Chapter 36
Dol Amroth, May the 20th, 3019
Míririen fastened the laces of her dress as quickly as she possibly could, only barely listening to the overly detailed instructions Gliril was giving to one of the seamstresses. Since she had arrived in Dol Amroth a few days earlier, she had not been given a moment of rest and barely had any time at all to spend with Erchirion. Lothíriel and Gliril's had been tremendously helpful and had it not been for their support, she was sure it would have taken her weeks, if not months, to organize the wedding – even a small private ceremony such as the one they had chosen. Even so, it was hard not to feel overwhelmed and with five more days to go, she was starting to wonder whether she'd make it until the wedding day, or rather go insane before. There was a limit to the number of dresses she could try on, a limit to how long she could discuss about suitable napkins colours, seating arrangements and a thousand of other equally trivial subjects.
A limit she had most definitely reached!
Which was why after vaguely explaining her sisters-in-law that she'd be busy for the rest of the morning running some unspecified errands, she left. From across the room, Lothíriel cast her a sympathetic look and winked, telling her that the Queen of Rohan was not so easily fooled but also, that she understood she needed a break. Gliril on the other hand simply assumed her errands to be wedding-related and waved her goodbye - but not before having reminded her for the tenth time that day about the flower arrangement they were supposed to choose later that afternoon. Míririen assured her she'd be back in time and without further ado, she darted down the bright hallway.
Hearing another pair of steps echoing hers, she glanced over her shoulder and noticed that one of the Queen's guards – no doubt acting on her orders, was following her. She sighed, unsure whether being grateful for her thoughtfulness, or rather upset.
Grateful because, whether willingly or not, she kept forgetting Erchirion had insisted she took guards with her every time she left the Palace. Upset because she didn't think she'd ever get used to those looming presences around her, and already missed dearly her long solitary strolls.
Shielding her eyes against the midday sun, Míririen waited for Théocanstan to catch up before venturing into the bustling streets. Halfway to the harbour, she remembered it was market day and eager to avoid the overly crowded promenade, she took a sharp turn to the left and stepped into a narrow alley. The two-storey houses flanking both sides cast a pleasant shadow on the paved ground as it climbed in sinuous bends atop a low hillock, cutting right through the heart of a well-known stately district. Its shops offered crafts that very few could afford and Míririen was sure that with her plain dress and loose hair, she looked nothing like the sophisticated ladies that normally shopped around there. Indeed, most of the shopkeepers simply ignored her - a fact that suited her just fine for she had come there to gather her thoughts, not to indulge in fancy clothes and precious stones.
Dol Amroth had given her and her mother an exceedingly warm welcome. Since they had arrived, there hadn't been a single member of the Amrothian family or their staff who hadn't treated them with anything but respect and good-natured curiosity. She also no longer felt intimidated by Prince Imrahil and had come to like his eldest son as well as his wife, Gliril. More than anything, she treasured Lothíriel's company. Perhaps it was because they were very close in age, but she liked the former Princess' and admired her a great deal. She could be as sweet as honey, as stubborn as a mule, as determined as a soldier entering battle and as regal as a Queen. Gliril was admirable too of course, but unlike her sister-in-law, she never stepped out of her character – that of the flawless noble lady whose husband is a Prince, which in turn made her look too perfect and not enough relatable in her eyes.
Still, they were getting along and for that, she was glad.
Her mother too seemed to like their new home and had responded remarkably well to Gaeril – Lothíriel's former handmaid, who would now be caring for her. She had also taken a liking to their old cat, Bathor, which was surprising because her mother had never been a cat person – how strenuously she had begged for a kitten when she was a child, only to be always flatly denied! Others had found it surprising too, but for a different reason: Bathor had grown grumpy in his old age and only tolerated Gaeril and Lothíriel's presence and no one else's – a point he had made very clear the day the King, sprouting confidence from every pore, had stretched a hand towards him only to have it promptly ripped open. Yet when Bathor had found himself in the same room as her mother, he hadn't hesitated at making himself comfortable in her lap, bringing a rare smile on her face.
Yes, Míririen thought, her mood already considerably lifted. No matter the challenges that lied ahead, there were no reasons not to be looking forward to her new life in Dol Amroth!
Smiling to herself, she hurried towards the lookout located atop the hillock - a beautiful place she had casually discovered during her first visit to the city. She rounded a corner and there, her ears picked up a familiar voice, one that caused her to stop dead in her tracks, the hair on her neck standing up. Théocanstan sensed her discomfort and moved to stand by her side, his shoulder almost touching hers. He bore his customary deadpan expression but knowing how loath he was to any type of physical contact, Míririen guessed he must have been on high alert to take such stance.
"Lord Radon", she greeted the nobleman, trying to sound calm even though she wasn't. When Devrion had told her about the two men following her in Pelargir and that he believed they had been sent by the scorned lord, she had been very sceptical. But after learning from Lothíriel of the multiple ambushes and betrayals she had suffered in Rohan, she had come to the conclusion that mayhap she simply had no idea what some people were capable of, and that prudence was therefore advisable.
Radon's eyes roamed over her body, head to toes and then toes to head. As his gaze shifted to Théocanstan, a mocking grin twisted his face. "I see that after the Prince cast you aside in favour of his betrothed, you have set your eyes on more humble targets. Too humble, perhaps?".
