Here Comes The Bride by curiouswombat

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Story Notes:

These were written for challenges at tolkien_weekly and look at the journey Lothíriel makes to her wedding to Éomer from four different points of view.

My bags are packed, I’m ready to go – and I am scared. After today nothing will ever be the same. I will never return here as the baby of the family, the cosseted only daughter or, even, ‘our princess’.

No doubt I will visit, but it will never again be where I live. For I will not return as simply ‘daughter’ or ‘sister’; in future I will be a wife, a mother.

I will ride out of the gates as the Princess of Dol Amroth, but will only ever ride back as the Queen of Rohan; and I am scared.


She looks beautiful. So like her mother; and yet I also see myself in her. I am proud to ride out from our home, escorting my beloved daughter, as she begins her journey from Princess to Queen.

As we make our way down through the town my people line our way, smiling, cheering, wishing her well.

But it is not as I had pictured it in my mind, for there is no sun blessing us with his warmth; rather, swirls of salt-tanged mist cloak Dol Amroth as we leave. I hope it is not an ill-omen for my daughter’s future.


My horse is saddled, I’m ready to go – and I’m scared. Not, of course, that I would ever admit to such a thing!

I am riding out to meet the party from Dol Amroth; to meet my future wife. My future queen. What if she is disappointed in Édoras, in the Riddermark, in me?

Best think of the forthcoming days as a campaign, and hide my fear as I always have.

“You cannot wear that!” says Éothain. “If you want something on your head it should be a proper, courtly, headpiece…”

I scowl and put on my helm despite him.


Éomer is nervous. He hides it well, but I have known him since childhood, he cannot fool me. It is why the helm, of course, to give him courage.

I jest; if he is courting a princess he should don courtly headwear. But, then, he is not courting her – courting time is past and we ride out to greet his bride.

Béma! Should he back out, now, as groomsman I should marry his Gondorian Princess…

I vow to myself to do my best to keep him calm and stick to his side until I deliver him to the wedding bed!


We round a bend in the path between the mountains and there it is. Rohan. Or the Riddermark as I now must call it.

The sun illuminates my new land spread out below me as if it was a map. Edoras will be this way, Aldburg that; the land opens out in shades of green, recovering now.

The light glints on the Snowbourn. But brighter still it glints upon the riders who approach us. And brightest of all on his helm, horsetailed, as he surges forward.

Remembering his smile, his touch, his eyes, I realise I am scared no more.


The sun begins to shine as we enter Rohan; a good omen I think.

As promised an escort awaits us; but not just any escort. I see that infamous clump of horse-hair, topping the well-used helm, and realise that Éomer has come himself.

I see my daughter’s face lights up as she, too, recognises her betrothed and, seeing this, I feel a weight I had not even noticed lift from my heart.

His enthusiasm to greet his bride, her joy, reassures me that, despite the differences between our lands and people, I was right to gently push these two together.


I asked her father for her as my queen. But, unbeknownst to him, I had treated her, first, as any other young woman and asked if she would wish to be my wife.

Had she said ‘No,’ I would have ignored the diplomatic advantage and her father’s hints.

That had been on an improbable lawn within the war-torn city.

Over winter I began to fear that she would see our wild, uncultured, grasses and regret her choice. But now she smiles, her face lights up, and I know I will have a willing wife as well as a suitable queen.


She sits a horse well, this Gondorian princess. Good on a horse, we say, good in a bed… I would have jested that, with such a seat, I would not mind if I am called on to take the groom’s role, but I look at Éomer King and speak not.

He is looking at her, riding towards us, as a horse looks at the first blades when spring comes bringing the new grass on the pastures – with longing, desire and hunger.

I think of my almost betrothed, know I look at her that way, and feel glad for Éomer Friend.


Chapter End Notes:

I like to think she was happy there.


PS - no idea why MPTT thinks there are only 790 words - Word thinks each one is an exact 100, honestly!

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