CHAPTER THREE
Lothíriel stared at herself in the looking glass. She turned this way and that, getting a view from every possible angle.
Éomer was going to be speechless.
Her damask silk dress and matching kirtle were a deep aqua, almost the color of the sea, with a dark blue pattern reminiscent of waves breaking across the shore. The colors brought out the blue flecks in her gray eyes. The tightly fitted sleeves came to a point past her wrist, lengthening her graceful arms. And the dress cinched in at her waist with an intricate silver belt shot through with pearls. With her thick dark curls secured in a beaded net and the neckline of her dress leaving nearly all her neck and shoulders bare, Lothíriel felt as desirable as any queen.
Her mother, at least, was pleased. Lady Aeardis smiled proudly as soon as Lothíriel peeked in her parents' room to beg for jewels.
"You look so beautiful, Lothíriel!" Aeardis said. She rushed over to embrace Lothíriel. "I'm very proud of you, my dear," she murmured. "You are a credit to us." She pulled back to look Lothíriel over. "But I guess you would like some jewels! Did you bring nothing to wear with this?"
Lothíriel glanced down and scuffed the floor with the toe of her shoe. "I thought I did," she said. "But it didn't seem right, in the end. Please, Naneth? I'm sure you have something…"
Aeardis smiled. "Of course I do. And I daresay you'll be well pleased with it, for it is the only thing I will consent to share." She went back to her jewelry box and rummaged for a minute. Lothíriel leaned against the window and stared down at the gardens. There was the willow tree where Æmma had been crying this morning.
"Here," Aeardis announced. She passed Lothíriel a matching set—necklace, earrings, and a ring all wrought in silver and set with pearls and sapphires.
"Oh, Naneth! Truly?" Lothíriel flung her arms around her mother's neck and showered her with grateful kisses. "Thank you, thank you!"
Laughing, Aeardis helped fasten the necklace as Lothíriel put on the ring and earrings.
"There," Aeardis said. "If every man in Emyn Arnen is not half in love with you at first sight, then I do not know men!"
. .
. .
Everyone in her family had tears in their eyes before Éowyn and Faramir's wedding ceremony was over. Even Amrothos blinked rapidly when the couple pledged their love and fidelity.
Lothíriel was smiling despite her tears. She took no small amount of pride in how well Éowyn looked with the white flowers twisted in her braids. With her flowing white gown and her river of golden hair, Éowyn looked like a princess from the ancient days. And Faramir, bless him, was beaming with shining eyes. When he finally kissed his bride, Erchirion let out a whoop along with half the hall. Lothíriel just laughed, giddy, as she leaned on Amrothos's arm.
Soon enough, the couple was escorted out for a brief period of privacy while an army of servants swarmed in to escort the guests to their seats. To her delight, Lothíriel was seated in clear view of the high table. Two seats in the middle were for Faramir and Éowyn when they returned, but on either side were the greatest lords of Gondor and Rohan. King Elessar, Queen Arwen, Imrahil, and Aeardis sat on one side; King Éomer, Lord Aldor, and another lord and lady Lothíriel didn't remember were on the other side.
Her brothers were loud and merry even before servants brought out wine, ale, and mead. Their table was full with other young people from Gondor and Rohan, including Æmma.
Æmma stole the seat by Lothíriel's side and scooted close. "You have not forgotten me, I hope?" she whispered.
"Of course not," Lothíriel said. She pressed her lips together and drew away. Did Æmma have no faith in her at all? Anyway, she had hoped to enjoy herself before carrying out her plan. If Æmma was going to breathe down her neck all night, she'd almost rather sit elsewhere.
But Æmma did not broach the topic again, and indeed she seemed as cheery as the rest of them. When Faramir and Éowyn returned from their privacy, she downed a whole glass of ale nearly as quick as Erchirion. Lothíriel stared at them all, marveling that they were all still standing, but her eyes soon slid to her cousin and his lovely bride ascending the dais. And from there, her eyes slid to Éomer as he stood to receive them.