Míririen almost snorted. Her and Erchirion's intention had been to announce the wedding after it had been celebrated, so to avoid unwanted fuss. But even a small ceremony such as theirs required way too many people to be involved for rumours not to make it out of the palace. Obviously, Radon had caught wind of Erchirion's impending wedding, but just so happened to be unaware of the identity of the bride. Torn between amusement for his wrong assumptions and anger for the way he was belittling Théocanstan, she pondered whether she should enlighten him, or simply tell him some very unladylike things instead. The latter was surely more appealing, but likely inappropriate for the bride of a Prince.
She was still trying to figure out what she should - or should not say, when four people came out of the shop to their right. At first Radon paid them no heed at all, but that quickly changed when he heard the shopkeeper thanking profusely the King of Rohan for having chosen his craft. Her presence forgotten, he spun around, his hideous grin swiftly replaced by an amiable smile.
As per the King, his eyes only briefly lingered on him, before he took in Théocanstan's unusual stance by her side and the way his hand was resting almost casually on the pommel of his sword. Míririen could practically see his brain connecting all the dots, drawing an all too obvious conclusion about the identity of the stranger standing in front of him.
And even he hadn't been able to figure it out on his own, of course Radon did not want to waste his opportunity to be introduced to King of Rohan. He puffed his chest and cleared his voice, but just as he was about to speak, the King walked calmly around him, completely ignoring him, his dark eyes fixed on her. "Lady Míririen", he greeted her kissing her hand, "Had I known you were taking a break from your wedding preparations, I'd have asked you to accompany me. I was looking for a worthy gift for my wife, and I could have surely used a lady's advice".
Someone had once told Míririen about grief having seven stages. Whether it was true or not, she could swear she saw each one of them flashing in rapid sequence on Radon's face. When the King turned to face him, he seemed to shrink under his cold gaze, words failing him for once. "And you must be Lord Radon, son of Lord Harnon. Your reputation precedes you".
The alley was so silent, Míririen was afraid to breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed several shopkeepers had come out of their workshops and a growing number of people was gathering all around them. Radon nervously swallowed, aware that whatever he was going to do or say, was going to be public knowledge. "It's an honour to make your acquaintance, your Highness. Though, I'm afraid I don't know what you are referring to", he wrongly chose to say.
Did he really think he could play dumb with the King?, she wondered.
"I see that your memory is surprisingly short. Let me refresh it for you: I'm talking about you, drunkenly trying to manhandle Lady Míririen. Does it ring a bell, Lord Radon?".
He stifled a gasp. "Just a misunderstanding, I assure you. I'd never…".
"Are you calling the Prince's sons liars?".
"No!", he rushed to say, his face going from pure white to angry red.
"So, you acknowledge your deplorable behaviour".
"My Lord, I had no idea that she was…".
"Prince Erchirion's betrothed? Is that what you wanted to say? Are you suggesting you should be forgiven, just because you did not know the lady you were harassing was the Prince's bride-to-be?".
Radon opened his mouth to speak, then wisely chose to reconsider. He had dug himself into a deeper grave with each further word he had spoken, and he finally understood he shall better shut up and hope the King of Rohan would show him some mercy.
She felt almost sorry for him.
Almost.
An excruciatingly tense moment of silence later, Lord Radon took his clue and bowed as low as he could. "Lady Míririen, I am deeply ashamed of my past untoward behaviour and hope you will accept my sincere, humble apology".
A murmur spread throughout the crowd. Míririen knew his apology was anything but sincere and humble – just like his untoward behaviour had been anything but past. However, she also knew that was the best apology she would ever get from him and, in all likelihood, the most shameful, embarrassing thing that had ever happened to the haughty lord. Never mind that her old self would have liked nothing more than smacking him on the head, she decided that that was as good moment as any to start practicing diplomacy.
She nodded curtly in acceptance.
"It is very gracious of you to accept Lord Radon's apology", the King praised her, one eyebrow meaningfully arched at the man in question.
"Gracious, very gracious indeed", Radon promptly chimed in.
"Were you headed somewhere, Lady Míririen?".
Taken aback by the King's question, she blinked. "I-I meant to go to the lookout, but I think I shall better return to the Palace".
"I disagree. I was at the lookout earlier today and found the view to be absolutely stunning. I insist you go, Lady Míririen. After all, you have one of my best warriors with you and besides, these streets are perfectly safe", he stated and just when she was starting to wonder where he was going with that, he added, "No one would ever be so foolhardy to cause harm to the Prince's betrothed. Lord Radon here wouldn't, just like he would never send two of his henchmen after you. Am I not right?".
The man nodded – too quickly and too vigorously, a bead of sweat dripping from his forehead. "No one would ever do something so abject", he agreed and after some reiterated apologies and lame excuses, he took his leave, effectively running down the alley amidst a rain of not so subtle chuckles coming from the gathered spectators.
Had he had a tail, it would have been firmly tucked between his legs, she was sure.
Standing by her side, the King muttered something that could be safely interpreted as a curse. "Are you alright, Míririen?".
"Yes, Lord. I… thank you for your help", she half-mumbled, suddenly realizing how foolish she had been at trying to sneak out of the palace without a guard.
"I'm not sure who needed help the most. Why, for a moment there, I was almost sure you'd have struck the man".
Míririen's head jerked up and to her utter surprise, she found the King grinning at her. "I considered the possibility of kicking him", she admitted, feeling a little more at ease.
