Recommended listening: Wirén — Serenade for Strings

CHAPTER II: EDHELLOND

The gathering turned slowly from the Tomb of the Faithful and made for Bar-in-Ciryn. They walked with purpose, no longer weighed down by grief – though Prince Imrahil's presence still swept its shadowy tendrils across their hearts. When they drew near the citadel entrance, however, they did not pass through its towering arches, and turned instead north onto the main thoroughfare, bearing down upon the main city gates.

Truva inclined her head towards Aragorn. 'What development is this?' she asked quietly.

'You will see,' he answered, a self-satisfied gleam in his eyes matched by the tug of a smile at the corner of his lips. But Truva was not the only confused party.

'What of the wedding?' Lothíriel could be heard inquiring of her brother a short distance ahead.

'Never you fear, you will be wed this day in accordance with your desires,' said Elphir. 'But if you will only indulge me a slight change in venue, a surprise has been prepared in your honour.'

'A surprise?' gasped Lothíriel, breathless. 'You know how I adore your surprises – and on my wedding day, of all days! You are more close than I have ever known you to be, but I will only take your reticence as an indication of how magnificent I might expect said surprise to be.'

'It is not of my making,' Elphir attempted to clarify, but the Princess merely clutched her brother's arm, smile as wide as the Sea itself, and near skipped along the thoroughfare.

Down, down to the docks the company wend, joined by all manner of onlookers and well-wishers. They crowded about an armada of boats drifting in the sheltered waters of the harbour. These smaller vessels were dominated by two immense chelandions. The Princess and her family drifted towards the foremost, joined by Undómírë and Indil.

'Come,' said Aragorn, pulling gently at Truva's elbow. 'Éomer and Éowyn have already boarded the Alcarindur; let us join them.'

He led her towards the rear vessel, where they were soon greeted by Éomer's bellows emanating from the captain's quarters – revealing that he, too, had no notion of this unexpected turn of events.

'Where in Helm's name are we being taken?' his voice demanded.

'I know not!' Éowyn's voice replied with equal indignation. 'Faramir told me nothing of this, save that its secrecy was paramount!'

Aragorn thrust the captain's door open and held his hands up apologetically. 'It is no more than a short sail, my friends,' he said when the pair rounded on him. 'Did you not agree to this, dear Éomer, when you acknowledged you would happily be married wherever Lady Lothíriel desired?'

'And she knows of this?' Éomer pressed.

'Well yes – and no,' Aragorn confessed. 'Only in the vaguest of senses. You must understand, Elphir believed a surprise would bring Lady Lothíriel the greatest joy – and her initial response gives the impression his calculations did not lead him astray.'

'And may I not now know, as I am no longer in any position to spoil it for my beloved?'

'You've waited this long; can you not wait a while longer?' Éowyn cajoled.

Éomer gave a frown of mock disappointment. 'And you knew of this?' he demanded, rounding on Truva.

'Not a whisper, milord,' Truva answered with a broad smile.

Any further protests the Eorling King might have made were drowned out by the sounding of horns and the slow lurch as Alcarindur emerged from Dol Amroth's harbour onto the rougher waters of the Bay. Her seafaring experience of the previous year still fresh in her mind, Truva bolted from the cabin and took a position on deck, steadying her eyes against the horizon. Aragorn soon followed and leaned elbow-to-elbow beside her upon the portside bulwark. Together, they cast their gaze out across the azure field before them, foam-tipped waves tinged by the sun as it rose to praise the day's beauty with its warmth.

'I can see now why athelas smells of the Sea to you,' Truva remarked after a time, watching terns dip and wheel upon the buffeting breeze. 'I thought it strange at first, and unfathomable, but I think I have almost come to long for it during my time away.'

Aragorn turned to her with a curious look, but said nothing.

'Legolas once said the Sea sang to him,' Truva continued. 'I did not understand it then, and cannot rightly say I do even now. But some small part of me feels as though, if I only listen hard enough, the melody might also reach my own ears.'

