Cushions, Chapter Seventeen. How Long?
I think this is going to be the penultimate chapter - if not there are two more at the most.
Cushions Chapter 17; How Long?
Rated PG. Éomer/Lothiriel, Éowyn/Faramir
Words 3,775
Beta'd, as usual, by the assiduous speakr2customrs
Disclaimer as chapter one.
Previous chapters are HERE
Father had been very happy to find time to see Lothíriel and Éomer King. She wondered if he knew of the Rohirric custom; in Gondor such a meeting would have been unusual, and would certainly not have heralded an offer of marriage, as the prospective groom would have gone alone to see the young woman’s father.
Her musings were confirmed as correct when, after greetings were exchanged, Éomer took her hand in his and spoke.
“Imrahil, my friend, you will recall that we once talked of different customs between your lands and mine, and I said that a man would always ask a woman if she would wed him, rather than ask her father. Also that the couple would go together to speak both to her parents and his to ask for their blessing.”
Father nodded, and gravely said he did recall the conversation, but did not look surprised.
“But,” Éomer continued, “I do not like to totally disregard your traditions.”
He squeezed Lothíriel’s hand slightly.
“So I am asking your permission for Lothíriel and I to tell you that we are betrothed and will marry.”
Lothíriel wanted to burst out laughing. Her father beat her to it.
Still laughing, her father replied “Permission granted.”
Lothíriel spoke before Éomer could say anything more.
“Father, Éomer and I would like to marry. We ask for your blessing.”
“You have it, my beloved daughter. I cannot think of anyone to whom I would rather see you wed, and it pleases me greatly to know that you have made the same decision for yourself.”
“Thank you,” said Éomer, in a serious tone. Then he turned to Lothíriel and added “And as I am the head of my family, and I am more than pleased to give this union my blessing, we are now betrothed.”
And right there, in front of her father, he kissed her. It was not quite the sort of kiss they had shared the previous evening, Éomer’s tongue did little more than touch her lips, but her hands went to his shoulders in response and it was Éomer who broke the kiss.
It might not be exactly the behaviour of a well-brought-up Gondorian lady, but father didn’t complain. He did suggest, though, that they leave making a formal announcement of their betrothal until after Éowyn and Faramir’s wedding, so as not to distract from their celebrations.
However, he had no objection to them telling the family at dinner, and so it became an evening of double celebration.
…………………..
“How long?” asked Éothain. “I thought we could just stay here for an extra week or two, you could get married, and we could take our new queen home with us! It’s not as if you don’t have a suitable house to offer her.”
“Their usual custom is at least a full year of betrothal,” Éomer answered.
“Well it might be sensible if you were going to see each other regularly and get in a bit of practice - not that I think you, personally, need it - but if we go home, and she stays here, it’s going to be a very lonely next few months for both of you. Your right hand is going to wear out!”
“That wasn’t actually one of the reasons I gave to Imrahil for us marrying sooner than is their custom… even if he, and his sons, are my good friends. But it was certainly in my own thoughts!”
“So it should be,” his friend retorted. Then, more seriously, he went on “You did check about your council’s requirements, didn’t you? Even though they can’t legally, command you or your wife to do anything…”
“I did,” Éomer answered. “I spoke to Lothíriel about it before we saw her father for, again, it concerns her alone. She said that residing in Rohan and learning our language seemed to her to be essential to our marriage being a successful one. She was surprised that I mentioned it until I explained that my grandmother had preferred Gondor and never, really, learnt our tongue.”
He paused briefly then added, “I don’t think it really occurred to Morwen that she would become Queen of The Mark. And by the time Thengel King was crowned she was too set in her ways. Lothíriel is very different, but the advisors will be pleased to think I took their advice and checked these things!”
“They might be even happier when we bring her dowry with us now rather than waiting until the wedding. That should stop any of them complaining too loudly,” Éothain commented.
“Lothíriel suggested it - I was very happy that Imrahil agreed straight away, but, to be honest, Éothain, even though spring is a hungry time I would have been too proud to ask…”
“She is a sensible woman, your Lothíriel, as well as beautiful.” Éothain said.
“I hope you don’t let Cwengyth hear you call my betrothed beautiful or you may only have your own right hand for company for the rest of this visit,” Éomer said, only half joking.
“She called her thus herself, it is only the truth.” Éothain paused and became more serious. “As there is little for Lothíriel to do but pack a few trunks, in the six months before she comes to the Mark for your wedding, Cwengyth made a serious suggestion…”
…………………..
