Author's Note: Ack, guys, I'm so sorry my posting schedule has gotten away from me! This story is my baby and I would NEVER abandon it-it's just taking a little bit more work than anticipated to get a new chapter out to y'all. Sometimes even when the 'will' is there, the words just don't flow!
As always, thank you so much for your continue support-it's been so fun getting to see your reactions to things.
I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as previous ones!
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Her uncle's face is remarkably still as Erchirion's tale grows to a close.
Lothiriel supposes this is a good thing-Naneth's older brother, Uncle Hannor, would not be sitting so calmly if he were here, and Aunt Maerien would have likely beat Erchirion over the head with her boot-but his silence only serves to make her more nervous. In truth, she is not sure why it was this particular uncle who had been sent to negotiate. Hannor, as Lord of Pelargir, holds more political power, and Ada himself-known to Rohan already-surely would have had more stable ground with the council. So it begs the question: why Andrethon?
"Let me be sure I am understanding this correctly," he finally says, interrupting her thoughts. "You, Prince Erchirion of Dol Amroth, have gotten a woman, the Lady Lisswyn, who is niece to the Second Marshal and sister to the Captain of the King of the Mark's guard, with child. Without being formally betrothed to her, by either Rohan or Gondor's standards. Upon discovering this, Captaina Eothain assaulted you, in public, and announced the lady's pregnancy to a large number of onlookers."
"I-that is one way of putting-" Erchirion starts to say, but is silenced by Andrethon's long-suffering groan.
"Elbereth spare me," he says, "I should have learned long ago that there are no 'small favors' when it comes to the House of Dol Amroth."
"Did...Ada and King Elessar not tell you what they knew of the situation before they sent you?" Lothiriel asks. Surely her father and king would not be so careless!
"Of course they did," Andrethon answers. "But it is so ludicrous that it bears repeating, to make sure I did not dream it all up."
"It is real enough," Erchirion snaps. "And Lisswyn and I would be better served by someone who wishes to help us, not mock us-"
"And Gondor would be better served by a less reckless prince," Andrethon interrupts. "So I suppose we shall both have to be disappointed."
Erchirion's cheeks flame scarlet as he shoots to his feet. "I am not-"
"Erchirion, Uncle, please," Lothiriel says. "This is getting us nowhere."
Andrethon cocks his head to the side, regarding her. "You do not agree with me, little flower?"
Lothiriel chews her lip for a moment. "While I do think it would have been better for Erchirion and Lisswyn to have been more," responsible, she thinks, but says, "patient, I do not think it enough cause to erase all of the times he has served Gondor faithfully and well. Regardless, what has been done cannot be undone. It is pointless and unhelpful to focus on anything other than what we must do going forward."
The anger drains from Erchirion's expression. Andrethon, on the other hand, could not look more surprised than if she had attempted to hit him over the head with the fire poker. Lothiriel flushes, twisting the end of her braid-she has not worn one consistently in weeks, but it felt too strange for her uncle to see her hair in the loose, Rohirric style.
"Is this truly Lothiriel who stands before me?" Andrethon asks. "The same Lothiriel who once challenged my squire to a race, barefoot, through Pelargir's marketplace? Who snuck sand and shells into Marwan's boots when he dared imply that his horse was superior? Who also, if memory serves, dumped a bucket of water-"
"Over Uncle Denethor's messenger for making a rude comment about Alycia," finishes Lothiriel. "Yes, it is still me."
Andrethon's mouth quirks up in a half-smile that she has seen many times on her mother's face. It makes her miss Naneth with a sharp bolt of longing. "You have grown up, Lothiriel."
The pride in his tone makes her blush. "Well," she says, "I could scarcely grow down."
Andrethon chuckles, rubbing a hand through his beard. Erchirion drifts over to her, slipping a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Do not be so bashful," he says, giving her a squeeze, "you have grown. At least one of us has been a credit to Dol Amroth. Lothiriel has been learning both Rohirric and healing from Edoras' chief healer-
"Erchirion," she murmurs, uncomfortable with his praise and Andrethon's indulgent smile. She had not done any of it in order to be complimented! Though a small, guilty part of her will admit it feels...nice, for her small triumphs to be acknowledged.
"And she has made many friends during our time in Edoras, Uncle," her brother continues, ignoring her feeble protest. "Though I suspect Ada and Naneth will be most excited about who's heart she's managed to capture-"
"Erchirion-" Lothiriel hisses, but it is too late.
Their uncle gives her a sharp look."Erchirion's letter had no mention of a suitor for you."
