Cushions

Dear Lothíriel,

So we have laid Théoden King in the barrow of his fathers and I am crowned king. For those of my people who had not been to war this was the moment when the crown truly passed to me. Perhaps I should feel different, in some way more the king, and yet I don’t. I think the reality of kingship hit me when I returned to Édoras the first time and was assailed by so many who either thought I should know everything that needed to be done, or that they should tell me how to do everything.

I was moved more by the singing of laments over my uncle as he was carried to the barrow and laid there. Éowyn led, as is our custom, but then our elven guests joined their voices to those of the women and I felt I could see my uncle and Snowmane galloping across sunlit green plains towards a great hall, and hear the voices singing a welcome to him from within.

See! The elves have managed to make even me wax lyrical.

Lothíriel smiled. The traditions of Rohan might be purely oral, but his uncle’s insistence on some formal education meant that Éomer had proved to be at ease with the written word since their correspondence had begun, and she thought it owed little to the elves. At least, his writing flowed when he did not have to worry about who might read it. That first, formal, letter amused her once she realised that it had been written with such care. She had replied to his query about her father reading all her letters by saying that she shared correspondence with him by reading out the parts she thought he would find of interest.

There had been some discussion as to who should place the crown on my head. Gandalf had suggested that Aragorn do it but some of my advisors thought it would make it seem I was nothing but a Petty-king. Then the bards said that Théoden had been handed the crown by his mother, the queen and widow of Thengel King, and placed it upon his own head. As my aunt was not alive to do this, I stood on the steps of Meduseld, where all could see, and I asked Merry to bring the crown forward, he gave it to Éowyn, and she then gave it to me and, in placing it on my own head, I accepted the weight of the Kingship of the Mark.

What a fascinating way to be crowned, Lothíriel thought. But, there again, coronations were not really something of which she had a great deal of experience. Even so, she liked the idea of Éomer’s grandmother passing her husband’s crown to her son. She thought Merry would have been happy to be part of Éomer’s coronation. She wished she had been there to see it.

I am afraid we used some of the supplies from Gondor to celebrate the life of my uncle, but it would have been very wrong to let him go to his fathers with no recognition of his worth.

Our elven guests leave us soon. Gandalf and the hobbits leave with them. I shall miss them – but I think our supplies may not have lasted had we the feeding of four hobbits until next harvest. Legolas and Gimli will accompany them for the first miles of their journey, as will Aragorn.

Queen Arwen will not, though. She is to stay with us until Aragorn returns. Her brothers, I think, are torn between her and their father and grandparents, but have decided to accompany their father home. I am glad Éowyn and the Steward are remaining here for I think they will be better company for her than I would be. We have announced their betrothal.

This afternoon Lord Celeborn and I are going to discuss the mares he is to gift us – one or two have come into season since they left their home, and have been covered by their own stallions – he says he is happy for them to be part of the gift, so we will have even more new blood in the herds. The horsemasters who keep the stud rolls are already both pleased and worried about this for it is a new situation for them. It is a new age, I tell them. New blood will be good, and you can find new ways to record these mares if the old ways do not suffice.

Lothíriel smiled. You could tell so much from Éomer’s letters that he did not say in words. Should they wed, and she thought it very likely, horses would be a large part of their lives; it was a good thing she was happy about this! She could see that his court would probably be less formal that that of her uncle, or of her new king, because of this; neither Éomer nor Éowyn found the breeding of horses an unsuitable subject for a letter to an unmarried princess. It was also clear that he was happy with his new authority, even if he had not expected it. And he was still not terribly happy about his sister and Lothíriel’s cousin getting married!

She read to the end of his letter and then turned to Éowyn’s with interest.

Éowyn described her brother’s coronation much as had done himself, adding only how honoured she had been to fulfil her role as the late Théoden’s nearest female relative, before going on;

We are betrothed! I am so happy. We will not wed just yet, though. As your culture regards a year’s betrothal as usual, Faramir is not upset that we will wait until spring.

But I would have wed him sooner. Amongst our people the betrothal is usually just the length of time it takes to organise a place to live, decide what each will bring to the marriage – dowry and bride-price – and organise the wedding feast.

We are to wed in Minas Tirith, which I don’t mind as we had our betrothal feast here with my people. To be honest Éomer is happy with this for, although we are now sure that with care no-one will starve before the next harvest, we may not have food enough, come spring, for the feast he would wish for me. Not that he has said that to anyone but Éothain and to me. And I suppose, by waiting so long, Faramir can also fulfil the tradition of the Mark because he says that, by spring, he will be able to take me to our own home, in Ithilien, rather than to the house he still associates too closely with his father.