"I wouldn't have tried to stop you and had someone asked me, I'd have said the man had accidentally fallen on your knee. Repeatedly". He nodded at one of his guards – a handsome young man who had half of the women working in the palace throwing themselves at his feet. "This is Háca. He will join you and Théocanstan to the lookout. Not for your safety but rather for mine – Erchirion will have my head if he finds out that I let you alone with only one guard after that scoundrel had the brilliant idea to harass you some more. I'd gladly keep you company but unfortunately, I have a full afternoon ahead. I will see for supper, yes?".
"Of course. Thank you again, Lord".
With a wink much alike the one his wife had given her earlier that day, the King turned and walked away, leaving her alone with the two Rohirrim.
On the short route between the palace and the lookout, Erchirion spotted at least four men who he thought were Lord Radon. And he terrified each single one of them, jerking them aside, a fist already raised mid-air, before letting them go just as abruptly. He was literally seething, so much that people started parting at the sight of him, eyes low and heads bowed. When he got there, he beckoned the two Rohirric guards to leave and stood a couple of steps behind Míririen, trying to calm down least he was going to make things worse.
"I knew you'd have rushed here", Míririen said, leaning on the pristine sill of the balcony, her back to him, "but you needn't worry. Lord Radon barely managed to say anything at all before the King arrived and proceeded to shred his ego into tiny little pieces".
Erchirion's nostrils flared. "Why was one of Lothíriel's guards with you? Where were the men I assigned you?".
"I left without telling them. I'm sorry, I just wanted to break free from the wedding preparations. Your sister saw it coming and sent Théocanstan after me".
"There's a reason why I asked you to never leave the palace on your own!", he snapped, "It's not only about Lord Radon. It's about protecting you from anyone who might want to harm the Amrothian family. It's about protecting the family – our family!".
"You are right, of course. It was silly of me and it won't happen again".
Erchirion pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated. He needed her to understand, but he needn't be so harsh. Closing the gap between them in two long strides, he spun her around and cupped her face. "The thought of you being hurt fills me with dread, Míririen. I ask not that you lock yourself up in the palace, only that you learn to be more cautious".
She only nodded, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on her toes.
He hated seeing her so and was ashamed to admit he was largely at fault for what had happened. Since Míririen had arrived in Dol Amroth, she had been working tirelessly and doing her very best to fit in. He on the other hand, had been quite absent, leaving her alone dealing with the organization of their upcoming wedding on top of all the other worries she already had.
"I haven't been much around lately, have I? I should have helped you more with the wedding preparations instead of placing the burden entirely on your shoulders and for that, I am sorry".
Míririen chuckled and looped her arms about him. "Think you could have helped with choosing things such as napkin rings and tableaus?".
"I don't even know what a tableau is".
"I didn't either. Apparently, is a fancy name for one of those seating charts that help guests find their table. Why would we ever need one, given that we have few guests and as such, only one table, is beyond me".
"Gliril's idea?".
"Yes. I reckoned dissuading her would have been way more difficult than just agreeing to whatever tableau she saw fitting, so I said yes to everything she proposed".
"That's the spirit. No one will notice it anyway. What else is still pending?".
"This afternoon I'll have to review the flower arrangements and as far as I know, tomorrow I'll be eating dawn till dusk to sample the various dining options. There will be another fitting session for the dress, as well as multiple ones for the hair. Alphros will be our ring bearer, which means I must check and approve his clothing. In addition to that, there are about a thousand other minuscule tasks and decisions that need to be made".
"How about you make me a list and I take care of them?".
Míririen didn't even try to argue. "Deal".
He laughed and nuzzled playfully her neck, his gaze dropping to the patch of goosebumps flowing down her throat and disappearing into the neckline of her dress.
Five more days.
With some effort, he took a step back and tucked her hand in the cook of his arm: "I think an early wedding gift is due. Come with me", he announced. A smug smile plastered on his face, he led her back towards the palace, strictly refusing to answer any of her questions. Míririen was curious by nature and acting so was akin to subjecting her to a harrowing torture - one he took great pleasure in!
They passed through the outer gates and met first Éothain and then also Runhild, both of them coming from the direction of the stables and obviously very happy with themselves, judging by the grins on their faces.
Turning away from the entrance of the palace, Erchirion picked one of the gravelled trails that folded back towards the gardens. It looked anonymous at best, until it veered away from the lush vegetation and towards a secluded corner, where a well-kept stone cabin stood half-hidden between tall trees. He pushed the door open, the well-oiled hinges easily surrendering, and let Míririen in.
She stormed inside, her attention immediately drawn to the narrow stairs puncturing an unforeseen downward way into the stone floor. "What's this? Where does it lead?".
"Only one way to find it out". He lightened a lantern and climbed down first, the stairs soon giving way to a winding tunnel that had been carved centuries ago in the hard granite rock on top of which the palace of Dol Amroth had been built. After only a few steps however, Míririen halted and started tugging insistently his arm: "What is it?", he asked noticing she was glancing nervously around.
"Perhaps I should tell you that I don't feel very comfortable hanging around caves and underground spaces in general. They make me very nervous".
Just splendid, he wryly thought. "Why have you never mentioned it before!?".
"I didn't know it was an important thing to say!".
He pulled her to him and rubbed her back. "You are right. I'm sorry, I didn't want to sound upset. Look, the tunnel is very short and I'm right here with you. Do you think you can handle it?".
"What's at the end of the tunnel?".
"A little beach and plenty of sea and sky to sooth your nerves".