Lothiriel groans, hiding her eyes behind her hands. Erchirion attempts to splutter some sort of excuse, but Andrethon is as wily as Ada, and will not be fooled. She cannot blame him for the slip. Their interest in one another has become somewhat of an open secret, of late, and it would not have been a shock to anyone other than a Gondorian within Edoras's walls.
"Lothiriel," comes her uncle's voice. "Speak quickly. If I am going to have to navigate another diplomatic disaster, I would know it now."
"It is not a disaster," Erchirion defends. "Lothiriel can scarcely do better, politically, than a king."
Lothiriel peeks out from behind her fingers to watch her uncle sink wearily into a nearby chair. "A...king?"
"Eomer," Lothiriel whispers. "I-we-it is not a full courtship, in the Gondorian sense-"
"How could it be, without your parents' permission?" Andrethon mutters drily.
"I can give you my word that they have behaved in a proper manner," adds Erchirion. Andrethon's arched eyebrow indicates exactly what he thinks of Erchirion's word at the moment and her brother frowns. "If that is not enough, Lady Eowyn will confirm it. As can a number of other people of good reputation and standing. They have done nothing that would cause trouble for Lothiriel, or for Ada and Naneth. And besides, do you truly think Ada would have permitted Lothiriel to remain in Rohan for so long, if this were not an outcome he had considered?"
That nearly knocks Lothiriel for a loop-before Ada had left, she and Eomer had scarcely warmed towards each other at all! But her father has always been a master of strategy, both militarily and personally. He had been the one to send Elphir to Umbar, after all. He may never have met Alycia otherwise, despite the relatively friendly relationship between their cities. With this in mind, it does not seem so far-fetched that the hope of the making a match was a large portion of why he had not objected to Eowyn's request for her to stay.
"Considered, perhaps, but is clearly unaware of how far this situation has developed! Does anyone in Dol Amroth know?"
"Alycia," Lothiriel admits. "She has my letters, if a timeline is required."
Andrethon groans. "Wine. I need wine."
Lothiriel squares her shoulders, forcing herself to meet her uncle's gaze without flinching. For Eomer, for what they have built between them, she can be brave, even in the face of his disapproval. "Do you truly think they would take issue, Uncle? He is a good man and a king, of all things. Ada is his friend, Naneth liked him well before I did-"
"Oh?" Her uncle asks. "Was it not love at first sight?"
Erchirion snorts. "Far from it. She called him 'insufferable' for the first month of their acquaintance. And he called her-what was it again, Lothiriel?"
"Byrnihtu cwén. Prickly princess," she admits, giving her brother a dark look. "Which is now meant in fondness."
Andrethon gives another impressive groan. "Valar help me. Is there anything else I should know before meeting with the council?"
Erchirion and Lothiriel exchange a look before giving mute shakes of their heads. Andrethon sighs, though something like mirth creeps back into his expression. "And to think, all these years it has been Amrothos who has been thought of as the child most likely to cause trouble."
Any lingering hope for a mundane, easy morning is dashed upon entering the council room.
The tables have been moved from their standard squared formation to two opposing sides. Andrethon and the other Gondorians sit at one table, his councilors at the other. They're all too absorbed in their own conversations to notice his arrival, and it takes the combination of him clearing his throat several times and Gamling finally crying, "Hail, Eomer King!" to claim their attention.
"Would someone care to explain why my council room has been rearranged into a battle formation?" Eomer asks. Erkenbrand waves him over to a high-backed chair, placed equidistant from both tables. There is a pause while he settles himself.
Dernhelm rises to his feet, looking sheepish. "We wanted to be sure our Gondorian visitors had their own space for the negotiations, sire."
"Which is appreciated, Lord Dernhelm," Andrethon says, though a few of the men at his side look vaguely mutinous, "though I will remind the council that we are all working towards a common goal."
"Which is?" Ordlac asks. "What have King Elessar and Prince Imrahil decreed?"
"King Elessar says he will defer to Prince Imrahil's wishes on the matter," the Pelargirian lord answers. "And to whatever the wishes of the council are. His only stipulation is that whatever solution is agreed upon is satisfactory to all involved and does nothing to jeopardize the friendship between our two countries."
Yes, that does sound very much like Aragorn. Diplomatic to the last, and generous to a fault. There are murmurs of approval from the council. Aragorn, at least, is well-known and well-liked by them. It's unlikely that any of them will take issue with such an offer.
"We thank the High King for being so accommodating," says Erkenbrand. "Though Ordlac's earlier question stands. What has Prince Imrahil said on the matter?"
One of the other Gondorians-Eomer has yet to learn all of their names, though they are, by appearance alone, likely all Pelargirian as well-hands Andrethon a thick letter. From his position, Eomer can just make out the seal of the House of Dol Amroth: an elegant swan in blue wax. He's seen it before, on Imrahil's other letters, and on the delicate silver ring Lothiriel wears on her right hand.