Éowyn woke early and stretched luxuriously. After a few moments she wondered at having so much bed to herself - shouldn’t her new husband be in here somewhere too? Then she saw him standing at the window in the grey morning light.
“I am sorry, I have been an early riser for too long and I didn’t want to disturb your sleep; you looked so peaceful.”
She was glad she had looked peaceful - it would have been embarrassing if she had been lying snoring and drooling onto the pillow.
“I am awake now,” she said to him, “and we don’t have to leave the bedroom just because we are awake.”
Faramir slowly smiled. “Well, if you are not sore after your new form of exercise…” he said.
Truth to tell Éowyn had felt only a little discomfort when they had joined their bodies the night before, thanks, doubtless, to the years in the saddle that had disposed of her maidenhead and given her flexible hips and strong thighs, and she very much wanted to repeat it.
“Not sore at all,” she said, “and I think it would be a good idea to practice often to help me become more proficient.”
“How can I deny my lady wife when she thirsts to increase her skills?” asked Faramir, sliding back under the bedclothes and taking her into his arms.
It was some time before Éowyn had another coherent thought. When she did it was to hope that, once Éomer and Lothíriel’s betrothal was announced tomorrow evening, it would draw the attention of the court away from her.
…………………..
Once Éomer and Lothiriél’s betrothal was announced it seemed as if the talk throughout the city, from the lowest to the highest circle, was of nothing else. Word had been sent to Dol Amroth, as well, for it to be announced to the people of Imrahil’s princedom. Doubtless it was the main topic of conversation there, too.
It seemed as if much of the populace felt that Éomer, as King of the Rohirrim, had undoubtedly earned the hand of their only princess. Some of the ladies of the court certainly felt that they would have been more suitable as Queen of Rohan, and a number of the noblemen felt slighted that they had not been given the chance to marry Lothíriel.
All in all, it meant that Éowyn could thank both her brother and her friend for becoming the centre of attention, allowing her to get on with learning how to be Faramir’s wife without her every move, word, or outfit being noted and discussed. Lothíriel, on the other hand, expressed the wish to return to Dol Amroth and not return to Minas Tirith until at least a year after her wedding.
At this, Éomer asked that she stay in Minas Tirith long enough for him to send her someone to teach her Rohirric and help her learn something of those who would become her people.
“Will you send a senior bard?” Éowyn asked, “or a younger one? Perhaps one who was injured in the war and can no longer do hard work?”
“No,” Éomer replied. “I am going to ask Cwenhild if she will come.”
…………………
They said a private, or almost, farewell in the same garden alcove in which they had agreed to marry; with the same conspirators allowing them those minutes undisturbed.
Even at their public farewell, half a day’s ride out from Minas Tirith at the point where the Riders would continue north and the others would turn back, Éomer held her close and kissed her thoroughly; certainly more closely, and more thoroughly, than Gondorian court etiquette might have deemed seemly. But the King and Queen, the Prince and Princess of Ithilien, and even the Princes of Dol Amroth, did not appear shocked, and stood with Lothíriel as she watched the Riders until they became no more than a smudge in the distance.
…………………
Cwenhild arrived along with Éomer’s first letter to his betrothed sent from Édoras.
When Éothain had suggested that his wife’s, widowed, older sister would be a suitable person to help Lothíriel learn something of the language, history, and traditions of her new country Éomer had not been sure.
“I thought Wissian… he will become as good a bard as his father in time, and he can no longer help on the farm, nor fight, since his injuries.”
“No. He will not do at all. His knowledge of Princess Lothíriel’s own tongue extends little beyond that needed in the Houses of Healing, and the ability to ask for more ale. But, more than that, he would not be able to spend time with her without a chaperone, and without others worrying about what he is saying to her. You know what these Gondorians are like; they trust no-one to keep their lusts to themselves, and even you must admit that he is quite a good looking, and well-built, young man!”
Éomer would, personally, have no worries about the young man spending time alone with Lothíriel. But he could see Éothain’s point.
“But Cwenhild? Will she want to leave her home for six months? More, if they become friends, for then she should come to Édoras with Lothíriel.”
“Cwengyth says she would. She is over the worst of her grief at the loss of her husband alongside Théodred, her mother does not really need her in Harrowdale, and neither does her mother-in-law; she is simply another mouth to feed at this time.”
