PROMPT: Arranged Marriage AU
(It should be noted I have plans to make this into a whole Eomer-and-Lothiriel-have-a-political-marriage-preWar fic because I have 0 self control. So yeah.)
"My lady! My lady, come quickly!"
Lothiriel blinks in surprise as Layfled all but yanks her towards the doors. It is not like the girl to be so improper, nor hasty, and alarm begins to set in.
"Layfled, what is so urgent?"
"Grima is needling Lord Eomer again! I fear he will not keep his temper this time."
That is cause for fear, for there is no one in Edoras that Wormtongue dislikes so thoroughly as Eomer. Whether it is because of his renown as a warrior, his position as heir-presumptive to the throne, or the fact that there is no one in Middle Earth that Eomer dislikes so much as Wormtongue, Lothiriel cannot say, but he should no better than to tangle with the King's slippery advisor. Grima has been amassing more and more power in recent months and there's no telling what he plans to do with it, besides ill.
So Lothiriel hurries, heart in her throat, towards the main hall of Meduseld.
The sight that greets her is a terrifying one: her husband, with his arm at Wormtongue's throat, hissing something so angry and so cruel that she nearly flinches, even though there is no denying that the sentiment was likely justly earned.
"Too long have you watched my sister," she hears him hiss, "too long have you haunted her steps."
"Eomer-" She starts to say, so afraid for him that she can barely speak, but it is too late. Some of Grima's men are already gripping his shoulders, pulling him off the slighter man.
"You see much, Eomer, son of Eomund," the snake is saying, his tone filled with a hateful sort of glee. "Too much."
Lothiriel gasps as one of the men punches Eomer in the stomach. "Stop! Stop this at once!"
They all turn to her, even Grima, and she forces herself not to flinch under his beady stare.
"Lothiriel," Eomer starts, "go, do not concern yourself-"
"Do not-! You are my husband and my utmost concern," she interrupts.
"Touching," Grima drawls. "And good timing, my lady, for you will not have to hear of your husband's punishment from any false source."
"Punishment? For what?"
"For warmongering, to start. For failing to serve his King in the way he requires-"
Eomer snarls. "It is not I who is failing him, wyrm-"
"No one can question his loyalty! He is Rohan's greatest protector-"
"You are young," Grima interrupts, "and biased, I'm afraid. Too long has your husband been given a pass on his more...questionable activities due to his cousin's influence. But now, with Theodred gone, our King's eyes have been opened to what he truly is."
Lothiriel's hands tremble with the effort of not slapping him. "You dare. This is overreaching, Grima, even for one such as you."
"Oh, I have only begun. I am glad you are here, my lady. It will spare me the trouble of having to inform you of your husband's banishment at a later time."
The air is all but forced from her lungs. Banishment!
"You have no authority here!" Eomer cries, struggling against the men who hold him. "Your orders mean nothing!"
"Oh, but this order does not come from me," says Grima. He pulls out a roll of vellum and unrolls it with a gleeful flourish. "It comes from the King. He signed it this morning."
"Theoden King would never," Lothiriel says hotly, but the signature is there, stark against the paper, and she feels sick.
The men begin to drag Eomer away, looking far too happy to be doing so, and she darts forward.
"No! This is not right! How can you justify this?"
"My lady," Gamling is there, gently gripping her arm, "you cannot question the King's will."
"You call this Theoden's will? Banishing his sister-son, his heir, his greatest captain? It is Grima's will, not his!"
"My lady," says Grima, smiling in that horrible way of his, "I assure you I am more than happy to send you with your husband, if that is what you desire."
"No!" Eomer cries, still struggling against his captors and she shakes Gamling off long enough that she can reach for his hand. The men glare at her but her presence-her closeness-is enough to stop Eomer's angry fighting. She reaches for him but he is dragged out of her reach, just for spite.
"Give us a moment, for pity's sake!" She cries. "Have you no hearts?"
"Traitors deserve neither moments nor pity," intones Grima. "Surely you, as a daughter of princes, should understand that."
"Lothiriel, stay," Eomer says, agony clear in his voice, "you must stay where you are safe, I could not bear it otherwise-"
How can I feel safe knowing you are not, she thinks, but that will not help now.
"I will stay," she says, "and Eowyn will be with me-we will help each other, I swear-"
"You presume too much of your sister-in-law, my lady. Eowyn has responsibilities to her lord king, not to the foreign wife of a traitor-"
Eomer hisses again, something fierce and low in Rohirric and earns another swift punch to the stomach for his efforts. Lothiriel cannot help the whimper that tears itself from her throat. She steps up, unheading of Gamling's murmur for caution behind her-how can she focus on anything else other than her husband, her mighty, brave, strong, good, husband, being so unjustly treated?
She takes Eomer's face between her hands, ignoring the guards that keep her from embracing him the way she wants to.
"Stay safe," Lothiriel says, "you must promise me that you will be safe. That you will come back to me-"
"Lothiriel," he starts, his dark eyes bright with what must be tears, something she never could have fathomed before now. But she never thought Theoden could have been persuaded to think so poorly of him, never thought that Theodred would truly fall, never thought that Eowyn would turn so brittle-
"I love you," she manages to choke out, because if she does not say it now, she may never get the chance. "I love you, Eomer, be safe, please-"
She only gets one glimpse of his shocked expression before the guards haul him off in truth. Gamling is at her side faster than she can blink, standing steadfast between her and Grima's malevolent stare.
"Come away, my lady," he says, putting his arm around her shoulders in a way that makes her miss her father so suddenly she nearly weeps, "come away, you should not have to see this-"
"Oh, but she should," Grima murmurs. "Lest she forget that she is a guest of the House of Eorl. And must act accordingly."
Lothiriel has thought Grima vile the entirety of the time she's known him, but the hate that sears in her stomach now is like nothing else she's ever felt. She will not let him see her hurt, her fear. Not now. Not ever. For Eomer, for Eowyn, she must do that much. She must stand tall and strong against this poisonous creature.
"I am a member of the House of Eorl, Grima, son of Galmod. And a daughter of the House of Dol Amroth. I may not have the foresight that my cousin possesses but I say this now, without a doubt, that all the evil and pain you inflict on others will be brought back to you ten-fold." At this, she smiles, in that razorsharp way Ivriniel has always tried to teach her and has remained out of her grasp-until now. Perhaps it can only be brought on by one so loathsome. "And I very much look forward to that day, my lord."
Grima still looks too smug and satisfied, but she can see that she's shaken him, just a little.
So she turns on her heel, head held high, in search of Eowyn.