Andrethon clears his throat before saying, "Greetings to Eomer King and the Honorable Council of the Riddermark. I wish this letter was written under better circumstances, but, in the words of one of your own countrymen: if wishes were horses, then beggars could ride. Let me begin with apologizing for the behavior of my son."
There are more favorable murmurs from the council-Imrahil, too, is well-liked, and his straightforward tone is something that any Eorlingas can appreciate.
"Neither I nor my wife have never known Erchirion to be so rash," Andrethon continues on. "Betrothals in Gondor, as you likely have come to learn, are not entered into without approval from both families. King Elessar has made me aware that the tradition is quite different in Rohan. Regardless, when he first wrote to us of the Lady Lisswyn, we expressed joy at his having found such an upstanding, kind woman to introduce to us as a potential bride."
More murmuring, and Eomer lifts a hand to his mouth to hide a smile when Eothred puffs up with unabashed pride.
"However, we, much like our son, now find ourselves in a terrible position. Do we eschew our people's traditions entirely and give them our blessing to wed without having met Lady Lisswyn? Or do we add insult to injury to the Mark's own ways, by insisting they remain unwed even with the child to consider?"
The room is eerily silent besides the sound of Andrethon's even voice. How the man is remaining so calm is beyond Eomer. The tension in the room is nearly choking!
"Despite the irregularity surrounding this situation, neither Lady Dejah nor myself can imagine forbidding them to wed. Like any parents, all we have ever wanted is our son's happiness. If he has found it with the Lady Lisswyn, who are we to stop him? But, as I am sure you have all concluded, the situation is not as simple as that. Erchirion has behaved inappropriately, both by our standards and yours. Were he in the position to rule as Lord of Dol Amroth after me, many lords in our own land would likely be calling for his removal from the line of succession.
Mercifully, that is not an issue, as he is our second son. Our eldest, Elphir, has been wed for years now, and already has two children himself. But the question remains: what is to be done?"
Andrethon pauses, looking up from the letter to meet the eyes of the council members. "There is more, but I would like to hear your thoughts on the matter, my lords."
"Per our own ways, we have no right to stop them from marrying," Ordlac says. "Lisswyn has said, time and time again, that the Prince is the man she wants."
"But he has not behaved honorably!" Baldred adds. "Not towards Lisswyn and certainly not towards the Mark."
Andrethon nods, surprising Eomer. "That we can agree on. However, foolish though my nephew has been, he is no rogue. He seeks to wed the lady, even at the detriment of his own standing in Gondor. And, as you said, his behavior has scarcely won him any friends here. So we will have to come some sort of compromise to reach an agreeable solution. What would the lady's family have of the House of Dol Amroth?"
The council turns their attention to Eothred, who is draped lazily over his chair, as is his wont. Eomer suppresses a groan-would it kill him to sit more formally in the midst of such a serious discussion? "Tradition calls for a bride-price," he drawls. "Even the poorest of farm-boys would give one, if they court with honorable intentions. I'd imagine a prince can, too."
Eomer does not hold back his groan this time. Erkenbrand, and at least three other council members and a handful of the Gondorians, look similarly aghast at the blatant insult offered. Andrethon, on the other hand, looks unruffled.
"Of course. My brother-in-law has included a list of potential options for a bride-price. He was unsure what the standard is in the Riddermark. Gondor's own vary by region. Dol Amroth's traditional gifts often include a boat, but I think that might be rather useless on the Plains."
That draws a smattering of nervous laughter from the room.
The aforementioned lists are passed between the tables. Eothred takes them, pointedly elbowing Dernhelm aside as he does so.
"There is still the matter of where they will live once they're wed," says Erkenbrand.
"Prince Imrahil and Princess Dejah cannot offer them a place in Dol Amroth currently," one of the other Gondorians answers. "Not while their two younger children are still unwed. It would make it too difficult to find acceptable matches for them."
Andrethon's gaze flicks to Eomer. "Well, for Amrothos, perhaps. Apparently my niece has no need of any more suitors."
All of the eorlingas in the room snicker, while the Gondorians look decidedly confused. Eomer can feel the heat of a blush creeping up his neck. "This meeting is to discuss Erchirion and Lisswyn's situation. Not...other matters."
"Of course, Eomer King," Andrethon agrees. "Though I hope, at some point, we might arrange one to discuss other matters."
Eomer's palms are sweating. Bema, he has not been this nervous since joining his first eored! "Yes," he murmurs, all too aware of the council's attention on them.