For the first time today, she just looked at him. No calculating, no dissembling. No rapid thinking through her promise to Æmma. She just… looked.
Éomer's golden hair shone no less than Éowyn's. His kingly garb only accentuated his strong figure: his powerful shoulders, his great height, his long legs and strong arms. When he pulled back from kissing Éowyn's cheek, his bright eyes and smile nearly stopped Lothíriel's heart. Æmma was mad, totally mad for wanting to prevent the betrothal. What warm-blooded person would want to distance themselves from such a man?
And in what world would such a man fall prey to her simple trick?
Lothíriel quaffed her own wine with fervor to rival any of her brothers. There was no point in doubting herself. She'd given Æmma her word, and she would keep it. If what she had planned failed, she would try again and again until time ran out or she succeeded.
By the time the servants were clearing away the plates and the dancing had begun, a light, happy haze had settled over her. Her confidence was back, and she watched Éomer out of the corner of her eye, assessing him.
Éomer had stood out the first dance, but now he was dancing with Éowyn. The pair of them looked lovely: tall, blond, and elegant, they stepped flawlessly through a Gondorian court dance that had taken a frustratingly long time for Lothíriel to master. Only a slight furrowing of Éomer's brow gave a hint at how strange the dance must be to them.
The song neared its end, and Lothíriel edged from her spot at the side of the room to near where Éomer and Éowyn would finish. But there was no getting past the determined crowd of ladies who already stood in her way. Lothíriel was forced to watch, dismayed, as Éomer kissed his sister and turned to partner with Æmma, who shot Lothíriel a covert, murderous look as Lord Aldor handed her off.
When the music began again—this time a more lively Rohirric dance—Lothíriel sighed and drew back to lean against one of the great wooden pillars. The sight of all of the other women angling for Éomer's attention had given her pause. No doubt many of them, and some of their parents, had the same idea as herself. There were more coy glances and fluttering eyelashes here than she had ever seen before. Surely Éomer would be on his guard. Even now, dancing with Æmma, he had a studied look on his face. Wasn't he happy to be dancing with her?
"Lothíriel?"
Lothíriel jumped, but it was only Erchirion. "Oh," she said. "I didn't expect you."
"I guessed as much," he said, smiling. "Would you like to dance?"
She squeezed his offered hand with a bright smile. "Yes, please! But let's wait for one I know."
"The Northern dances are nothing to some of ours," Erchirion said. "But wait we shall." He tucked her hand into his elbow and tapped his foot to the music. He mostly watched the dancers, but he stole glances at Lothíriel. "You do look lovely tonight, sister. This is different than your usual style, isn't it?"
"Is it?" Lothíriel toyed with her neckline, not meeting her brother's eyes. "I only wanted to look as nice as I could for Faramir and Éowyn's sake."
"Well," Erchirion said, "I cannot fault you there." He did not sound particularly convinced, but he said no more.
Once the minstrels called a Gondorian song again, Lothíriel nearly dragged Erchirion down to the line of dancers. When Queen Arwen appeared beside her, Lothíriel dropped into a sudden curtsey. Arwen smiled at her, and then Lothíriel realized that her queen was partnered with Éomer. She blanched.
Erchirion was busy congratulating Éomer, giving Lothíriel just enough time to rub some color back into her cheeks. She did not look at Éomer, instead focusing all her attention on her brother for the first part of the song.
Then, the music shifted, and Lothíriel had to cross the line by catching hold of Éomer's hand. She could barely bring herself to smile up at him as they clasped hands, but when she did, she nearly faltered.
Éomer looked exhausted. Not tired, for his steps were smooth and light, but as though another moment feigning joy would steal the life out of him.
But the moment passed, and when Lothíriel settled into her new place, she could see no trace of weariness on Éomer's face. He did frown a little when he noticed her staring at him, and she pressed her lips together in as much a smile as she could manage.
The dance went on forever after that, and Lothíriel felt worse and worse. How could she have conspired against Éomer at such a time as this? However happy he must be for Éowyn, her wedding signaled a change that he was not likely to recover from anytime soon. Hadn't she told Éowyn just this morning that Éomer had it worse?