"A-alright".
"Shall I carry you?".
"No. If something happens, I'd rather be on my feet than in your arms".
"Excuse me?".
Even in the faint light of the lantern, he could see her blushing. "Well, I-I just think that if the tunnel were to cave in, I- we", she corrected herself, "would have better chances at escaping if we were both already standing".
"So, you speak having both our sakes at heart".
"Yes, yes of course", she pandered him.
Erchirion narrowed his eyes. Somehow, he had a feeling that should something really happen while they were down there, Míririen would flee without ever looking back! He found it amusing, because he suspected she was rarely so reluctant at exploring a new place. Also, the way she was pouting and nervously biting her lower lip was adorably cute - cute and enticing, to be precise.
Walking at a brisk pace, he led Míririen all the way down the tunnel and the exact moment sunlight appeared at the far end ahead of them, she started pushing him insistently, eager to get out of that place as quickly as possible, but also unwilling to cover the last section on her own. Once out, she bent forward, hands on her knees, and let out a deep breath: "Please don't take offence, but I think I will swim my way out of here. There's no way I'll step again into that… thing", she said waving an arm at the direction of the tunnel.
Resting against a stone wall, Erchirion patiently waited until she had calmed down enough to take in her surroundings. When she finally did, the first thing she noticed was the lonely beauty of that place, with the waves lapping gently at the small pebbled beach. The city was not visible from there, nor the northern shores, making one feel as if you were standing in complete solitude at the edges of the world. Next, she noticed the sturdy iron gate through which they had just walked by - it was open because he had spent a good amount of time down there recently, but otherwise it was kept closed and both ends of the tunnel were carefully guarded. Afterwards, she finally turned to look at the small dock, her eyes running over the wooden planks before coming to rest on the skiff secured at the end of it. "Is that yours?".
"No, though I used to have a similar one when I was younger. It now rests at the bottom of the waters of Lond Cobas, alongside with Amrothos' one".
"Let me guess. He somehow managed to ram into you, thus sinking both vessels".
"Ah no, not really", he admitted scratching his cheek with his forefinger, "if I have to be completely honest, that one mishap was entirely on me".
"You? How?".
"We were racing and I was losing – badly losing, and you really don't want to lose against the likes of Amrothos. So, I tried exploiting his slipstream to take him over in what was an obviously reckless manoeuvre. I managed to flank him and then, just when we were sailing side by side, too close for our own good, the wind suddenly changed. I lost control, our skiffs collided and rapidly sunk".
"Oh dear. Were any of you hurt?".
"No, though my ego was severely battered and I had to endure years of Amrothos rubbing it in my face".
"I can only imagine. Is this his skiff then?".
"No, it's yours".
Míririen froze. She looked at him. Then at the boat. Then at him again. "Mine?".
He nodded and it was a good thing he had been prepared for her assault, otherwise he'd have likely found himself sprawled on the ground. "The sail will be ready tomorrow and as long as you promise to inform me or, in my absence, one of my father's captains, before going out, you are free to go sailing as often as you like. I thought this would be the ideal place to keep your skiff, but since you disliked the tunnel, I can have it moved to a more easily accessible spot within the palace premises".
Arms tightly secured around his neck, Míririen almost succeeded in chocking him. "I thought I wouldn't have been allowed to sail on my own anymore, that it would have been considered unsafe - and inappropriate!".
"It'll be safe as long as you tell us beforehand. And yes, some may find it inappropriate, but why should you care? I fell in love with the lass who robbed me of two silver pieces for a bounty of oysters and then valiantly rescued me from being drowned by a jellyfish. I know you're being forced to cope with a lot of changes for the sake of me and my family, but that does not mean I want you to give up who you are and become just another boring lady".
Míririen kissed him, eyes brimming of tears, and started examining her skiff in every tiny, little detail. It was smaller and leaner than the one she had once owned. Trickier to control, but capable of great speed and dexterity. Once the inspection was over, she was so ecstatic that she even accepted returning to the surface via the tunnel and announced that as long as lanterns would be kept lit along the entire way, she'd try to get used to it. Erchirion laughed and after one last lingering kiss, he dropped her in the library, where Gliril - and what must have been a sample of each single flower that had ever bloomed in Middle Earth, awaited her.
Only five more days to go.
Upon hearing the door opening, Éomer raised his eyes from the tall pile of papers in front of him on and immediately, his morning took on a much brighter look. "Good morning, Lady".
"Lord", Lothíriel greeted him with a little smirk. She took a seat in the empty chair beside him and stole a sip from his cup of tea.
"How are the preparations for the wedding coming along?".
"All is ready for tomorrow's ceremony and I talked Gliril into leaving Míririen in peace for the rest of the day, least the poor girl might just reach her breaking point and run away. That would be very unfortunate indeed".
He chuckled and pulled her chair a little closer, so that he could rest his hand on her barely rounded belly. "I've heard there have been some last-minute additions to the guest list".
"Yes, Míririen insisted on inviting both Runhild and Beyrith. I wasn't too surprised, for they have been spending a lot of time together. As per Éothain, I'm not sure why she invited him. I asked her, but all I got in return was a very weird look".
"Well, at least between him and Amrothos, we can rest assured we won't be lacking in entertainment".
Lothíriel scoffed but like it often happened at the mention of her youngest brother's name, her mood rapidly sobered. "I'm growing more and more worried about him".
"None of us has come out of the war unscathed", he offered.