'I have been told of this Music of the Sea,' said Aragorn, 'though I myself have never heard it.'

'I did not think I would ever comprehend any oddity of the Elves, and yet my venture northward revealed more than I could have ever expected,' Truva flashed Aragorn a broad smile before returning her gaze across the Bay, 'and yet nothing at all.'

A shadow passed across Aragorn's features then, though he hid it from Truva – and indeed she was too preoccupied with watching the scrub-dotted shoreline as it scrolled past to notice. And scarcely had the tower of Tirith Aear disappeared from view behind than a new sight emerged ahead: tall spires of pure white marble, tumbled by time and disrepair; domes partially collapsed, staffs long bereft of standards. The skeleton of an old harbour lay half-submerged at the foot of the cliff upon which the abandoned city had once reared. Just to the east flowed the river Morthond into Cobas Haven. Brazen trumpets sounded their approach.

'Edhellond,' Éomer breathed behind the pair, emerging from the captain's quarters dressed in kingly robes of evergreen velvet, great golden horseheads scrawled across his breast.

'Founded many ages ago by the Sindar who fled Beleriand,' said Aragorn, 'only to become home to their brethren from the north, and the last glimpse of Ennorath to those who embarked for Valinor from its shores.'

'So this is what you were so secretive about.'

'In part,' Aragorn replied, more than a little mysteriously.

The company all stared upon the haven. It was not nearly so desolate as it first appeared when viewed from afar. As the flotilla sailed near, a freshly-constructed pier – of simple wood, but serviceable enough – revealed itself. A path, unpaved yet clear and smooth, strewn with stems of lavender for the occasion, snaked from this temporary berth up the limestone cliffs to the ruins themselves. Amidst the crumbling towers could be glimpsed many supports, and already there was evidence of newly erected walls and floors.

In the harbour awaited a cavalcade of carts, adorned with luxurious tapestries and winding grape vines. Here at last Éomer King and Lady Lothíriel laid eyes upon one another, when they disembarked and were handed into the foremost cart together. Éowyn and Elboron took their place in the following cart, and the house of Dol Amroth, including Linwen and her son Alphros, Lady Ivriniel, and Amrothos, crowded into yet a third. But all those who served official capacities in the armies of Gondor or the Riddermark – Aragorn, Truva, Elphir, Erchirion – had no cart, and instead formed a guard about the wedding procession. All others, including the Southron delegation, trailed out behind as the trio of carts ascended the path to the ancient city, accompanied by the joyous exaltations of flutes and drums.

Still in the early stages of reconstruction as it clearly was, Edhellond would seem a poor location for so significant a ceremony, had that been the extent of the secretive company's preparations. But it was not, of course; even as the procession intercepted traces of old, broken cobblestones – the remnants of a path which had once led up from the old harbour – fields rolled out before them. A tender carpet of apple-moss had been cultivated about the ruins, spread with a veritable city of tents. And though only the faint traces of what had once been battlements remained, an immense gate strewn with silk and nosegays of white lilies arched across what would one day soon be the haven's entrance.

Below this arch stepped Aragorn as the company arrayed itself before him. Beyond the wedding party, onlookers clustered nearly as far as the eye could see – for many citizens of Dol Amroth had taken the way by land in the days preceding the ceremony, hoping to catch a glimpse of their adored princess and the bold king who had demonstrated his merit both upon the battlefield and in earning Lady Lothíriel's hand (and who was rumoured to be equally as handsome as his bride).

Aragorn raised his arms high. All at once the flutes and drums fell silent. Conversations subsided. Aragorn's voice rang out, rich and sonorous, as he addressed the gathering:

'Glorious is this day on which two beloved children of Gondor and Rohan shall form a union of peace and prosperity. Tribulation brought them together, and though none can claim to know what future might unfurl before them, it is certain that you, Éomer son of Éomund, Eofor's son of the House of Eorl, King of Rohan, and you Lothíriel, daughter of Prince Imrahil of the House of Dol Amroth, shall face any and all adversity as one, and rejoice in your good fortunes with equal vigour.'