"Excellent," the older man says. He turns back to the table. "As for the matter of where they will reside, my older brother-Lord Hannor of Pelargir-is happy to offer Erchirion a position in our patrol. A household would be included in this, of course, though I cannot pretend that it is the safest of occupations. Even with the end of the War, there is still danger of raiders from the South."
"Why does your brother make them welcome when the Prince's own parents cannot?" Ordlac asks.
Andrethon's smile is sharp. "Pelargir is not like the rest of Gondor, my lord. We do not put as much stock in appearances and propriety as the rest of our countrymen. Family is more important than what the society matrons will titter about in Minas Tirith's halls. Imrahil and Dejah would be putting themselves and their other children in difficult situation were they to allow Erchirion to come home, consequence free, no matter how much they would like to do so. Welcoming Erchirion and his lady poses no risk to us."
"Pelargir is also leagues away from the Mark. Even more so than Dol Amroth," Eothred interjects. "Is this the only choice for them?"
"No," Eomer adds before any of the other council members can speak. "My earlier offer stands. The Mark is in desperate need for more riders in our eoreds. Should Erchirion and Lisswyn choose to remain here, there is room for him in Aldburg. Though it should be noted he would begin as a eallgréne astígend, and would be treated as such."
The Gondorians frown at the use of Rohirric, but Andrethon says, smoothly, "Erchirion is a masterful horseman. I am sure he would not stay that way for long, though I well understand the intent for him to earn back your countrymen's trust and respect. We thank you for the offer, Eomer King."
"Imrahil has been very generous with the proposed bride-prices," Eothred murmurs. "I suppose he'll be wanting a dowry in return?"
"A dowry?" Splutters Baldred. "The Prince is hardly owed such a thing after behaving in such a manner!"
"Here, here!" Cries another council member.
"Baldred, Elfhelm," Erkenbrand starts to say, "that is not your decision-"
"I would hope," Andrethon interrupts, "that the council would be a little more forgiving on that score. Especially considering that it is in their best interest to keep relations between Dol Amroth and Meduseld warm."
Nervousness twists, abruptly, into panic. Eomer can see how easy it would be for negotiations to go south. To ruin not only Erchirion and Lisswyn's happiness, but also any chance of Imrahil looking favorably on his own courtship of Lothiriel.
"No one here wants to lose the friendship of Dol Amroth," says Torfrith before he can gather his mad-dash thoughts. "A dowry is a traditional request. But I would hope Prince Imrahil is aware of the difference between what such a thing looks like in the Mark and not take it as an insult should it fail to match Gondor's own standards."
"Imrahil hardly expects a shower of jewels or acres of land. He only wants to be sure that this marriage is entered into on equal footing."
"I'd expect no less from Imrahil," Eothred says. "Your brother-in-law is an honorable man and my family is lucky to be connected with his."
Eomer relaxes. Eothred is nothing if not honest, and his endorsement of the eldest Prince of Dol Amroth instantly smooths the Gondorians' ruffled feathers.
"He feels much the same, as does my sister," says Andrethon. "Regardless of the unorthodox way this marriage has come about, that is something you should all know."
"Should we present the options to the happy couple, then?" Erkenbrand asks, clearly also relieved at the turn of events.
"If the council has no objections."
Eomer looks at the council-a few still look disgruntled, but none seem likely to voice it. After a pause, Andrethon stands and offers his hand to Eothred. "To our nieces and nephews, then. May they one day stop giving us grey hair."
Eothred grins. "Yours must be worse than mine. There's not a hair left on your head, grey or otherwise, my friend."
The council slowly trickles out-some stop to talk to their Gondorian counterparts, others wondering about what Merthwyn will serve for the noon-meal today. Eomer stands, stretches, intending to find out about the meal himself, when a hand claps down on his shoulder.
It's Andrethon, who fixes him with a serious expression, though Eomer thinks-thinks, because for all of the similarity of appearance to the Lady Dejah, he doesn't truly know the man-he spots amusement in his eyes.
"One more thing, Eomer King," he says. "Until the meeting takes place to discuss the other matter concerning a member of my family, I'd ask you to refrain from being alone with my niece."
"I-" Eomer starts, but Bema, what is he supposed to say? Of course is untruthful, mind your own business is disrespectful, and we'll do as we please is unthinkable. But so is the idea of not being near Lothiriel-not being able to talk to her, tease her until she blushes, draw out her stories and ideas and everything else he's come to love about her-
"Valar, man, I'm not saying you can't speak to her," Andrethon interrupts, now smiling. Apparently, the panic had been very clear on Eomer's face. "Just do so with a chaperone."