Lothíriel could understand how her cousin felt; her uncle, like his predecessors, did not inhabit the king’s rooms in the Citadel but lived in the equally imposing Steward’s House. Father said it had always been a dark house to live in, as the public rooms caught the best light, but after the death of Aunt Finduilas her husband had had dark drapes made, and dark covers for the furniture, so that the building itself had gone into mourning.

She hoped Éowyn would set to and redecorate. She would have suggested Faramir did so whilst he awaited his bride, and offered to help, but she thought he would be too busy and as for herself… She picked up her pen to write her replies to both Éomer and Éowyn.

… Father and I will go home to Dol Amroth as soon as the King and Faramir are back in the city. I am looking forward to it, I have been away for so long and it will be good to get away from the formality of the court, and away from the city as well. It will also be good to see Elphir, Miraina, and my nephew again.

Dol Amroth is, of course, smaller than Minas Tirith and the whole town is less formal as we have fishermen, and merchant ships, coming and going.

She hoped that would reassure Éomer that she would not miss Minas Tirith so very much if he was to ask her to be his wife.

And, although it might take longer for our letters to travel backwards and forwards if they are to come to the city first, and then down the Anduin by ship, they will still arrive regularly and, perhaps, it might be possible to open a route between Dol Amroth and Édoras. Not just for our correspondence, I am not quite that selfish, but both for trade and so that, should the need arise, our people could more easily come to each other’s aid.

That was something to talk to Father about, she thought, even though she knew he would be well aware of her, more personal, ulterior motive.

…………….

And so the correspondence between the King of Rohan, his sister, and the Princess of Dol Amroth continued throughout the winter.

Éowyn wrote of snow, and Lothíriel was quite envious; snow rarely lay deeply in either Dol Amroth or Minas Tirith. Lothíriel wrote of Yule traditions, and new dresses, and Éowyn wrote asking to know more so that she might not appear an outsider next year.

Lothíriel wrote of riding along the beach, and of high winds and storms, and Éomer wondered if she would miss these, then thought that the wide spaces of the Mark, and the storms that rolled across the plains, might well be a reasonable substitute; he hoped so.

Éomer wrote, sometimes, of things that worried him, because it helped to put them on paper and he would not give Lothíriel a false impression that life as King of the Mark was nothing but riding and feasting.

Éomer also wrote, once, that thoughts of their last evening together in Minas Tirith brought him pleasure, especially when he was finally alone when he had been cooped up in meetings all day. No sooner had the messenger left than he wondered if she might be shocked by the implication. Lothíriel’s reply read as if she supposed him to mean that he sat dreamily over a tankard of ale. But there again… she did have three brothers and so it is good to know that thoughts of me help you forget the cares of the day so that you may sleep more easily might contain almost as much innuendo as his original comment. Oh how much easier such conversations were face to face when tone of voice, and the lift of an eyebrow, could tell you so much. How much, too, he wanted to add some new memories of Lothíriel to his store. Much to his surprise Éomer found himself looking forward to Éowyn’s wedding.

………………

The winter has gone faster than I had ever thought it would. I am really excited to think Faramir and I will be married – at last! But I am going around Meduseld now looking at the hangings we cleaned during the cold days when there was no need to go outdoors, and the furniture we polished briskly to help us keep warm – and realising that I am going to miss them. We have got rid of every trace of Gríma, and now that it feels like the home I came to as a child I am getting ready to leave it.

I worried about Meduseld with no-one to stop Éomer leaving his possessions lying around, or to oversee the food stores and the buttery. Cwengyth will be here, but the other women of the household are mainly older than her, and she has not the advantage of being of the House of Éorl. So she might be able to scold Éomer for going to bed in his boots if has drunk too much ale, but I do not think she can be chatelaine as I have been these past seven or eight years.

However our cousin (the daughter of our father’s sister) has agreed to come for now, until such time as Éomer weds you. She is not of the House of Éorl, but she is of Éomer’s family, and has experience of running a household, so I feel less worried.

Lothíriel smiled. Éowyn had crossed that word ‘you’ out but it was still readable. She wondered what Éomer would say if he knew that his sister was writing to the person he was, most certainly, courting about his habit of going to bed drunk with his boots on! Yet, oddly, Lothíriel found it more endearing than off-putting.

And now there would be no more need for letters to and from Éowyn, for the Rohirric contingent would have already left Édoras. Here at Dol Amroth everything was packed for the entire Royal family, even Miraina and Elphir’s tiny new daughter, to journey to Minas Tirith to witness cousin Faramir wed his White Lady. Lothíriel thought that both bride and groom might forgive her for looking forward, even more, to renewing her acquaintance with the bride’s brother.

There was a knock on the door, and her maid came in to say that it was time to go. Lothíriel pushed the letter she had been reading under the cushion of her window seat, took one last look at the view of the sea, and wondered if next time she stood there she might be betrothed herself.

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