Part 105 of the Elfwine Chronicles. The Elfwine Chronicles are a series of one-shots built around the family group of Eomer, Lothiriel and Elfwine. The total number will depend on how many ideas I get for new vignettes.
A/N: I got this idea while rereading the Chronicles in chronological order during my vacation (I'm only part of the way through them!). My note to myself was rather cryptic: "Loth – cold feet". So I had to think on it a bit to come up with "the rest of the story".
Real life and migraines is slowing work on the next story with Elboron. Don't know how long it will take before it is ready.
(April, 3020 III)
Eomer settled under the covers of his bed with a tired sigh. He was only now fully cognizant of how exhausting wedding celebrations could be. In the time since the War of the Ring had ended, Rohan had seen many weddings, some of which Eomer had presided over. In and of themselves, they were joyous occasions. The populace of Rohan was as determined to rebuild their people as their land, and marriage was a step toward that goal.
Already, there were numerous infants in mothers' arms as a result of the first joining of sweethearts that had taken place, and quite a few more were on the way. It did his heart good to see it, and surely it reflected the trust of his subjects that he could lead them in peace and prosperity, to give these little ones a better world than their parents had known.
His own wedding, however, was far more than what usually happened with the common folk. He was a king, and made to suffer all manner of visitors and protocol in the getting there. Any other man of Rohan would woo a woman, get her father's permission and be married within the week; but, no, a king could not do that, especially if he was marrying a princess of Dol Amroth. They had been made to wait much longer – months even – and the ensuing chaos of preparation had left him cranky and exhausted. There were times he thought this marriage was going to kill him, and his betrothed seemed to feel the same. Not that they had been given much chance to discuss it between them. The well-wishers and organizers had kept them so much away from one another, he had begun to think he would not recognize Lothiriel when she stood beside him for the ceremony.
A door to the next room creaked and he smiled in the darkness. He was becoming used to this, someone always hovering over the king. He had been relieved to find that Lothiriel did not expect to sleep in a separate room most of the time, as some of his advisers had indicated was common practice in Gondor. Instead, she had assured him she fully intended to sleep at her husband's side every chance she got. If he had to constantly have someone with him, certainly he preferred that it be his wife rather than servants checking on him.
The covers moved and the mattress shifted as someone slipped into the bed next to him. An instant later, he let out a yell. "Gah! Thiri! Your feet are like ice!"
He hastily shifted away from his new bride, but she laughed and wrapped her frigid feet around his warm legs. "I know! You are my husband now. It is your duty to see to such needs of mine!" Now her cold hands reached for his face as well.
Wriggling away from her, he said, "I do not recall anything in our vows that said you were allowed to torture the king in such a manner! Why are your feet and hands so cold?" It was becoming comical, his efforts to keep her at bay under the covers, as she sought to borrow some of his warmth and he attempted to elude her chilly extremities.
"It is not so cold in Dol Amroth as in Edoras," she playfully pouted. "Did not my husband promise to shelter me from the storms of life? Is not the cold weather such a thing?" She gave him an entreating, plaintive look that he was finding quite irresistible, in spite of the discomfort attending his complying.
Thinking quickly, he hopped out of bed and scurried to the dresser, while his bride watched with furrowed brow. An instant later he dove back under the covers. Reaching down, he snared one of her feet and rubbed it vigorously between his palms to generate some warmth, then deftly slipped one of his thick woolen boot socks over it. The other foot received the same treatment in short order.
"There!" he declared, triumphantly quirking an eyebrow at Lothiriel as he leaned over her and snugged a hand around her waist, pulling her to him. "Have I done my duty to my wife now?"
Lothiriel nodded, giving him a wicked grin. "Yes!" Then, slipping her hands up around his neck and tangling her fingers in his hair, she drew his face closer and whispered seductively, "Now warm up the rest of me!"
FYI: In the Chronicles, Eomer and Lothiriel were married 28 March 3020, so this is shortly thereafter.
End note: It is best that you read the Elfwine Chronicles in the order they were written. The more of them that I wrote, the more likely I was to make reference to one of the previous ones and something that happened there. If you want to read them in order, go to the top of this page and click on my name (Deandra). That will take you to my profile page. Scroll down and you will find all the stories I have written. The Elfwine Chronicles are in order from bottom to top since ffn shows them in the order they were posted. A few were posted out of number order (#15 came after #17, I think), but you can read them in posting order or number order since those few won't be affected in the story content.