Eomer is fairly certain he's never loathed a word more than chaperone.
"Alright," he begrudgingly agrees.
Andrethon's smile widens. "Good. And keep in mind, sire, I know exactly how bad Lothiriel is at lying."
That statement, of all the things he's heard today, is the most nerve-wracking of all.
Lothiriel has just finished measuring thread for fresh stitches for Duilin when there is an abrupt knock on the door of his shop. It's hardly the first time a patient has turned up out of the blue, but her teacher is already off tending to an injury-one of the stable boys had broken his arm while scaling one of the watchtowers on a dare-and she has never had to face the prospect alone before.
But she has been taught well enough that she knows she need not fret. She pulls the door open, expecting a sick child or an injured craftsman, only to find Eothain anxiously scuffing his foot in the dirt.
"Oh," she says. They have not spoken since he'd punched Erchirion and announced Eomer's courtship of her to the entirety of Edoras. And Valar help her, she is still angry with him.
Though, it is hard to be so right now, when he looks so forlorn in the doorframe.
"The council and your uncle have reached an agreement," he says, as subdued as Lothiriel's ever seen him. "I thought perhaps you'd like to be there when Erchirion and Lisswyn hear it?"
Despite her lingering anger, Lothiriel cannot help but smile, just a little. "You thought or Wilfled did?"
Eothain huffs a laugh. "I will admit that it was her idea. Most of my good ones stem from her."
"I am not surprised," she says. "Give me a minute to leave a note for Duilin and I will come."
He does, hovering anxiously as she writes a quick message and bundles herself into her cloak. A small, mean part of her is tempted to refuse the elbow he offers her, but she thinks of Wilfled, of Eofor and Blodwyn, and slips her arm through his.
The walk is...oh Valar, it is awkward, so incredibly uncomfortable at first, because she cannot ever remember a time when Eothain has been so silent. And she cannot think of a way to start a conversation that does not seem false.
"Bema áhilpeþ mec," Eothain suddenly groans, startling her. "This shouldn't be so damnably difficult. Lothiriel, I am sorry. Mad as I was-am-at your brother, it was wrong of me to drag you and Eomer into this mess."
Yes it was, she thinks but can't bring herself to say. Berating him would do little good. It isn't as if he can go back and keep himself from speaking and she cares for Eothain too much to truly hold a grudge against him. "Thank you for apologizing. But it would have come out eventually," Lothiriel murmurs. "I suppose it was a miracle no one had noticed before."
Eothain's face creases into his much more familiar smile. "Oh, glómmung cwén, everyone noticed. They just didn't think the two of you had, as well."
Lothiriel gasps, dismayed. "What?"
Eothain chuckles. "You are hardly subtle, Lothiriel! Even if your blushes didn't give you away, that cloak of yours is certainly too fine a gift for anyone other than a suitor to have given you. And Eomer is even worse-do you know I watched him walk into one of Meduseld's beams the other day, because he was too busy staring at you to watch where he was going?"
"He did not," she protests, smiling slightly at the mental image despite herself.
"He did," insists Eothain. "Nearly laughed myself sick, which he did not appreciate. He is as upset with me as you are and that did little to help."
Lothiriel frowns. "Have you apologized to him?"
The captain's face contorts in a truly impressive grimace. "Ah. Not yet. I-I feel I have reason to be displeased with him as well."
She can guess why-Eomer's offer to Erchirion about a position in Aldburg's eored. But such a role will keep him, Lisswyn, Darwyn, and the unborn babe somewhat close by. Surely that is to be wished for?
Eothain winces when she says so. "Of course it is. But I cannot help but feel-I know it isn't logical-"
Emotions are rarely convenient, Eowyn had told her just days before, and Lothiriel can only agree.
"Then you should wait and apologize when you are truly ready," she says. "I think it is probably best to let Eomer's anger simmer anyways."
Eothain snorts. "You really do know him well, Lothiriel."
"I would hope so," she says, "I love him, after all."
She stops stock-still almost as soon as the words have left her mouth. Oh, Valar, she has not even said as much to Eomer himself! Eothain's grin is back, wider than ever. "Do you, glómmung cwén?"
"Eothain," Lothiriel sighs. "Please-"
"And have you told him? I imagine not-he'd be insufferable if you had. He might even sing and dance his way through the hall-"
Lothiriel claps a hand to Eothian's mouth. "Hush."
He rolls his eyes, but she can feel his smile under her hand. They've reached his and Wilfled's house by now, and he ushers her inside. They're the last to arrive and Wilfled greets her with a kiss to her cheek while she passes a squirming Blodwyn off to her husband.
"Are you friends again?" She asks.