And she had hoped to use tonight to spoil his plans.
When the dance finally ended, Lothíriel thanked Erchirion and fled back to a spot near the side of the room, avoiding the gaze of any man who tried to catch her eye. She grabbed a goblet of wine from a servant, less to drink and more to hold between her and anyone else. Leaning against the wall, eyes downcast, she hoped she presented a sufficiently uninviting picture.
She did glance every so often at Éomer. He had smiled when he kissed Éowyn earlier, but now he was stern and foreboding. The ladies he danced with were either cheerful or coy, but none could tease a smile from him. Not even Æmma, who to be fair was probably not trying at all. She was as sullen as Éomer.
Lothíriel haunted the edges of the hall, only venturing to the center of the room for a series of dances with Amrothos, Faramir, and finally her father.
When Imrahil escorted her off the floor, he lingered by her. "You are too shy tonight," he chided. "If you were your usual self, you would be the fairest maiden here."
"Thank you, Adar," she said. "But I don't care to cast any aspersions on my new cousin."
Imrahil chuckled and patted her cheek. "Wise girl."
As soon as he went off to claim a dance with his wife, Lothíriel sighed. She craned her neck to to catch a glimpse of Éomer's partner; it was one of Arwen's other ladies, Zamîn, who had been sharing Lothíriel's room since her arrival two days back. Zamîn was even younger than Lothíriel. Her twentieth birthday had only been a month ago, yet here she was, shooting hopeful looks at the king of Rohan.
Lothíriel shook her head. There was no reason for her to be bitter. Zamîn was pretty and well-bred, and Éomer was handsome, noble, and—to common knowledge, at least—unattached. Why shouldn't Zamîn, or anyone else, try for him? No other single man in the room, her own brothers included, was his equal in looks, valor, or rank.
But however pretty his partner, Éomer still looked as though the weight of the great vaulted hall rested entirely on his broad shoulders. Éowyn, sitting up on the dais with Faramir, was watching her brother with clouded eyes. She'd noticed it too, Lothíriel realized.
That settled it. There was no way she could enact her plan tonight. Her promise to Æmma loomed in the back of her mind like a dark beast, but she pushed it aside. Æmma could not be suffering more tonight than Éomer was.
Lothíriel stood on tiptoes to find one of her brothers. Erchirion was close at hand, and he soon caught her eye and came over.
"Did you want to dance again?" he asked.
"No, no. I want you to get Éomer to come talk to me."
Erchirion's eyebrows shot up, and a sly look crossed his face. "Really?"
"It's not like that," she protested, flicking his sleeve. "But I am done dancing, and if he wants an excuse to escape the floor, I am a very handy one."
Her brother laughed. "He has more attention tonight than any man has a right to! Why should he want to leave all his admirers now?"
"Does he look happy to you?" she asked pointedly. Erchirion looked Éomer over from their safe distance and frowned, but did not argue. "He's happy for his sister, but she's his only family left. This can't be easy."
"No," Erchirion said. He studied Lothíriel with a furrowed brow. "It can't be."
"Anyway, no one can accuse him of being ungallant if he's busy with me."
Erchirion smiled. "No, they can't. Alright, I'll bring him over. But don't misbehave!"
"Me? Misbehave?" Lothíriel feigned a wounded expression, and her brother laughed as he left her. She watched him closely as he dawdled by the edge of the floor among the ladies vying for a dance, and when the current song came to a close he quickly scooped Éomer up.
Lothíriel swallowed and bit her lip. Was this going to be a stupid impulse like her promise to Æmma? Éomer was already headed her way; it was too late to check her hair. She twisted her hands together behind her back.
"Éomer, you know my sister Lothíriel," Erchirion said. He presented Éomer to her with a shallow bow.
"Of course," Éomer said. "Good evening, Lady Lothíriel."