Éomer could understand that.
Éothain continued. “And she had lessons in the Common Tongue, just as we did. But Cwengyth and I have another, very different, reason for suggesting Cwenhild. Your princess has no mother. Can you be sure she knows all she should about ‘the marriage bed’? She is not likely to have had the chance to experiment in the stables, or wherever one might have such fun in Dol Amroth. Apart from anything else she has three older brothers - and it only took one of you to keep most of the lads away from Éowyn.”
“Most?”
“Well… anyway I don’t think anyone ever got further with Éowyn than a kiss. And don’t distract me.”
“But surely someone must have explained to Lothíriel?” It really hadn’t occurred to Éomer that it might be a problem. She had certainly needed little instruction of how to kiss; she’d picked that up quickly enough.
“I expect she knows the basic theory, unless she has always been kept well away from the horses at that time. But I would hope you would want her to expect something a little different to the mares.”
“Elphir has a wife… or I could ask Éowyn to…”
“Éomer! Don’t be stupid. Do you like to imagine your sister naked, entwined with her new husband?”
“No!”
“So how comfortable would your princess feel imagining her brother bedding his wife, or Éowyn feel discussing what Lothíriel might do with you… Or, for that matter, Princess Lothíriel imagining Éowyn enjoying herself with Lothíriel’s cousin. But Cwenhild is only a year older than you and me, so young enough to talk about fucking - I mean, can you imagine if you’d been told about it by Théoden King? You couldn’t really imagine him doing it, can you? Théodred, on the other hand - we were both happy to believe him, weren’t we?”
Oh yes, Éomer well remembered some of the advice given by Théodred.
“And Cwenhild has been married, so Lothíriel would feel happy enough asking her questions,” Éothain continued. “So could Éowyn, if she needed to, because you can’t really imagine her talking about women’s things with Queen Arwen. Also, Cwenhild knows all the other things our women need to know - Wissian might know the histories, but he probably doesn’t know the sort of things women talk about. We don’t, after all!”
And so it was decided.
…………………
Déore Éomer,
Thank you so much for sending Cwenhild to me. As you can see she is starting by teaching me some words that I can use when I write to you. Already I can tell you that you are wenlicne.
Éowyn joins us sometimes in the afternoon to talk, but more often she joins us in the morning to ride. At the moment they are trying to teach me all the different words for horses. I find it hard to believe there are so many different words depending on gender, colour, age and configuration, whilst they wonder how we cope without them.
There are still ladies who look at me as if they would stab me in the back if they could, for ‘ensnaring’ you. Éowyn and Cwenhild are amused by them and Queen Arwen says that she expects they are the same ladies who fancied themselves likely to become Queen of Gondor and Arnor, as soon as they realised there was a king, and hurried back to the city immediately.
I do wish you were here - I walk in the garden to ‘our’ alcove, but it feels very empty without you. My back feels bare without your hand on it and my hands feel empty when I cannot use them to hold me against you lest your kisses make me too weak at the knees to stand. But I know you must be at home in The Mark amongst your people. I wish, then, that I was there with you and I could already call them ‘our’ people.
Éomer paused in his reading. He remembered why he had been unsure about asking Cwenhild to go to Gondor to undertake this task; she was as down to earth and plain speaking as her younger sister, and he had thought she might not be quite ladylike enough to fit in. Really he should have realised that Lothíriel, being happy in the company of Cwengyth, would probably get on well with her.
And Lothíriel thought him handsome. Aye, Éothain was right, she probably wouldn’t have asked Wissian to teach her that amongst her first words! But better still was to have Lothíriel so willing to tell him how much she missed him physically and, just as good, was knowing how willing she seemed to come to The Mark.
He read on through descriptions of Gondorian social life, but it was those words that told him how much Lothíriel wanted them to be together that made him smile at odd moments over the next few days.
…………………
Min déore, faeger, Lothíriel,
If I use words that Cwenhild has not taught you, you will have to ask her their meaning. I warn you that I may be driven to use compliments that will make you blush. But I doubt anything makes Cwenhild blush. Perhaps I should try. I do wish inflection could be written so that you would know that I only jest. Probably.
The weather is perfect; much better than at this time last year, and everyone informs me it will be a very good harvest if this continues. The farmers tell me healthy calves are already being born to the cattle that came from Gondor and, outside my window, the children also look healthier and laugh more.