"I know that. But at least you are aware of the scars you carry and whether you wish to speak about it or not, you do not deny them. Amrothos on the other hand, keeps everything bottled up. He seems to think that if he manages to convince the world that he is well, he'll eventually start believing his own lies".
As much as he wanted to offer a reassurance of some sorts, Éomer knew Lothíriel was right. The youngest of the Princes hardly slept, often drowned himself in liquor and a couple of times now, he had seen him getting completely out of control while practicing at the training grounds, pounding his opponent's shield like his life depended upon it. Imrahil, Elphir and Erchirion had all tried to speak to him, but Amrothos had an uncanny ability to extricate himself from unwanted conversations that was sure to outwit any interlocutor.
Éomer knew the young Prince's demons.
They all did.
But unlike his brothers, Amrothos had failed at finding something to anchor him down, to keep him from being adrift in a raging sea of dark memories. His only stable relationship was with booze and perhaps even more worryingly, it seemed to him that for all his cockiness, the Prince was desperate to be something. Elphir was the heir. Erchirion the commander. But what role was there for Amrothos? One day he was his brothers' right arm – and a damn good one at that. The next they had no use for him, and he retreated to being only the rascal, the lad in the body of a grown man.
It was a non-role that may have suited him until not long ago. But no more.
"Maybe it would help him to have a purpose", he ventured.
Lothíriel stared at him – long, hard, the wheels in her head spinning. "I never thought about it". She scowled, mulling over his words for a long time. "Perhaps I could invite him to stay with us for a while. What do you think?".
"It's a good idea, it might do him good to leave Gondor. Besides, there will be flocks of nobles and merchants travelling between Minas Tirith and Edoras in the coming months, and we could surely use him to advise us on how to best handle them".
"You are right. Amrothos may not look like a master of diplomacy, but he has his ways. I'm sure if we were to ask him, he'd be up to the task".
Pleased with their plan, Lothíriel leaned back in her chair, no doubt already plotting how to best broach the subject with her brother so that he would accept. Éomer returned to his papers and it was only after a while that he realized his wife was looking intently at him. "You haven't grown used to it".
He frowned, unsure what she was talking about. "Grown used to what?".
"Something you told me the night I awoke after the wargs' ordeal, and that I find myself often thinking about lately. I asked you how you managed to live with the things you saw out there, and you said that maybe you had just grown used to it. You have not, Éomer. You have fought against evil your entire life, but you haven't let it wear away your spirit or harden your heart".
Éomer remembered. More than anything, he remembered regretting those words and the dread what truth they might held. Putting the quill down, he pulled Lothíriel to him and like he often did at night, when nightmares startled him awake, the names of lost comrades burning his lips and tearing his flesh, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and held her close, finding solace in the warmth of her body and the familiar scent of her hair.
"We should go home, Éomer".
Drawing back from her, he fiddled with a loose strand of her raven hair. "We can stay for another week or two. Or, if you wish so, you could remain in Dol Amroth until I return for my uncle's escort". He deeply disliked what he was proposing, but if that was what Lothíriel wanted, he'd find a way to cope with it.
"I could, but I don't want to. My place is in Rohan and besides, I'd rather avoid travelling too late in the pregnancy".
She was right. Even if all went according to plan, his uncle's escort was going to take place around the end of July, by when Lothíriel would be close to entering the seventh month. They'd be travelling slow and he could arrange a carriage for her but either way, it wouldn't be a comfortable journey. "Are you sure?".
"Yes".
"Alright then, I'll start making arrangements. But first, there's something I need to show you". He searched the papers in front of him, flipping through the pages until he found the draft of what would be his first official act as King of Rohan.
Lothíriel scanned it quickly, her frown only deepening with each further word she read. "I don't understand".
"By the laws of Rohan, should a King die before his rightful heir has come of age, it falls on the Council to rule the country until the crown prince is old enough to claim the throne for himself. As soon as we are back in Edoras and the Council is restored, I'll have them amend this and make you a Queen regent".
Lothíriel jerked away from him, anger and something else, something deeper, visceral almost, clouding her eyes and crooking her mouth. "Council?", she sputtered.
Belatedly, Éomer realized he should have phrased his intentions differently. "I know what you are thinking and…".
"How can you possibly want to restore the Council? Those maggots have done nothing to curb Grima's rise to power, choosing to accept whatever little gain he was willing to offer instead of fighting him, like rabid dogs begging for scraps of meat! Not even after your cousin was butchered, did they do anything. They watched while you were accused of treason and would have watched while you were hanged, had it come down to that! They turned a blind eye when I was thrown in the same filthy cell you had been locked in. And now, you want to restore them?".
Éomer made for standing but thought better of it, knowing that trying to sooth his wife's nerves when she was in such mood was like trying to extinguish a fire by fanning its flames. "The Council was never dismissed, Lothíriel. What I meant with restoring, is appointing new advisors to replace those who have died in the war – an easy task for once, given that seats in the Council are passed from father to son".
"Then you should dismiss them all instead of replacing them and planning on making me a Queen regent!".
"I would if I could".
She looked at him incredulous. "You would if you could?! You are the King…".
"I am the King of a country which for years has been torn apart from the inside. No one will dare challenging my claim to the throne, but that does not mean I won't encounter hostility and resistance. If I were to dismiss the Council now, all it would do is to secure me ten more enemies among some of the most influential families of all Rohan. I don't like this any more than you do, Lothíriel, but I need the advisors on my side to guide Rohan throughout the upcoming months. Once we'll have recovered, once I'll have strengthened my position, I'll gladly see them gone. But until then and whether we like it or not, we'll have to put up with them".
