Archive of Our Own

May 1, 3021 TA
Harrowdale

“Lady Freydla, you have finished so quickly! It would seem that you have done this many times before!”

Freydla hid a smile as she finished tying a ribbon to the flower crown she held. She then set it aside and added it to the others before turning to address her mother-in-law. She met the woman’s gaze and nodded down at the bundles of flowers that had not yet been weaved together, a silent question if she would like her assistance.

“I insist you call me Freydla only. You and I are equals, as former and current Lady of Harrowdale.”

“Very well. Then you may call me Eadlin.”

Freydla nodded and turned back to her work, seeing no reason to prolong the matter since the other woman seemed unopposed. It had been barely a month since Freydla wed Eothain, and though her mother-in-law had shown her nothing but kindness and had been nothing but welcoming, there was still a bit of wariness between them. But she should have expected nothing less, given the long, bloody history between their peoples.

“We have a similar festival called Lovers’ Night or Fire Night. Women of Holtland make flower crowns on this day to honor Brúðr,” Freydla explained. “Each crown made with fourteen flowers because she is fourteenth named. There is a game, also, known as the Chase of the Maidens. Each unmarried woman of the village wears a crown made of a specific flower, and no two crowns are the same. The unmarried men draw a flower from a basket and they must find the woman whose crown of flowers matches and bring her back to the starting place. Whichever man returns with his maiden first chooses the woman he will marry.”

“He does not marry the woman whose flowers he found?” asked one of Lady Eadlin’s ladies-in-waiting.

“He does not have to.” The girl frowned and whispered something to her colleague next to her.

“That was how it unfolded for my husband. He drew the flower of another woman to find, but he chose me,” said Freydla’s aunt Eilif, who reached up and clasped at a necklace she kept hidden under her dress.

“How romantic,” said Eadlin, and there was a wistful smile on her face that matched the other woman’s, as though they were both thinking of their deceased husbands with equal fondness. The former Lady of Harrowdale then looked to Eilif’s daughter. “What about you, Hilde? Is that how you and Regnur became a wedded couple?”

A snort escaped from Raina, the only other girl besides Freydla who still wore her hair in braids—a symbol in Holtland of an unmarried woman or, in Freydla’s case, a married woman whose husband still had not taken her braids out and joined her in the marital bed. Hilde glanced at her sister-in-law at the sound, then shook her head faintly.

“That is not how it unfolded for us. Regnur drew another woman’s flower, but he still wanted to win my hand. However, he only paid attention to the color of the petals and not the shape, so he approached a woman whose flowers did not match. The man who was to find me was the victor of the game and chose me as his bride, but Regnur invoked the Rite of Hjaldnef and challenged him to a fight to win my hand.”

“That is allowed?”

“It is, but I could have refused. I was in love with Regnur and the other man knew it.”

“What if he had lost?” At this question, Hilde smiled fondly.

“Regnur is one of the best fighters in our village, so his opponent didn’t stand a chance.” There was a low hum as the Rohirrim women mused over this.

“Sometimes men challenge each other for different reasons besides winning a woman’s hand. It is the one day in the year that men could settle scores by fighting one another. It is also a chance for our men to show not only their strength and fighting skills but their physical prowess, as well,” said Freydla. She stifled a laugh at the looks of confusion on the Rohirrim women’s faces. “They fight naked.”

“They do what?” Eadlin gasped, pressing a hand to her chest and looking scandalized. It gave the impression that some of her mother’s Gondorian genes were trying to come out.

“In Holtland, we are not ashamed of our bodies. Well, at least for the men. Women do not walk around naked for all to see, but after a woman marries, she has nothing to hide from her husband if she does not wish to,” Freydla explained, frowning slightly as she wondered if her husband would wish to keep her hidden under many layers of cloth. And that was only something she would need to concern herself with if they ever consummated their marriage. She glanced at the other women, whose dubious expressions matched almost as closely as their blonde hair. “The men typically cover their faces with white paint and blue markings, the colors of Hjaldnef, but any who take part in the Rite cover their whole bodies. So, it does hide things a little...”