She liked the way he gave her news of the land and the people when he wrote. It was good to hear of recovery, for Cwenhild had told her how bad things had really been, in the year before the final battles of the War and in the year since.
I can see, and hear, them from where I sit writing this at the desk in what will be our private rooms. My cousin, who is overseeing the household until our wedding, says we need to whitewash the plain walls, and the ceilings, and renew some of the wall hangings. Éowyn oversaw this being done in the main hall but I felt, then, that my own rooms were less important.
I have been reminded to ask whether you have any pieces of furniture, or wall hangings, that you would want to bring with you. Perhaps, if there are such pieces, you could send them over the summer so that they will be here when you arrive. My cousin says I must reassure you that there will be all new bedding, ready for your arrival, and I have told her this must include many, many, cushions for you are a proper princess and need them.
She knows me well enough to tell there is some joke in this, but knows not what it is. I think, though, that many cushions might be pleasant as I intend us to spend a good deal more time in the bed together than I normally do alone.
Lothíriel decided Éomer didn’t even have to pay her compliments to make her blush; she was fairly sure he already knew that.
She turned her mind to what she might want to take to The Mark with her. It was nice to think she might have some familiar things amongst the new.
…………………
In this fashion the summer passed. Letters backwards and forwards told of the recovery of The Mark and, then, of Lothíriel and Cwenhild sailing down the Anduin and along the coast to spend time in Dol Amroth. They told of Lothíriel’s pleasure in having new clothes made for her trousseau (advised by Cwenhild for, although Lothíriel had met many Riders, she had not met many women to know what was acceptable or simply fashionable); one letter even told of Éomer, reminded by a missive from his sister, having new clothes made suitable for his marriage celebration.
Lothíriel wrote of her brothers flirting with Cwenhild only to be told that, if either of them was serious, he would have to be prepared to move to Rohan for she certainly wouldn’t want to live anywhere in Gondor. Éomer laughed when he read this as he could imagine both the attempts at seduction and the rebuff.
She did not write about the conversations with Cwenhild about love-making, which left her a great deal more knowledgeable than most well brought-up young Gondorian ladies approaching marriage. Not only more knowledgeable but a good deal less anxious and certainly looking forward to it more than many. Cwenhild, though, wrote of these conversations to her sister, who told her husband, to prove how right they had been to suggest Cwenhild go to Gondor, and Éothain, of course, told Éomer…
And then the summer was almost over, the harvests of both Rohan and Gondor were being gathered in, and were as bountiful as had been predicted, and everything seemed to be going according to plan. The change in the arrangements, when it came, seemed so small as to be almost insignificant.
…………………
Min déore Éomer,
We should have left Dol Amroth yesterday to sail to Minas Tirith but both of Elphir and Miraina’s children are unwell and Father will not leave Dol Amroth until he is sure they are both recovered.
The healer says it is but a childhood ailment and they will feel better once the rash has gone. Father remembers us all having the same illness, in our turn, as children, and only Amrothos was really ill. Even so, he has already sent word on to The King, and Faramir and Éowyn, to say that we will not be going to Minas Tirith at all.
Do not worry, leof, I am still coming for our wedding! But we will not join their party; rather we will miss all the official harvest celebrations, as we wait here for a couple of weeks, and then we will take the new messengers’ route, riding up the valley of the Ringlo and then along the southern edge of the White Mountains to the Path beneath the Mountain. (I do not like to think of its name of old.)
I think Éowyn will be amused by the change of plan as I did say I wanted to flee the city for Dol Amroth and not go back until we were wed.
Cwenhild is enthusiastic about this new plan as it will be sensible for us to stay overnight at her parents’ home where there will be room for our, smaller, party.
I just want the journey to begin, so that it will soon be over and I shall see The Riddermark at last.
Éomer could understand why Lothíriel didn’t like to think of the great passage under the mountains being called The Paths of the Dead - but it was safe enough now, just a little unsettling, or so he had been told. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of a ‘smaller party’, though; there were still stray bands of orcs around.
However, Imrahil was no idiot, and valued his family above all else but his king, so it would not be too small a party. And Éomer would make sure he was there, personally, to greet them as they emerged into The Mark. In fact, he might surprise them by venturing through to greet them on the far side of the Path - he had not yet had time to see it, and Lothíriel might want to ride with him if she was even a little fearful.
Yes - there might be benefits to this change of plan - and if he was accompanying them with his own personal guard then surely it would be, if anything, safer than the original plan…
faeger - beautiful
leof - my love
Cushions Chapter 17; How Long?