Belatedly, Lothíriel remembered to hold out her hand, and Éomer clasped it politely. Apart from during her dance with Erchirion, this was the only time they had touched. It was its own kind of thrill. Éomer's hand was large and warm around hers.
"Good evening, King Éomer," she said. She pulled her hand back as soon as Éomer loosened his grip; she could hardly bear to touch him. If she did, surely he would think her as obsessive as the other ladies.
"Excuse me," Erchirion said, "I have yet to claim the honor of a dance with my new cousin!"
Éomer raised his eyebrows at her as soon as Erchirion was gone. His stern demeanor was thoroughly off-putting; she couldn't imagine why so many people were still watching him.
"Would you like to dance, my lady?" he asked.
"No," she answered. "I thought—" She flushed, but carried on, a little quieter than before. "I thought you might like a break."
He blinked. "I see." He scratched his bearded cheek and stared down at her with mild bemusement. "Thank you," he said at last. "Was it so obvious?"
Relief washed over her. He wasn't offended! Praise Elbereth.
"I don't think so," she said. "But… I said to Éowyn this morning that I thought you had it worse than she did."
"How do you mean?"
"She is a stranger to Gondor yet," Lothíriel explained. "But she will have many new diversions. I expect your home will seem empty. It's easier to start afresh than to suffer through abandonment."
Éomer's keen eyes were fixed on hers; his lips were slightly parted. Lothíriel toyed with her bracelet, and after a moment Éomer remembered himself.
"I think you are right," he said. "All in all, I would rather keep the hardships to myself than to have Éowyn suffer."
"A very noble sentiment," she declared. "But it's hardly good to be deprived of all difficulties, you know. It makes you think you can do anything."
A smile ghosted past his lips, but his malaise was not gone for long. "Indeed."
"But it was a lovely ceremony," Lothíriel chirped. "There's nothing like watching a happy couple be married, don't you think?"
"Certainly not," he said. "And I have never seen such a happy couple in my life."
Lothíriel beamed. Éomer had more than a few years on her; such a statement said only good things for her cousin's future happiness.
"I am so glad for Faramir," she said. "But I'm glad for myself as well! I like your sister. Gondor is lucky to have her."
"Aye," Éomer said. He watched Éowyn and Faramir up on the dais wistfully. "You are all lucky."
"Well," Lothíriel said, hoping to lighten his mood, "at least she didn't fall in love with one of my brothers. Then she would have ended up in Dol Amroth! Minas Tirith and Ithilien are much more reasonable, don't you think?"
Éomer turned and stared at her. She squirmed, but did not look away, and after a long, tense moment, he let out a bark of laughter.
"You are something, aren't you?" he said, suddenly smiling.
Lothíriel blushed under the power of that smile. Blessed Elbereth! Who had allowed such a face to exist?
"I try to be something, though I'm never quite sure what I end up as," she answered.
His smile deepened; his eye crinkled and dimples formed above his beard. "Well, I cannot speak for other times, but right now you are just fine," he said. He offered her his hand again. "Come dance with me, lady."
Her heart beat fast as she put her hand back in his. "If you insist, my lord." She glanced around; only a few people were obviously staring at them. Æmma's shooting look gave Lothíriel pause, but her predicament would have to wait.
Right now, Lothíriel was busy.
. .
. .
A/N: Oho she's BUSY! I hope you're enjoying the fun :) I took the liberty of putting in a Jewish wedding custom, yichud, where the bride and groom seclude themselves. Traditionally it's to exchange gifts and break the wedding day fast, and honestly considering how insane weddings are, getting a chance to eat (and breathe!) alone is a nice respite from the crowds.
Cceret, Wondereye—thank you!
Hannah—Yeah, DESPITE THE BEARD. They're scratchy, dontcha know? Let the good times roll :D
Ambercoal—Hahaha! I'm so glad you're enjoying yourself! The good news is that this story is pre-completed, so I can actually update regularly (ish... XD) without a drop in quality :)
Thanks to everyone who has read, followed, favorited, and reviewed! Reviews continue to be welcome :) Hope you all are having a great day!