Her mother-in-law did not look convinced, but she hadn’t expected her to warm up to Holtlander traditions. That would have been too easy. Raina snickered under her breath and Freydla shot her a pointed look, but allowed herself a thin smile.

“Well, I do not believe it would be wise to encourage our men to fight each other over a woman,” said Eadlin, “but the game with the flowers might be something the children would enjoy.”

“But that is not—”

“It is too short-notice to include it in this year’s festivities, but perhaps next year we could add it.”

“Oh…” Freydla glanced at her countrywomen’s faces, feeling silently grateful that Raina had not exploded, despite the clear evidence that she was trembling with restrained fury. “Yes. Perhaps next year.”

“And speaking of the festivities, we should bring these flower crowns outside and make sure that everything is in order before the men return from the hunt.”

Freydla nodded once and was slow to get up as her mother-in-law waited for her ladies to gather the flower crowns they had completed before heading in the direction of where the festival would be held. All of the women held their tongues until they heard the door close with a resounding thud.

“How dare she judge our traditions and compare them to mere games for children,” Raina spat. “I bet not a single one of their men would be able to defeat any of ours in the Rite!”

“I do not believe it was her intent to offend us,” Freydla said hesitantly. “Lady Eadlin has been far more welcoming than I expected and has done a lot to help me adjust to my new role as the Lady of Harrowdale. She does not look down on me or act resentful that her son married someone like me, as I am sure others would. At least not in public.”

“I agree,” said Freydla’s aunt. “I do not think the lady intended to insult our traditions. Perhaps she was trying to think of a way to include the Chase of the Maidens in their traditions so that we would not be excluded.”

“I think so, too.”

“Well, I think you should have demanded an apology from her,” Raina hissed. “She had no right to say that, and you are now the lady of the house, so she has to respect you.”

“She does respect me. And… I may be wedded to her son, the Lord of Harrowdale… but can I really call myself the lady of the house when we…?” Freydla trailed off and pinched the end of one of her braids between her fingers.

“Don’t think about that,” Eilif said, giving her niece’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Your husband will remember his duties to his people and to you.”

“Yes. You are probably right.”

“Want me to threaten him?” Raina asked with a smirk.

“I forbid you from threatening my husband,” Freydla deadpanned. “While I do not condone threatening anyone, unless they are an enemy, since I am trying to make good impressions and gain the trust and respect of the people of Harrowdale, if you must threaten someone, I suggest you only do it to Regnur because he is your brother and you are going to do it regardless of what I say.”

They settled into a comfortable silence after that and finished the last of the flower crowns before joining the other women outside. A flat area had been set up with multiple fire pits for cooking meats, each surrounded by several logs for people to sit upon as they feasted and talked and sang songs. A long table was being prepared with dishes and cutlery for the Lord and Lady of Harrowdale and other minor lords in attendance and their families. Éothain preferred to sit around the fire with other warriors, especially whenever he attended Beltane festivities in Edoras with Éomer. But now that he was the Lord of Harrowdale, he had to do what was expected, rather than what he wanted. Eadlin had pointed this out to Freydla, perhaps as a warning that he would be in somewhat of a foul mood when he returned from the hunt. Unless, of course, he returned with a sizeable number of kills. Freydla doubted that it would make much of a difference, at least in regard to how little he thought of her.

While her mother-in-law was instructing the servants in the final preparations, Freydla and her countrywomen were handing out flower crowns with Eadlin’s ladies to the women and girls of Harrowdale. Freydla tried not to let it show on her face that the looks of distrust and, in some cases, fear were upsetting. She, of course, didn’t expect the people to warm up to her quickly, especially the widows and orphaned children whose husbands and fathers were killed by her people. Had the roles been reversed and her brother had married a Rohirrim woman, the people of Holtland would not have easily forgotten their own losses. It also probably didn’t help that her pet wolf, Nanne, was lying in the grass a yard behind her.

“How much longer before the men return?” Freydla asked after the last of the flower crowns had been given out.

“They will keep hunting until they can’t carry anymore animals or the light starts to fade. Whichever comes first.” So, for a while, yet.

