body beckoned to simply lose himself in this moment. Her hair was open and tangled, thanks to his eager hands, her eyes were bright and wide, and her lips swollen. The light from candles and fire danced across her skin like a living thing. Here was beauty so profound it might pierce a man's heart.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asked roughly. "Please don't ask me to stop."
She made a strange little sound in her throat.
"I forbid it, Sire. I'm a queen now, you must obey me", she uttered with some difficulty, but still retaining her sense of humour.
A rumbling chuckle made its way through his clenched teeth, and he couldn't bear it – he had to kiss her again. Shakily at first, she responded to the kiss, until at length he could feel her relaxing in his arms. Now that she had grown easier, he dared to move again.
All the world now narrowed into this small instance. There was just movement of limbs and bodies against one another, mouths gasping either for air or a kiss, and touch was the primary sense ruling the universe. Meduseld could have come crashing down around them and Éomer would not have noticed. Air grew warm around them and he could feel sweat trickling down his neck. Then her legs, tightly wound around his hips, tensed hard against him, she let out a cry; she became mellow in his arms, trembling in waves of aftershock. It was a wonder that he had lasted this long, and soon enough he too was spent – pressing into her for one last desperate plunge, and seeing sparks fly behind his eyelids.
Heavily, in a movement that was more collapse than anything, he rolled off to her side. Soon enough he felt her shuffling next to him and so he raised his arm; she curled up against him with a contented sigh. They were both sweaty and hot, but right now he could not think of a better arrangement.
Eventually, when both had caught their breath, she raised her head and smiled.
"That was interesting", she stated. Her voice still had a low, warm, husky quality he had not heard until now.
Éomer let out a soft laugh.
"I would surely hope so", he told her and lifted his head enough to give her a lingering kiss. She supported herself partly on her elbow, partly on his chest. Now there was a warmth and familiarity in the kiss unlike before; they were truly husband and wife.
"Thoughts on marriage so far?" he asked her when she had settled down again, resting her head against his shoulder.
"Mmm. Ask me again tomorrow, and I may be able to say something coherent", Lothíriel replied lazily.
"Fair enough. I think I like it, though", he said, idly running his fingers across her arm. Her skin was starting to cool off a bit, which made her shuffle even closer. She pushed her leg between his and wrapped her arm tight around his chest.
"Can I sleep here tonight? You feel so nice and warm."
"... it's amazing that you even think I might allow you to leave this bed before the morning."
"... my lord."
To be continued.
A/N: Phew, that was quite a lot of words right there! I assume you know now why it took some time to finish this chapter. I wanted to explore their wedding day in detail, and I hope you all enjoyed it. I admit I thought of splitting it in two chapters, but decided against it: the events of this chapter so clearly form one whole, and there was no good place where to cut it.
Anyway, it was fun to write this chapter, no matter how much time it took! At last they are together and able to start this new life with one another - which I think we have all been waiting for. It's always great to write Éomer being happy! As ever, it was interesting to imagine Rohirric wedding customs. I had this idea that the King and Queen's marriage also symbolises the union of Oromë (Béma) and Vána (Læs).
Their wedding dance is partly inspired by a song by Wardruna called Lyfjaberg. Particularly the start has this hypnotic mood that I imagined their wedding dance would also have (though I don't think it much resembles the rest of the song Lyfjaberg). I very much recommend listening to it, and other Wardruna songs, too!
As always, your reviews and favourites are very much appreciated. Let me know what you think!
Inspiration for the chapter: Anathema - The Lost Song Pt. 1
EStrunk - Glad you liked it! The journey probably had boring parts, but Éomer was too happy to be with his bride and his friends to really notice it! :D It was interesting to show her gifts a little bit more, but how to explain that thing to Éothain may be a difficult task.
fantasticferret - Thank you! I always enjoy delving more into her character. I hope you liked the wedding!
Boramir - Interesting thoughts, as always! I really wish I could comment on them more, but I don't want to give away too much. At any rate, you're probably right to assume that Eadwig wouldn't risk open conflict with Éomer.
Simplegurl4u - Glad you liked it! Indeed, it's interesting to explore the way their relationship is growing, and the way her gifts affect it.
You're quite right - she's more than willing to aid in ensuring that his line continues! ;)
Leilal - Hope you liked it!
Jo - Thank you!
Wondereye - Glad you liked it! I'm afraid at the moment Éothain remains very much in the dark about her gifts, but we'll see how it goes!
sailor68 - Happy to hear it! Aragorn can certainly be high and lofty when he needs to, but I don't think he's without a sense of humour, or unwilling to help a brother out, if you get what I mean! ;)
LH Wordsmith - I'm so glad people liked my take on mischievous Aragorn! I'm rather happy about that little bit, too. And I love your take that he's an absolute troll. :D
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Thank you!
almythea - Thanks! Glad you liked it!
NightBlossom - Thank you! I do hope you continue to like this story, too. :)