Aragorn then turned to Éomer specifically. 'May you forever bear the name Éadig; for you and your realm, and all those about you, are thus blessed.'

Éowyn stepped forth then, bearing a silver basin filled with icy, clear water from Morthond. Both Éomer and Lothíriel washed their hands in this basin even as Lady Ivriniel presented them with a second, gold and equally unadorned. Éomer then dipped the first two fingers of his left hand in the golden basin before brushing them against Lothíriel's right cheek and then left, her forehead and chin, then each ear. Lothíriel repeated these motions in kind.

'May you enter into this union clean and unburdened by the past, and your path forward be equally free of obstructions,' said Aragorn.

Then it was Elphir's turn to break rank. In his hands he held a ceramic plate piled high with all manner of items: one pure-white pinion feather from a swan, a horsehair braid the colour of which was suspiciously similar to that of Firefoot, a fist of sand from the shores of the Bay, many seeds of grain from the golden fields of the Mark, coins from north and south alike, buds of lavender and lily. Handful by small and careful handful, these Elphir tossed first upon Éomer, and then Lothíriel, and then over both left and right shoulder – prompting only the briefest of scuffles as several young children dove for the coins.

At last, when the plate was empty, Elphir cast it down upon a stone placed atop the cushioning apple-moss. The plate shattered into countless pieces to great rousing cries and applause and a smattering of strikes upon the musicians' drums. Before he stepped back into the warriors' ranks, however, Elphir procured a chain of nine silver links and a single gold one and passed it to Aragorn.

'Is it your will to bestow yourself upon this maiden forevermore,' said Aragorn, extending one end of the chain to Éomer, 'with the promise to love and protect and support her throughout the remainder of this Earthly venture, and to hold her in your heart and mind even as you depart upon the next?'

'It is.' Éomer took the golden link into his hand and tied it about his waist with a sash of silk brocade that Éowyn surreptitiously offered him.

'Is it your will to bestow yourself upon this man forevermore,' Aragorn continued, turning then to Lothíriel, 'with the promise to love and protect and support him throughout the remainder of this Earthly venture, and to hold him in your heart and mind even as you depart upon the next?'

'It is,' Lothíriel declared with a particularly endearing jut of her chin as she secured the silver end of the chain to her own waist.

'Then you are so bound.'

Deafening shouts of joy and felicitations drowned out the final words as Éomer and Lothíriel leapt into each other's arms and shared a kiss. But the ceremony was not concluded. Even as the crowds turned eagerly to the promise of revelry, thus Aragorn spake, drawing all back in:

'We gather here at Edhellond especially, as the haven lies between Dol Amroth and the Dwimorberg Pass, which in turn leads to Edoras. It is a gift to the newlywed couple.'

'A gift?' Éomer's lips motioned, but no words could be heard as the musicians – far more interested in the feast that awaited than the mercantile dealings of their lords – struck up their songs once more, and the crowds descended upon the makeshift square that had been formed by tents nearby. The newlywed couple, surrounded by their families but blind to all in their lovestruck awe, drifted in the revellers' wake.

Aragorn extended an arm to Truva. 'Our individual gifts – as well as our personal effects – were loaded aboard the Alcarindur prior to our departure. We might collect them and present them later, if you so desire.'

But Truva had other issues on her mind. 'Did you truly trust me so little that you went to such great lengths to keep this all a secret from me?' she accused, accepting his arm regardless. They followed after the others at some distance.

'There are a great many things I trust you with, Truva High King of Rhûn and Queen of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor, my beloved – but keeping a secret from your dearest
King Éomer is not one of them. Was I wrong? Ought I to beg forgiveness?'

Truva shot him a glance, though both he and she knew the affront was feigned. 'I kept our courtship secret,' she insisted.

'Ah, but that was your secret to keep.' Aragorn leaned closer. 'And you revealed your purpose in going East to Éomer readily enough.'