"Yes, yes, you were right, as usual," Eothain grumbles, though there's no missing the affection in his voice.
Lothiriel shakes her head before drifting over to press kisses of her own to both her brother and uncle's cheeks. "Eothain tells me you and the council have reached an agreement?"
"Of a sort," Eothred chimes in. "Much must be decided by Lisswyn and the pup there."
Erchirion's expression sours a little at the unwanted nickname, but he lifts Lisswyn's hand to press a kiss to its back regardless. She smiles at him, her other hand moving softly over the just-now-visible curving of her stomach. "We are ready, Uncle."
"Ah," Eothred says, good-humor bleeding in despite everything, "you'll have to specify which uncle you mean now, Lisswyn. You've got another one to consider now."
They all groan, even Andrethon, though he smiles as he does so. "Your parents have given their approval, Erchirion, and the council has as well."
Both Erchirion and Lisswyn slump in relief, and Darwyn-despite being truly unable to fully grasp the magnitude of that-gives a hoot of happiness.
"But you cannot come back to Dol Amroth," Andrethon continues on. "It is not banishment, nor is it permanent, but they fear….well, they fear that you two being there will make it harder for Amrothos and Lothiriel."
Wilfled frowns. "For Amrothos and Lothiriel? Whatever for?"
"To find spouses," Eothred answers. "Though," at this, he winks in Lothiriel's direction, "I do not think they need worry on at least one account. But apparently those Gondorians can be mighty stuffy about marrying into families that have had anything remotely scandalous happen to them. Especially if it seems if the family is trying to sweep it under the rug."
"But that's ridiculous," Wilfled argues, "Erchirion and Lisswyn's actions have no bearing on either Lothiriel or her other brother-"
"Yes," Lothiriel agrees, "but not everyone in Gondor will see it that way."
Lisswyn loops her arms around Erchirion's waist. "I am so sorry, mðdleóf-"
"Do not apologize," he interrupts gently. "It is not your doing. Much as I love Dol Amroth, I love you and the thought of our life together more."
Eothain rolls his eyes, earning a swat from his wife. "If not Dol Amroth, then where?"
"That is their first choice," Andrethon says. "Hannor has offered you a position in the border patrol, Erchirion. And Eomer King reiterated his previous offer in Alburg's eored."
Eothain's jaw clenches, Wilfled looks at the couple with wide, hopeful eyes, and Lothiriel twists the end of her braid, anxious. This is no small decision they will make. Serving in the border patrols or the eored each have their own dangers, their own rewards. Pelargirian society would likely not bat an eye at the strangeness surrounding their wedding, but they would also be leagues away from anyone Lisswyn knows. The concept of a cumendre would be entirely foreign when the babe came. And Erchirion is not a warrior in the same way of her Southern relatives.
On the other hand, it would be no less difficult for Erchirion to remain in Rohan. There are many eorlingas-his own-soon-to-be brother-in-law included-who still mistrust and dislike his behavior, despite Lisswyn's adamant defense of him. And even with the War over, there were still rogue bands of Orcs and goblins that could raid towns at any time.
Both are dangerous lives. Lives he and Lisswyn would likely not have been forced into, should they simply been more careful, less lovestruck-
Oh. Lothiriel supposes she can understand why Eothain is so angry.
Erchirion and Lisswyn's lowly whispered conversation peters out. They turn, hand in hand, to face the rest of the room.
"We will take Eomer's generous offer in Aldburg," Erchirion says. "With all due respect to Uncle Hannor, I do not think I am truly suited to be a member of the border patrol."
Andrethon nods. "So be it. Lord Eothred and I will inform the council. What of the wedding?"
"It should be in Edoras," Lisswyn says, her usually soft voice threaded through with steely resolve. "Unusual as this may be, we are not ashamed. And people should know it."
Andrethon locks eyes with Erchirion. "You realize this will not give your parents, Amrothos, or Elphir time to travel to the wedding?"
"Yes," he says, "but to delay any longer will only look like further insult to those who already see our situation as one."
Lothiriel bites her lip. Naneth was going to be heartbroken-but there is nothing for it. They would have to wed soon, before Lisswyn truly started to show. Dol Amroth was simply too far away.
"There is still the matter of the bride-price and dowry…"
Lothiriel's attention drifts as items and goods are thrown back and forth between her uncle and Eothred. Erchirion and Lisswyn will remain in Rohan. And she is happy for them! Happy that at least some of their uncertainty has been resolved. But...