Rated PG. Éomer/Lothiriel, Éowyn/Faramir
Words 3,775
Beta'd, as usual, by the assiduous speakr2customrs
Disclaimer as chapter one.
Previous chapters are HERE
Father had been very happy to find time to see Lothíriel and Éomer King. She wondered if he knew of the Rohirric custom; in Gondor such a meeting would have been unusual, and would certainly not have heralded an offer of marriage, as the prospective groom would have gone alone to see the young woman’s father.
Her musings were confirmed as correct when, after greetings were exchanged, Éomer took her hand in his and spoke.
“Imrahil, my friend, you will recall that we once talked of different customs between your lands and mine, and I said that a man would always ask a woman if she would wed him, rather than ask her father. Also that the couple would go together to speak both to her parents and his to ask for their blessing.”
Father nodded, and gravely said he did recall the conversation, but did not look surprised.
“But,” Éomer continued, “I do not like to totally disregard your traditions.”
He squeezed Lothíriel’s hand slightly.
“So I am asking your permission for Lothíriel and I to tell you that we are betrothed and will marry.”
Lothíriel wanted to burst out laughing. Her father beat her to it.
Still laughing, her father replied “Permission granted.”
Lothíriel spoke before Éomer could say anything more.
“Father, Éomer and I would like to marry. We ask for your blessing.”
“You have it, my beloved daughter. I cannot think of anyone to whom I would rather see you wed, and it pleases me greatly to know that you have made the same decision for yourself.”
“Thank you,” said Éomer, in a serious tone. Then he turned to Lothíriel and added “And as I am the head of my family, and I am more than pleased to give this union my blessing, we are now betrothed.”
And right there, in front of her father, he kissed her. It was not quite the sort of kiss they had shared the previous evening, Éomer’s tongue did little more than touch her lips, but her hands went to his shoulders in response and it was Éomer who broke the kiss.
It might not be exactly the behaviour of a well-brought-up Gondorian lady, but father didn’t complain. He did suggest, though, that they leave making a formal announcement of their betrothal until after Éowyn and Faramir’s wedding, so as not to distract from their celebrations.
However, he had no objection to them telling the family at dinner, and so it became an evening of double celebration.
…………………..
“How long?” asked Éothain. “I thought we could just stay here for an extra week or two, you could get married, and we could take our new queen home with us! It’s not as if you don’t have a suitable house to offer her.”
“Their usual custom is at least a full year of betrothal,” Éomer answered.
“Well it might be sensible if you were going to see each other regularly and get in a bit of practice - not that I think you, personally, need it - but if we go home, and she stays here, it’s going to be a very lonely next few months for both of you. Your right hand is going to wear out!”
“That wasn’t actually one of the reasons I gave to Imrahil for us marrying sooner than is their custom… even if he, and his sons, are my good friends. But it was certainly in my own thoughts!”
“So it should be,” his friend retorted. Then, more seriously, he went on “You did check about your council’s requirements, didn’t you? Even though they can’t legally, command you or your wife to do anything…”
“I did,” Éomer answered. “I spoke to Lothíriel about it before we saw her father for, again, it concerns her alone. She said that residing in Rohan and learning our language seemed to her to be essential to our marriage being a successful one. She was surprised that I mentioned it until I explained that my grandmother had preferred Gondor and never, really, learnt our tongue.”
He paused briefly then added, “I don’t think it really occurred to Morwen that she would become Queen of The Mark. And by the time Thengel King was crowned she was too set in her ways. Lothíriel is very different, but the advisors will be pleased to think I took their advice and checked these things!”
“They might be even happier when we bring her dowry with us now rather than waiting until the wedding. That should stop any of them complaining too loudly,” Éothain commented.
“Lothíriel suggested it - I was very happy that Imrahil agreed straight away, but, to be honest, Éothain, even though spring is a hungry time I would have been too proud to ask…”
“She is a sensible woman, your Lothíriel, as well as beautiful.” Éothain said.
“I hope you don’t let Cwengyth hear you call my betrothed beautiful or you may only have your own right hand for company for the rest of this visit,” Éomer said, only half joking.
“She called her thus herself, it is only the truth.” Éothain paused and became more serious. “As there is little for Lothíriel to do but pack a few trunks, in the six months before she comes to the Mark for your wedding, Cwengyth made a serious suggestion…”
…………………..