If Truva was inclined to sulking or pouting, she would have done so. Instead, she pulled Aragorn in even tighter and placed a kiss upon his cheek. Their own lovestruck smiles blossoming, the pair joined the wedding party at the head table. Already a great number of people had formed a circle and were slowly weaving in and out in the traditional dances of Dol Amroth.

Suckling pig roasted with rosemary over juniper and myrtle, stuffed squid cooked in white wine, the thinnest of flatbreads served with sheep's milk cheese, spiked round sea creatures with ochre innards that feasters scooped out with tiny spoons of Kine horn, dumplings stuffed with minted potatoes and covered in basil and butter, lamb and artichokes, and the most ornate loaves of bread decorated with roses and plaits and swans and whole, unshelled eggs – these were the manner of foods which appeared upon the feasting tables in waves. They were familiar to the citizens of Dol Amroth but entirely incomprehensible to guests from elsewhere, and yet all fell upon the dishes with abandon, regardless.

Morning shifted into afternoon, afternoon into evening, and still the revelry showed no signs of abating. But no sooner had Lothíriel presented Éomer with her own iteration of the traditional bread – delicate in a way that put even the Prince's head chef to shame – than a whole swarm of well-wishers descended upon the couple to bestow their own gifts: instruments and tools, art and fine robes – though nothing could compare to the blue silk brocade gown Aerin had prepared for Lady Lothíriel, not even Éomer's splendid garb.

While the parties were distracted, Aragorn tapped Truva's elbow and gave a subtle inclination of his head. Truva took his meaning. Surreptitiously they slipped from the gathering and descended back to the harbour, where the Alcarindur bobbed upon waves adorned with moonlight. From the hold they led a pony: the very same Zaĭsan that had been Truva's companion upon her first venturing into the lands of Rhûn. She gave his nose an affectionate rub before burdening him with many gifts designed for the newlywed couple.

Back up the path she and Aragorn led Zaĭsan until they hovered just behind the head table, waiting for the opportunity to unpack a half-dozen earthenware pots onto any open space available.

'Plum wine and rice spirits for you, milord,' Truva declared, opening one pot and ladling out a bowl of milky liquid.

'Is that all?' Éomer jested. 'Rumour has it you gifted a Gondorian seamstress not only with many bolts of the finest silks of all Rhûn, but also the craftsmen to make more.'

Truva leaned against Zaĭsan with a bittersweet yet knowing smile. 'No, milord, that is not all,' she said, giving the pony a heavy pat. 'This is a beast of the Shonkhor tribe – my beloved Zaĭsan. His race is not so big-lunged as the Mearas, but they are stout and stoic creatures, and bear their masters in incredible feats of archery. They are the pride of the Rhûn plains.'

'And you give this beast to me?'

'No, milord,' said Truva, her smile broadening. 'I give you a score of these creatures – the very finest of our herd. A particularly adventurous stabler who has expressed an interest in travelling abroad also has agreed to accompany them, wherever they may go.'

Éomer's lips took on an amused smile. 'Incredible feats of archery, you say?'

'The likes of which have never been seen in the Riddermark,' Truva whispered conspiratorially. 'I will teach such skills to your Muster, if you so will it – may they never be necessary throughout your reign and beyond.'

The expression that flickered across Éomer's face then turned Truva's stomach in on itself. She saw not only the man who had become King, the man who had led the éoherë after his father's death, the man she had come to love and honour; but Théoden King as well, and the ghost of Théodred – and even faint wisps of the lost, uncertain warrior she herself had been, long ago.

'And for you, milady,' said Aragorn to Lothíriel, noting Truva's sudden reticence and stepping in. He passed to the couple a small box, inside which were contained two rings of delicate filigree, forged by the finest artisans of all Belfalas.

'The silver swan of Dol Amroth, and golden horse of Rohan,' said Lothíriel appreciatively, sliding the smaller of the two onto her finger and passing the other to Éomer.

'Though you be of different origin, I think you will soon find – if you have not already discovered – that you are far more alike than different,' said Aragorn.