Standing with her back to him, Lothíriel balled her hands into angry fists.
"A Council is only granted the power a monarch is willing to give. Grima ruled unhindered because my uncle's mind had been weakened. I have no intention of being a weak King, and the advisors know it. They won't like the idea of granting you the position of Queen regent, but they'll pretend they do, if only to get in my good graces".
"How can you be planning for the eventuality of your death, when we have only just come out of the war".
The angst in her voice had Éomer crossing the room to wrap himself about her. "I must, Lothíriel. We have been through a lot you and I, and I need to know that should something happen to me, I'll be leaving you in the strongest possible position. For your sake, so that no one might ever deny you Rohan as your rightful home while you raise our child. And for Rohan's sake too, for in our son's stead, you'd lead the Rohirrim with wisdom and fairness – something the Council would never be capable of".
"You don't know that. What will I do when military decisions need to be taken? There are so many aspects of ruling a country that I'm completely clueless about".
"You wouldn't be alone, you'd have people you can trust, people you can rely on for advice. And as for everything else, you'll learn - we'll both do over the course of the coming years. Together".
Lothíriel turned in his arms, a sniffle forcing her to pause before she could find her voice: "All right", she conceded, frightful uncertainty and firm resolve warring with one another in her stormy gray eyes.
Éomer unclasped her hands and pressed a kiss into each palm. He knew what he had told her was going to be a source of constant worry for her and were it possible, he'd have spared her. But especially in light of her pregnancy, he needed to know that the future of his family - and his country, would not be comprised, should he meet an early demise. He trusted not the Council and knowing Éowyn was likely to leave Rohan in the near future, he wanted Lothíriel to have all the leverage.
Of course, none of it would matter if he died without a male heir. If that were to happen, only his sister's return to Rohan would ensure his family's safety and keep the country from being torn by a civil war.
And that, was an eventuality he'd rather not dwell on at the moment
"I know this is difficult for you but planning for the worse is the wisest and safest thing we can do at the moment". Seeing her nodding and squaring her shoulders, he couldn't help but smiling: his wife may not have been a shieldmaiden, but she surely had the mettle of one.
"May I invite the Queen to a walk on the beach?", he proposed to lighten her mood.
"You may. But before we go, I too have something important that I'd like to discuss with you: Runhild".
"What about her?".
"I have given it a lot of thought and I've come to the conclusion that she should not be my handmaid any longer. In fact, I intend to dismiss her".
Erchirion spent the night before the wedding tossing restlessly in his bed, to the point that his legs got so severely entangled with the linens, that he thought he'd have to cut them in order to break free. He got up well before dawn and spent some long hours wearing a hole in the floor of his room before fleeing to the stables. Knowing Amrothos was sure to mock him if he saw him in such mood - and that he might just strangle him for it, he meticulously avoided him for the entire morning. Around lunchtime he tried visiting Míririen, but a veritable regiment of maids shooed him away - none too gently to boot, before he could even get a glimpse of her. Resigned, he returned to his room, where he proceeded to polish his sword. And his collection of daggers. And his riding boots. And his leather belts…
Shortly before he run out of unanimated objects on which he could vent his nerves, Lothíriel and Elphir paid him a much-needed visit. His sister hugged and he was surprised to find her flushed and almost as edgy as he was: "I'm warning you, I think I may cry for the whole duration of the ceremony".
Behind her, his brother was giving him a thorough, assessing look. "You look almost as nervous as I was on my wedding day. Almost".
Erchirion felt some of the tension ebbing away. He had forgotten about it, but the day Elphir and Gliril had gotten married, his normally calm, stoic brother had suffered one of the most severe cases of cold feet in recorded history. The memory of his sweaty face as he tried and failed to put on his doublet, succeeded in reassuring him it was likely normal to be nervous on your big day.
On that thought, he managed to survive the remaining part of the afternoon and shortly before dusk, he put on his wedding attire and walked down towards the beach in measured, unhurried steps.
During the past week, a dais comprising of an elegant archway and a walkway had been set up on the sandy shore that belonged to the palace. He had liked it right away, but now that he saw it dusted in the red sunset light, framed with ivies and white arum lilies, he thought it was simply perfect. The Amrothian flagship had been anchored off the coast, white sails barely billowing in the last gusts of sea breeze. Their guests had already gathered and as he approached the altar, Erchirion felt a sense of deep calm settling over him.
He stared serenely at the shimmering waters of the bay, until a low chattering portended the ceremony was about to begin. He turned around and barely took notice of the prideful look on Devrion's face as he escorted his bride to the altar, before his gaze locked on Míririen.
The dress she wore had belonged to his mother, though he had no past memory of it. The cut was simple and flawlessly elegant, the ivory hue of its silks reminding him of the gown she had been wearing the night they had met at Lord Thalador's villa. Her hair was loose save for a few braided locks, and the only jewel she wore was the plain brass bracelet that her father had gifted her mother when they had gotten married.
She looked beautiful, but not in the way all noble ladies do on such occasions. She looked like herself, the dress complimenting her tan rather than hiding it, the lack of shiny accessories only adding to her disarming beauty.