Éowyn woke early and stretched luxuriously. After a few moments she wondered at having so much bed to herself - shouldn’t her new husband be in here somewhere too? Then she saw him standing at the window in the grey morning light.
“I am sorry, I have been an early riser for too long and I didn’t want to disturb your sleep; you looked so peaceful.”
She was glad she had looked peaceful - it would have been embarrassing if she had been lying snoring and drooling onto the pillow.
“I am awake now,” she said to him, “and we don’t have to leave the bedroom just because we are awake.”
Faramir slowly smiled. “Well, if you are not sore after your new form of exercise…” he said.
Truth to tell Éowyn had felt only a little discomfort when they had joined their bodies the night before, thanks, doubtless, to the years in the saddle that had disposed of her maidenhead and given her flexible hips and strong thighs, and she very much wanted to repeat it.
“Not sore at all,” she said, “and I think it would be a good idea to practice often to help me become more proficient.”
“How can I deny my lady wife when she thirsts to increase her skills?” asked Faramir, sliding back under the bedclothes and taking her into his arms.
It was some time before Éowyn had another coherent thought. When she did it was to hope that, once Éomer and Lothíriel’s betrothal was announced tomorrow evening, it would draw the attention of the court away from her.
…………………..
Once Éomer and Lothiriél’s betrothal was announced it seemed as if the talk throughout the city, from the lowest to the highest circle, was of nothing else. Word had been sent to Dol Amroth, as well, for it to be announced to the people of Imrahil’s princedom. Doubtless it was the main topic of conversation there, too.
It seemed as if much of the populace felt that Éomer, as King of the Rohirrim, had undoubtedly earned the hand of their only princess. Some of the ladies of the court certainly felt that they would have been more suitable as Queen of Rohan, and a number of the noblemen felt slighted that they had not been given the chance to marry Lothíriel.
All in all, it meant that Éowyn could thank both her brother and her friend for becoming the centre of attention, allowing her to get on with learning how to be Faramir’s wife without her every move, word, or outfit being noted and discussed. Lothíriel, on the other hand, expressed the wish to return to Dol Amroth and not return to Minas Tirith until at least a year after her wedding.
At this, Éomer asked that she stay in Minas Tirith long enough for him to send her someone to teach her Rohirric and help her learn something of those who would become her people.
“Will you send a senior bard?” Éowyn asked, “or a younger one? Perhaps one who was injured in the war and can no longer do hard work?”
“No,” Éomer replied. “I am going to ask Cwenhild if she will come.”
…………………
They said a private, or almost, farewell in the same garden alcove in which they had agreed to marry; with the same conspirators allowing them those minutes undisturbed.
Even at their public farewell, half a day’s ride out from Minas Tirith at the point where the Riders would continue north and the others would turn back, Éomer held her close and kissed her thoroughly; certainly more closely, and more thoroughly, than Gondorian court etiquette might have deemed seemly. But the King and Queen, the Prince and Princess of Ithilien, and even the Princes of Dol Amroth, did not appear shocked, and stood with Lothíriel as she watched the Riders until they became no more than a smudge in the distance.
…………………
Cwenhild arrived along with Éomer’s first letter to his betrothed sent from Édoras.
When Éothain had suggested that his wife’s, widowed, older sister would be a suitable person to help Lothíriel learn something of the language, history, and traditions of her new country Éomer had not been sure.
“I thought Wissian… he will become as good a bard as his father in time, and he can no longer help on the farm, nor fight, since his injuries.”
“No. He will not do at all. His knowledge of Princess Lothíriel’s own tongue extends little beyond that needed in the Houses of Healing, and the ability to ask for more ale. But, more than that, he would not be able to spend time with her without a chaperone, and without others worrying about what he is saying to her. You know what these Gondorians are like; they trust no-one to keep their lusts to themselves, and even you must admit that he is quite a good looking, and well-built, young man!”
Éomer would, personally, have no worries about the young man spending time alone with Lothíriel. But he could see Éothain’s point.
“But Cwenhild? Will she want to leave her home for six months? More, if they become friends, for then she should come to Édoras with Lothíriel.”
“Cwengyth says she would. She is over the worst of her grief at the loss of her husband alongside Théodred, her mother does not really need her in Harrowdale, and neither does her mother-in-law; she is simply another mouth to feed at this time.”
Éomer could understand that.