'There are none to assure me more greatly of the prosperity of a union across borders than your own, my friend,' said Éomer, donning his own gem upon one finger before picking up the bowl of rice wine. 'Let us raise a cup of these strange spirits to mark harmonious days ahead!'

And so the revelry delved deeper into the night, and continued long into the subsequent days. Between bountiful feasts and a great many showings by the Dol Amrothinian folk – dances, songs, plays, acrobatics, and all manner of fine talents – the newlywed couple was shown about the haven of Edhellond. Prince Elphir and his army of masons and craftsmen explained in intricate detail all the work that had gone into the ruins' reconstruction, and consulted with Éomer and Lothíriel regarding what changes they wished to see in their new refuge.

There were the typical contests known in the north, also: wrestling and archery, feats of strength, foot-races and the like. But once the worst effects of the third day's merrymaking wore off, there was organised a rather jovial and good-spirited mêlée combat between Dol Amroth and the realms of the north: Minas Tirith, the Riddermark, and Rhûn.

The day opened with several bouts of jousting, which earned Prince Erchirion rousing cheers when he unhorsed his opponent in a single run. This was followed by a parade of the warriors from each realm, voicing their most ferocious war cries. Lady Lothíriel and the other members of royal families who were disinclined to combat looked on appreciatively as the kings of many realms and their captains strode along the mud-churned jousting ground – for who among them would dare remind Éomer King, in whose honour such an event was prepared, or High King Aragorn or his puissant wife, or the Princes of Dol Amroth that custom dictated they refrain?

They posed an amusing sight in their soft helms of boiled leather, waving blunted blades and shields of wood as threateningly as they might. In an attempt to match the north's cavalry in numbers (if not skill), many from the south were mounted upon the Shonkhor ponies brought out of Rhûn, lent to them by Éomer King; all others were on foot. They formed ranks: long lines of warriors facing one another, exchanging mock grimaces and wide smiles alike.

No sooner had Lady Lothíriel allowed her silk kerchief to flutter to the ground than the mounted warriors raised their standards and charged. What followed was the crash of splintering lances and roar of soldiers as they fell upon one another, orderly ranks rapidly devolving into roiling chaos.

Over a league the supposed battle spread. 'Captives' were taken. Wooden 'blades' were shattered. Riders were separated from their horses. But while the united northern forces boasted inimitable leadership, they were kept easily at bay by the sheer number of warriors from Dol Amroth, who had no intention of facing defeat on their own lands; and as late morning unwittingly shifted to early afternoon, neither side could secure an advantage.

It was full evening, with the westering sun nearly to the horizon, when all forces lay sprawled out across the field, collapsed in sheer exhaustion. At last Lady Lothíriel took pity on them and bade the herald sound his horn, signalling a draw. Already the onlookers had begun to drift towards the feasting tables; with great effort, the combatants slowly followed.

'A decent enough showing!' Amrothos remarked as those accustomed to sitting at the high table filed in, muddy and dishevelled but euphoric in their enervation.

'Perhaps you will see fit to participate next time, little Prince,' said Éomer with a glint in his eye. His patience for the son of Imrahil had grown exceedingly thin over the past several days.

'Nay, it brings me no joy to dirty myself in such a way; the hands of a scholar are far fairer whilst pure and clean.' Whether Amrothos was truly oblivious to the impression he left upon the others, or secretly intended to provoke them with his words, it was entirely unclear. 'I far prefer to look on during such barbaric carousing, and indulge instead in the more reserved pleasures my homeland offers.'

'Will you linger long in Dol Amroth, then?' Aragorn asked in a manner that was unusually pointed for a King accustomed to speaking with nuance. 'Many moons have you been away from your homeland, at my behest – and for which I am deeply grateful. I would not fault you, were you loath to return to the Sutherlands with any speed.'

'I am appreciative of your understanding, Aragorn, and would gladly remain in Belfalas until I have recovered in full – though I will of course do as you command,' he addended, almost as an afterthought.