The ceremony was short and simple and perhaps because of it, all the more heartfelt. Gliril played the harp for them and after they had exchanged their vows, young Alphros brought them their wedding bands. Clumsy as all children were, he stumbled on the last step of the dais, but thankfully managed to hold on their rings. His cheeks turned a bright pink but after Míririen had helped him up and kissed him, he simply giggled and run back to his father with an ear-to-ear smile stretching his chubby face.
Once finally proclaimed husband and wife, Erchirion snatched his lady in his arms and without giving her any warning whatsoever, he kissed her like they had no audience to be concerned of. He vaguely registered a howl coming from behind him, and he did not need to look up to know the mouth it had come from.
Dinner stretched well into the night and the most precious gift Míririen could have asked for – the one that was beyond his power to give, was unexpectedly bestowed upon her when her mother proved more present than he had ever seen her before, her mind sharp and focused. She danced with him on the cool sand, and then with his father and Éomer as well. She was always there to adjust Míririen's dress if something was out of place, she fixed her hair when one of her braids come loose and when shortly before midnight she decided to retire, mother and daughter held each other for a long time, speaking words that were only for them to hear.
Not long after, they too decided to call it a night.
Erchirion had been fully expecting Amrothos to come up with some outrageously embarrassing thing to say about the wedding night but surprisingly, his brother refrained from saying anything, limiting himself to a roguish smile and a near crushing pat on his back.
The Palace was mostly quiet at such late hour. After discussing it with his father, he and Míririen had decided they would take up residence in its Western wing, which was smaller than the Eastern one, but had the advantage of an unobstructed view over the city and the harbour. Some of the chambers were in need of renovations, but there had been no time for that ahead of the wedding and their bedroom was the only one which had gone through a thorough round of restoration and refurbishment. Located at the top of one of the turrets, it was bright and spacious, its outer walls curved and embellished with tall arched windows. The lack of any personal belonging or decoration made it a little impersonal, but Míririen had had almost no possessions when she had arrived in Dol Amroth and Erchirion hadn't wanted to conquer the place with his numerous collections.
In time, they'd adorn it to be their haven.
As the door closed behind them, Míririen let herself fall on a plush armchair, arms limp and eyes closed, but still smiling. "I was so worried about today. Up until this morning, I wished I could fast forward time and be done with it as quickly as possible, for I was sure I'd find a way too mess it up. Now, I only wish this night would ever end".
Erchirion kneeled in front of her and removed her shoes. Finding her feet rough with sand, he retrieved a basin from the adjacent privy and gently washed them. Once clean, he started rubbing them, starting from her toes, following the arch to the heel, then moving upwards to knead her calves and ease the tension out of her muscles. Míririen watched him through heavy lidded eyes, only the occasional murmurs of approval telling him she was awake and enjoying his ministrations. A sharp intake of air accompanied his fingers as they strayed higher to caress the smooth skin of her thighs. She leaned over to kiss him but all of a sudden, an awful loud noise had them both wincing.
Erchirion rushed to the window and looked out. "What in the world…", he muttered, his mouth gaping.
Their guests had gathered in the garden below their turret, where Amrothos and Lothíriel had taken upon themselves to serenade the newly wedded couple. What was in itself already a terrible idea, was made at least tenfold worse by the fact that any musical talent in his family had poured straight into Elphir's veins, and blatantly snubbed the rest of them. Each note his brother hit he felt his skin crawling, and each time his sister's fingers pinched the chords of Gliril's harp, he cringed. Even Éomer was trying to inconspicuously cover his ears, while Míririen was by now laughing hysterically. "Tell me you can carry a tune better than those two".
He shook his head while trying at the same time to think of a way to put an end to that pitiful show before everyone' ears started bleeding.
"How's that even possible? I though Princes and Princesses were born graceful and talented in all things!".
He ignored the jab, his eyes darting around the room and coming to rest on the water-filled basin. Without second thought, he grabbed it and emptied its content down the window, somehow managing to nail Amrothos while missing completely Lothíriel. Éomer shot daggers at him and pulled her aside, while Gliril shrieked, horrified at the great peril her precious harp had only narrowly missed. That was when Elphir and his father took pity of him and directed everyone out of the garden.
"Oh, I'm so going to miss your sister when she leaves", Míririen said while he closed the window, giggles still bubbling forth in her throat.
"Look at the bright side, she's taking Amrothos with her". His remark earned him a pointed look - one that he knew better than to contradict. Dol Amroth was going to be awfully boring without those two and if he had somehow gotten used to Lothíriel's absence, the same could not be told of his younger brother, whose presence at his side had been a constant throughout his entire life.
Twirling gracefully around, Míririen dropped in a low curtsy, a hand stretched towards him: "One last dance, milord?".
"Gladly, milady", he played along, and pulled her in for a slow, silent dance. Her head resting against his chest, the length of her body pressed against his, Míririen started singing. Her voice was feathery, rippling with emotions as she sung of the love of Nimrodel for her Elven King Amroth, taking Erchirion to a distant, faraway place. It was only when the song ended that he realized he had long stopped moving, and that an entire lifetime could not be possibly enough to savour and discover all the nuances of the creature in his arms.
His eyes began a leisurely foray of her figure, starting at her parted lips, slithering down her heaving chest to linger on her firm breasts. He wrapped an arm around her, searching for the strings of her dress, pulling until she was left standing before him in a revealing chemise that did nothing to hide the shapely curves of her taut body. Míririen's hands glided over him, feeling his muscles through the layer of clothing, shyly at first, before daring to move past his tunic to explore his chest. He could feel the soft skin of her palms, as well as the tiny callous she had grown after years of handling the ropes and sails of her skiff.