Éothain continued. “And she had lessons in the Common Tongue, just as we did. But Cwengyth and I have another, very different, reason for suggesting Cwenhild. Your princess has no mother. Can you be sure she knows all she should about ‘the marriage bed’? She is not likely to have had the chance to experiment in the stables, or wherever one might have such fun in Dol Amroth. Apart from anything else she has three older brothers - and it only took one of you to keep most of the lads away from Éowyn.”
“Most?”
“Well… anyway I don’t think anyone ever got further with Éowyn than a kiss. And don’t distract me.”
“But surely someone must have explained to Lothíriel?” It really hadn’t occurred to Éomer that it might be a problem. She had certainly needed little instruction of how to kiss; she’d picked that up quickly enough.
“I expect she knows the basic theory, unless she has always been kept well away from the horses at that time. But I would hope you would want her to expect something a little different to the mares.”
“Elphir has a wife… or I could ask Éowyn to…”
“Éomer! Don’t be stupid. Do you like to imagine your sister naked, entwined with her new husband?”
“No!”
“So how comfortable would your princess feel imagining her brother bedding his wife, or Éowyn feel discussing what Lothíriel might do with you… Or, for that matter, Princess Lothíriel imagining Éowyn enjoying herself with Lothíriel’s cousin. But Cwenhild is only a year older than you and me, so young enough to talk about fucking - I mean, can you imagine if you’d been told about it by Théoden King? You couldn’t really imagine him doing it, can you? Théodred, on the other hand - we were both happy to believe him, weren’t we?”
Oh yes, Éomer well remembered some of the advice given by Théodred.
“And Cwenhild has been married, so Lothíriel would feel happy enough asking her questions,” Éothain continued. “So could Éowyn, if she needed to, because you can’t really imagine her talking about women’s things with Queen Arwen. Also, Cwenhild knows all the other things our women need to know - Wissian might know the histories, but he probably doesn’t know the sort of things women talk about. We don’t, after all!”
And so it was decided.
…………………
Déore Éomer,
Thank you so much for sending Cwenhild to me. As you can see she is starting by teaching me some words that I can use when I write to you. Already I can tell you that you are wenlicne.
Éowyn joins us sometimes in the afternoon to talk, but more often she joins us in the morning to ride. At the moment they are trying to teach me all the different words for horses. I find it hard to believe there are so many different words depending on gender, colour, age and configuration, whilst they wonder how we cope without them.
There are still ladies who look at me as if they would stab me in the back if they could, for ‘ensnaring’ you. Éowyn and Cwenhild are amused by them and Queen Arwen says that she expects they are the same ladies who fancied themselves likely to become Queen of Gondor and Arnor, as soon as they realised there was a king, and hurried back to the city immediately.
I do wish you were here - I walk in the garden to ‘our’ alcove, but it feels very empty without you. My back feels bare without your hand on it and my hands feel empty when I cannot use them to hold me against you lest your kisses make me too weak at the knees to stand. But I know you must be at home in The Mark amongst your people. I wish, then, that I was there with you and I could already call them ‘our’ people.
Éomer paused in his reading. He remembered why he had been unsure about asking Cwenhild to go to Gondor to undertake this task; she was as down to earth and plain speaking as her younger sister, and he had thought she might not be quite ladylike enough to fit in. Really he should have realised that Lothíriel, being happy in the company of Cwengyth, would probably get on well with her.
And Lothíriel thought him handsome. Aye, Éothain was right, she probably wouldn’t have asked Wissian to teach her that amongst her first words! But better still was to have Lothíriel so willing to tell him how much she missed him physically and, just as good, was knowing how willing she seemed to come to The Mark.
He read on through descriptions of Gondorian social life, but it was those words that told him how much Lothíriel wanted them to be together that made him smile at odd moments over the next few days.
…………………
Min déore, faeger, Lothíriel,
If I use words that Cwenhild has not taught you, you will have to ask her their meaning. I warn you that I may be driven to use compliments that will make you blush. But I doubt anything makes Cwenhild blush. Perhaps I should try. I do wish inflection could be written so that you would know that I only jest. Probably.
The weather is perfect; much better than at this time last year, and everyone informs me it will be a very good harvest if this continues. The farmers tell me healthy calves are already being born to the cattle that came from Gondor and, outside my window, the children also look healthier and laugh more.
She liked the way he gave her news of the land and the people when he wrote. It was good to hear of recovery, for Cwenhild had told her how bad things had really been, in the year before the final battles of the War and in the year since.