It will be the first time her brother will not live in the same building as her, let alone the same country. And if-even if everything she hopes for with Eomer comes true, it will still be months, if not years before they themselves can wed. And it will take even longer than that for Erchirion to earn the trust of the eorlingas back, and if Amrothos continues to drag his feet about finding a bride it will make it impossible for them to visit Dol Amroth, which will break Naneth's heart even more, and-
"Lothiriel," Erchirion says, startling her out of her rambling thoughts. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," she blurts. "I was-"
"Fretting," her brother finishes for her. "I know that look."
She blushes. Wilfled tucks her arm through hers in a show of support. "Who can blame her? It does not help that it feels as if we have been cooped up in the house for months, with all of this going on."
"You all need not stay for this," Andrethon offers. "We all have good intentions, here, and the most important aspects have already been decided."
"I may take the children to the square to collect Eofor," Wilfled says. "Do you mind, Lisswyn?"
"Not at all-Darwyn could use the exercise," she answers, poking her giggling daughter's cheek.
Lothiriel opens her mouth to offer to accompany them and suddenly finds her arms full of her cloak.
"Here, glómmung cwén," Eothain says. "I think I know what might help cure your worries."
Puzzled but intrigued, she accepts the cloak without protest. Once Darwyn and Blodwyn are appropriately bundled up, Erchirion, Lisswyn, Andrethon, and Eothred wave them all off.
Wilfled has Blodwyn balanced on her hip and Darwyn's hand firmly in hers by the time they reach the square. She kisses Lothiriel's cheek and then Eothain's, and murmurs, "Behave yourself, please," loud enough that even Lothiriel can hear.
"Where's the fun in that, swéte?" Eothain asks.
Wilfled rolls her eyes before continuing deeper into the market. Lothiriel scarcely has time to offer Darwyn a wave goodbye before Eothain is all but dragging her along the well-worn path to Meduseld. Now, she begins to suspect she knows what-or rather, who-Eothain is leading her towards.
"Eothain," she says, "while I appreciate the effort, you should know-"
"That you are not to be alone with Eomer under any circumstances without a chaperone," he finishes, grinning at her surprised expression. "Heard it from your uncle myself. Luckily, I am more than willing to fill the role."
He ignores her admittedly feeble protests, propelling them up the stairs and into the main hall. There are a few people scattered at the tables-Cwenhild and Gamling occupy one, a few councilors at another, and, of course, Eomer at another. The whole hall stops to stare at them-Lothiriel hopes is because of the dramatic way Eothain has chosen to fling the doors open rather than because of the red she knows she's turning.
"Merthwyn!" Eothain cries. "We have a beautiful lady here who is in desperate need of food and a mug of the Mark's finest!"
"And I suppose you'll be wanting something too, eh?" The boldweard asks. She chucks Lothiriel gently under the chin as she passes. "Settle in and I'll have something brought out."
Eomer offers Lothiriel a small smile before turning a much more exasperated expression on Eothain. "Must you make a scene everywhere you go?"
"Why ask questions you already know the answers to?" Eothain says, lowering himself on to the bench across from Eomer, waving Lothiriel around the table to sit beside him.
Lothiriel does, resting a hand on Eomer's shoulder as she swings her leg over the bench. She can feel the tension there and she is tempted, so very tempted, to let her hand linger, to lean over and press her face into the curve between his shoulder and neck and just breathe. Just for a moment. But despite the innocent intent, that is certainly something her uncle would deem inappropriate.
Still, that does not stop her from brushing her hand against his under the table. She sighs, relieved, when his fingers lace through hers.
"A long day?" She asks.
Eomer nods. "What of Erchirion and Lisswyn?"
"They chose Aldburg."
"Mm," he hums. "I thought they might." He pauses, looking at her closely. "Does that not please you?"
Cursing her open face, she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear with her free hand. "I-it does. I know they will be happier here than they would have been in Pelargir. But...I...Erchirion will be so far away," she murmurs, voice tiny. "Is it selfish of me to be sad about that?"
Eomer's fingers tighten around hers. "If it is, then I am guilty of being selfish for the same reason. Happy as I am for Eowyn, the idea of her not being down the hall is discomforting to me."
Relief blooms in her chest, heady and relaxing. "Yes, that is exactly it. Discomforting."
Eomer smiles, crookedly, and her heart squeezes almost painfully with love. She smiles back at him, wishing for all the world that she could lean forward to press her mouth to his, but a not-so-quiet cough from across the table reminds her that they're not alone and certainly not in a private place.
Eomer frowns at his captain, though it's not as a severe expression as she knows it could be. "Is there something you needed, Eothain?"
"No, but you are in need of a chaperone," he chirps, unfazed. "And as I said to Lothiriel, I am more than happy to fill the role. For her sake, at least."