'It would be a tremendous opportunity to learn of Gondor and its diverse cultures,' Undómírë interjected from Amrothos' other side. 'There is only so much that can be gleaned from years of protracted conflict and resources pirated; we Southrons have so little understanding of your northern customs. You have come into our lands and witnessed much of our people and ways of life, but we have not been able to return the favour.'

A glance between Truva and Aragorn revealed their thoughts were one and the same: Undómírë's mention of pirating seemed to reference the Corsairs' actions, and yet in her mind it could easily be twisted about to imply wrongdoing on the Swan Fleet's part. But far more significantly, it was no favour for the Southrons to gather information on Belfalas and its neighbouring fiefs, but a potential disservice, rather – or even threat. Uneasy looks were shared with Éomer and Elphir, as well, but the others were not privy to this silent discussion.

'Oh yes, I should very much like to stay!' Indil insisted from even further along the table.

Aragorn pursed his lips. 'I will not command you to go this way or that,' said he. 'I will say only that my duties draw me away – as they should you, ere too long.'

'So soon?' Éomer exclaimed.

Truva nodded, having spoken of such things with Aragorn at length the previous evening. 'Even joyous revelry must come to an end, milord.'

'If you wish to linger here, enjoying the "reserved pleasures" of Dol Amroth and overseeing the developments of Edhellond, I will fault you no more than I fault Amrothos here,' said Aragorn. 'Belfalas is a beautiful land. But Truva and I journey on.'

'Journey on?' Éowyn questioned, holding a squirming Elboron still as she attempted to spoon him a mouthful of peas. Éomer stepped in to help. 'Will you not return to Minas Tirith, or to the East?'

'Do you recall the sorceress Leódrune, who legend says sent out a mist to conceal the Éothéod as they rode in aid of Cirion and his Gondorian warriors during the Battle of the Field of Celebrant?' Truva asked.

'The one you spoke of having met along your travels last winter?' said Éomer.

'The very same,' Truva answered. 'We recently heard word from Gandalf, who indicated Leódrune and many other Elven dwellers in these lands, having been witness to the downfall of Sauron, now wish to depart for the Undying Lands. We will see them off at the Grey Havens.'

'There also lies the ancient realm of Arnor,' added Aragorn. 'It is time I return north and begin the process of renewing what once was lost.'

A poignant silence, broken only by a band of troubadours and the voices of merrymakers, settled over the head table as its occupants pondered all the paths before them, all the fields that remained to be sown in the wake of Sauron's destruction.

'Will you go then by way of Dwimorberg Pass?' asked Elphir.

All eyes focused with piercing intensity upon Aragorn.

'It is the faster road,' said he, voice even.

'The Béalu-síth,' Éomer mused. 'Long has it been called that. But the Dead no longer inhabit the cracks in the mountain beyond Dimholt.'

Aragorn seemed to discern his meaning at once. 'Gimli has taken up habitation in the Glittering Caves. Perhaps, as Arnor shall be rebuilt, so too is it time to reclaim for the living what too long belonged to the dead.'

'An easy path between Edoras and Edhellond,' Lothíriel remarked, just as quick to catch on.

'A path not of death but of joy – a gamen-wáthu,' Éomer murmured.

'Let it be called thus for many ages to come,' Aragorn decreed.

Author's note: Yeeeah guys, this is the end of the line for me on FFN. I've gotten SEVEN art commission spam messages since publishing Marriage, which is more than I had readers on this chapter. Honestly, it's just embarrassing — that I put SO MUCH work into this story only to be met with silence. (Update: I did get one message asking me not to discontinue, but I think it was deleted or something? So I'm not even sure it's real. Meanwhile, I got FOUR more art commission spam messages, and one even had the audacity to double down. I'm actually contemplating deleting everything I have on FFN entirely so I don't have to deal with it anymore.)

Anyone who wants the rest of this story can find it on AO3 under the username 'blueoncemoon,' but as it's not getting much more attention over there, either, the final installment is also up in the air.