To some, those may have been flaws – the hardened patches on her hands, the smattering of freckles across her nose, her sun kissed hair. But to him, they were what he had fallen in love with, what made her so beautifully unique that all other ladies paled before her.
His shirt joined her dress on the floor and Míririen's lips connected with the scar on his chest, caressing it, murmuring words that sent sparks of lust shooting through his veins. He never knew when they had removed the rest of their clothes and made it to the bed, only that she was now lying beneath him, breathy little moans rewarding the attention his mouth was lavishing upon her breasts. She pressed harder against the hand cupping her mound, her arousal taking over and spurring her hands on a downwards path.
Erchirion had meant to take it slow for that was what one was supposed to do on his wedding night, wasn't it? Yet the moment he felt her hand curling around him, there was little he could do to keep his hips from bucking. He let her torture him for a while, returning her teasing with one of his own, his fingers firmly embedded in her wet heat, until they were both panting and tugging impatiently at one another. Propping himself on one arm, he positioned himself between her legs, sliding along her crease until he was coated in her sweet nectar and her frustrated moans had turned into pleas. Mesmerized, he observed Míririen's eyes turning to almost pure liquid gold as he pushed inside her slowly, shaking and groaning until their hips were joined.
His body tense with exertion, he waited for the pain to ebb away from her.
Her unfocused eyes turned on him then and Valar, that smile almost sent his heart thumping straight out of his chest!
He pulled from her and thrust back in, eyes rolling in the back of his head when she felt her tightening tentatively around him. His hands roamed possessively over her body, fingers digging into supple golden skin, breaths merging into one as shallow thrusts swelled into a hard, frenzied rhythm. Míririen's movements grew erratic, the nails clawing at the skin on his back sending ripples of sharp pleasure shooting through his body. Her eyes were shut, her lips swollen as she called his name, the spasms of her sweet writhing body sucking him away into a maelstrom of blinding pleasure.
A while later, his body limp and drained of all energy, Erchirion rolled off her and cradled her already sleepy form against his chest. Smiling against her tousled hair, he kissed her and murmured. Sleep tight, captain.
Author's notes: I know I said in the last chapter this would be the last one taking place in Gondor, but I decided otherwise and will need an extra one before returning to Rohan (we'll be in Edoras by the end of the next one, I promise you that!). I am considering further developing Míririen and Erchirion's story, and possibly Amrothos' too. The more appropriate way to do it would be a spin-off, but I'm actually tempted to do it within this very same story. I realize this would take the spotlight away from Éomer and Lothíriel for a few chapters. However, given that I don't have time to follow two storylines in parallel, working on Lothíriel's brothers – whether in a separate story or not, will anyway slow down the progresses with E-L.
I still haven't made up my mind but as usual, I'm open to suggestion!
Good news for me (less so for this fanfic, I suppose): after a few months of unemployment (courtesy of the pandemic shattering the aviation industry), I recently signed for a new job, meaning future updates will be slower in the making. But don't worry, I'll get this story – as well as future ones, done!
Wondereye: it was long overdue!
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx: the execution on Imrahil's side was poor, but at least his intentions were good. After waiting so long to find out what his motifs were, he really deserved the chance to explain himself.
Katia0203: hope you enjoyed their little beach wedding then! Yes, I'm actually growing fond of Amrothos too, which is why I'd like to develop his own storyline as well. Seems unfair to leave him hanging so!
ValkSkadi: yes, we are definitely going to see Rohan in the aftermath of the war. But in a sense, the previous chapter was a closure of the first part of the story, with this one already somewhat projecting into the second one. I have also always preferred The Two Towers for the same reason (it applies to the movies as well – the landscape, the soundtrack of the scenes in Rohan… I'll never get enough of it!) and in general, I feel way more inspired writing about Rohan than Gondor. I meant to be back in Edoras by the end of this chapter, but I found I needed an extra one to wrap up all the pending storylines and set the course for the next ones. However, we'll be back to the rolling hills by the end of the next chapter, don't worry! Absolutely adore everything you wrote about the reunion, you really made my day! I had been planning it out for such a long time and it as satisfying to finally get there, and even more so to see it so well received!
Rho67: you had me worried when I read that you needed to let it settle :) I'm happier than usual that you liked it, because after 35 chapters I really cared that this one lived up to everything that has been built in the previous ones. I think the reconciliation with Imrahil had to be bumpy in order to be credible and add to the characters instead of diminishing them. After all the heartbreak cause by his actions, a too-easy forgive-forget would have been inappropriate and undeserved. But holding the grudge against him any longer would have also been immature of Lothíriel, given the explanation he gave her. The little scene at the beach was a last-minute addition into which I found myself pouring my sentiments about leaving your homeland for another country, and finding you do not regret your choice. At least for me, going back is always somewhat bittersweet. As for the wedding and Lord Radon, you got them both in this chapter. Future… let's see! ;)
coffeebookchiller: thank you! It was very satisfying for me to bring all those loose ends together and I'm glad you were not disappointed after such long build-up! I 100% agree with your assessment of Lothíriel and Imrahil. Her anger was legitimate, but refusing to forgive him would have been a sign of immaturity that goes against her character development. Oh, they will have their hands full in Rohan, I assure you… :)