I can see, and hear, them from where I sit writing this at the desk in what will be our private rooms. My cousin, who is overseeing the household until our wedding, says we need to whitewash the plain walls, and the ceilings, and renew some of the wall hangings. Éowyn oversaw this being done in the main hall but I felt, then, that my own rooms were less important.
I have been reminded to ask whether you have any pieces of furniture, or wall hangings, that you would want to bring with you. Perhaps, if there are such pieces, you could send them over the summer so that they will be here when you arrive. My cousin says I must reassure you that there will be all new bedding, ready for your arrival, and I have told her this must include many, many, cushions for you are a proper princess and need them.
She knows me well enough to tell there is some joke in this, but knows not what it is. I think, though, that many cushions might be pleasant as I intend us to spend a good deal more time in the bed together than I normally do alone.
Lothíriel decided Éomer didn’t even have to pay her compliments to make her blush; she was fairly sure he already knew that.
She turned her mind to what she might want to take to The Mark with her. It was nice to think she might have some familiar things amongst the new.
…………………
In this fashion the summer passed. Letters backwards and forwards told of the recovery of The Mark and, then, of Lothíriel and Cwenhild sailing down the Anduin and along the coast to spend time in Dol Amroth. They told of Lothíriel’s pleasure in having new clothes made for her trousseau (advised by Cwenhild for, although Lothíriel had met many Riders, she had not met many women to know what was acceptable or simply fashionable); one letter even told of Éomer, reminded by a missive from his sister, having new clothes made suitable for his marriage celebration.
Lothíriel wrote of her brothers flirting with Cwenhild only to be told that, if either of them was serious, he would have to be prepared to move to Rohan for she certainly wouldn’t want to live anywhere in Gondor. Éomer laughed when he read this as he could imagine both the attempts at seduction and the rebuff.
She did not write about the conversations with Cwenhild about love-making, which left her a great deal more knowledgeable than most well brought-up young Gondorian ladies approaching marriage. Not only more knowledgeable but a good deal less anxious and certainly looking forward to it more than many. Cwenhild, though, wrote of these conversations to her sister, who told her husband, to prove how right they had been to suggest Cwenhild go to Gondor, and Éothain, of course, told Éomer…
And then the summer was almost over, the harvests of both Rohan and Gondor were being gathered in, and were as bountiful as had been predicted, and everything seemed to be going according to plan. The change in the arrangements, when it came, seemed so small as to be almost insignificant.
…………………
Min déore Éomer,
We should have left Dol Amroth yesterday to sail to Minas Tirith but both of Elphir and Miraina’s children are unwell and Father will not leave Dol Amroth until he is sure they are both recovered.
The healer says it is but a childhood ailment and they will feel better once the rash has gone. Father remembers us all having the same illness, in our turn, as children, and only Amrothos was really ill. Even so, he has already sent word on to The King, and Faramir and Éowyn, to say that we will not be going to Minas Tirith at all.
Do not worry, leof, I am still coming for our wedding! But we will not join their party; rather we will miss all the official harvest celebrations, as we wait here for a couple of weeks, and then we will take the new messengers’ route, riding up the valley of the Ringlo and then along the southern edge of the White Mountains to the Path beneath the Mountain. (I do not like to think of its name of old.)
I think Éowyn will be amused by the change of plan as I did say I wanted to flee the city for Dol Amroth and not go back until we were wed.
Cwenhild is enthusiastic about this new plan as it will be sensible for us to stay overnight at her parents’ home where there will be room for our, smaller, party.
I just want the journey to begin, so that it will soon be over and I shall see The Riddermark at last.
Éomer could understand why Lothíriel didn’t like to think of the great passage under the mountains being called The Paths of the Dead - but it was safe enough now, just a little unsettling, or so he had been told. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of a ‘smaller party’, though; there were still stray bands of orcs around.
However, Imrahil was no idiot, and valued his family above all else but his king, so it would not be too small a party. And Éomer would make sure he was there, personally, to greet them as they emerged into The Mark. In fact, he might surprise them by venturing through to greet them on the far side of the Path - he had not yet had time to see it, and Lothíriel might want to ride with him if she was even a little fearful.
Yes - there might be benefits to this change of plan - and if he was accompanying them with his own personal guard then surely it would be, if anything, safer than the original plan…
faeger - beautiful
leof - my love