Eomer's frown deepens, but Lothiriel thinks that the fact that Eothain is willing to tease is a sign that his forgiveness is not as far off as he had implied earlier. "Thank you, Eothain," she says.
He winks at her, ignoring Eomer's still pointed-glare. Merthwyn arriving with two full plates of food and a jug of ale distracts him, and Lothiriel takes the opportunity to quickly lift Eomer's hand to her mouth to press a quick kiss to his knuckles.
"What was that for?" He asks.
"Must I have a reason?" She teases, gratified when what is visible of his face behind his beard pinks.
"Of course not-"
"Ah, but I do have one, if you'd like to hear it."
Eomer arches an eyebrow, clearly mystified by her sudden giddiness, but not necessarily displeased. "By all means."
"You told me something the other day," she murmurs, dropping her voice enough that even Eothain, just across the table, would have to strain to hear her, "and I wanted you to know that it is very much reciprocated."
Eomer swallows so heavily she can almost hear it. "I-Lothiriel, speak plainly, do-do you-"
"Love you," she whispers, knowing her face is pink again. For once, she cannot be bothered by it. "Very much."
Eomer is frozen for a moment-not long enough for her to worry, because she remembers doing something similar-before he gives a helpless sort of laugh and reaches up to cup her face in his hands. Lothiriel beams back at him, tears of the happiest pressing at her eyes.
"A-hem," coughs Eothain.
They both ignore him, though somehow they manage to retain enough sense that to kiss-no matter how happy the reason-in a somewhat crowded hall would certainly bring her uncle's censure down upon their heads.
"Oh, thank Bema," says Eowyn, startling them out of their happy daze. She drops down on Lothiriel's other side, reaching for a bit of bread from her plate. "I thought that would take much longer."
"Eowyn," Eomer grumbles, reluctantly dropping his hands to a more appropriate place. Or, at least a more discreet one, as his finds Lothiriel's under the table once more. Lothiriel is too happy to truly be bothered, even when Eowyn smirks. She leans her head against Eomer's shoulder, just for a moment, and smiles at the sensation of his thumb running back and forth along her index finger.
Which is, of course, the moment Andrethon and Eothred make their own appearance in the hall. Eothred looks incredibly amused, but Andrethon's expression is one of exasperation.
"I see that that meeting is going to need to be sooner rather than later," he says.
Author's Note: So I'm sure a few people are wondering "Why is their a bride-price and a dowry? Aren't they the same thing?" They are not!
To quote an excellent article on the difference: "The bride price is what it sounds like—a specific price (property, money, etc.) paid by the bridegroom (or his family) to the bride's parents. Depending on the society and the period, this could be either a set price for all brides (virgins having a higher price) or a negotiated price based on the perceived worth of the girl (beautiful or especially industrious women being more highly valued)." Now, in a modern context, this can easily be perceived as sexist-as if the groom is "purchasing" the bride. But a large majority of historians that I found have interpreted it in a much more palatable way-the bride-price is a way for a suitor to prove that he can provide and care for his future wife. In modern terms, it would be the equivalent of a family asking that a man have a stable job and income before marrying into their family.
The dowry, on the other hand, is money and goods that a bride brings to her husband as part of the marriage. It's supposed to aid in the building of their new, shared household AND-in the sad cases where a husband were to die very soon into a new marriage-serve as an almost "inheritance" to the newly widowed woman.
I chose to include both in Too Wise, because it just seemed fitting given the natures of both Gondor and Rohan's societies. If I have been misinformed in some way regarding bride-prices and dowries, feel free to shoot me a message or leave a comment!
On a more story related note: So Erchirion and Lisswyn's situation has been (mostly) resolved, though it certainly won't be all smooth sailing from here on out. Eothain and Eomer have yet to mend their friendship entirely-though it will happen, don't worry-and poor Andrethon has a LOT more on his plate than Imrahil and Aragorn knew of. (He'll handle it in the way he deems fit, which will be...interesting, for all involved.)
And yes, our favorite idiots in love remain idiots in love. And while I can promise a happy ending-I'm not a monster, I didn't write 150K words for that NOT to happen-I can also promise there's a few more twists and turns before this story reaches its conclusion. Which should be, by the way, sooner rather than later. I'm reluctant to put a chapter limit on myself, because that's a surefire way for me to add 1000 more words, but. Soon(ish).
(Also shameless plug: there's going to be a MUCH shorter sequel/epilogue to Too Wise as well, so keep an eye out for that!)
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, friends! See y'all next time-which should be soon(ish)!
Vocab:
eallgréne astígend: green rider, youth, lowly ranked
Bema áhilpeþ mec: Bema help me
mðdleóf: my love, beloved