It did not take long before Freydla found herself alone, her mother-in-law having wandered off to dictate. She really should have followed her so she could become more accustomed to her new duties, but her gaze continued to stray to the line of trees. She looked up at the sky and noted the position of the sun. Her eyes then scanned the area. Children were chasing each other and twirling in their spring dresses while the women talked amongst themselves. After determining that no one would notice her absence—at least right away—Freydla turned on her heel and hurried back into the hall, dodging servants bringing out food and drink, and entering her bedchamber and retrieving her bow and quiver.

~*~

Éothain uttered a curse under his breath as he came upon yet another clearing that was absent of wildlife. He’d managed to trap a decently sized rabbit, but his luck had run out after that, if one could even call it luck. He was used to hunting with his cousin, Éomer, who was much better at it. Now, he was starting to regret that he never learned archery from his father before he died. He did have his spear and a couple of knives, but he hadn’t come across anything large enough to use them on.

A loud snap and a significant shifting of greenery sounded nearby. Éothain backtracked and hid behind a tree, observing as a fairly large shape drew closer to the edge of the clearing. Snorting sounds told him that it was a wild boar. While a better prey for his weapons than a rabbit, boars were notoriously thick-skinned and hard to kill if one wasn’t fast enough. He could throw his spear at it and, hopefully, wound it deeply enough that he could finish it off with his dagger while it was momentarily stunned. It would have been easier with a partner, and he regretted dismissing his pair of guards.

He stepped slightly away from the tree and aimed his spear, but he took no initiative to use it. On the bright side, the boar did not appear to be in any hurry to move on. On another bright side, Éothain was downwind from the boar.

The creak of a bowstring being drawn made him flinch. He started to turn around.

“Stay still,” a voice whispered. “You will draw its gaze.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I grew tired of waiting around and wished to join the hunt.” Éothain didn’t even need to look at his wife to know that her answer had been accompanied by a dismissive shrug.

“Women are not allowed to participate in the hunt. It is a tradition only for the men.”

“It is not my tradition.”

Éothain scowled, still refusing to turn back to look at her to avoid losing sight of the boar. But he was also not in the mood to deal with her smugness as she turned his own words against him; not one of his best moments.

“How did you find me?” The boar was still snuffling at the ground, occasionally pawing at it with its hoof.

“I didn’t. Nanne did.” Of course she brought that damn wolf with her. “I will shoot the boar in the eye while you finish it. It will not tarry here long, so we should kill it now.”

Éothain refused to admit aloud that she was right. Instead, he glanced briefly at her, observing the determined look on her face and the way she held her bow steadily. He also noted that the arrow she had aimed at the boar was one of his father’s, given to her by his mother at their wedding. After facing forward again, he readjusted his stance and carefully raised the spear to his shoulder. He then nodded slowly and heard her inhale. As she exhaled, her breath softly brushed a few strands of his hair, causing an involuntary shiver. No sooner had he reacted to the sensation, the arrow soared through the air.

The boar let out a terrible squeal as the arrow embedded in its eye. Éothain aimed the spear and threw it at the animal’s side. While it shook its head in an attempt to dislodge the arrow, Éothain rushed forward and grasped the handle of his spear, pressing down until the boar was pinned to the ground. He then unsheathed one of his daggers and drew the blade across its throat. The boar twitched once, twice, and then stilled. Nanne slowly approached and sniffed at the boar, licking her lips.

"Nanne..." Freydla said in a warning tone as she stepped out of the trees. The wolf let out what sounded like a sneeze before retreating to her mistress' side. She knelt down and tugged the arrow from the boar’s eye, shook off some of the blood, then replaced it in her quiver. “Nanne, koma.”

“Where are you going?” Éothain blurted before he could stop himself. His wife paused before turning to him.

“I am returning. I wouldn’t want the men to know that I helped you, especially Regnur. He would never stop speaking of it.”

“I’m surprised that you don’t want to humiliate me.” Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“I am trying to make the most of this marriage, even if you do not wish to. Embarrassing you in front of your men will not aid me in earning their trust or respect. We are at peace now, but I am still surrounded by people who wish me dead.”

Before Éothain could think of a reply, Freydla turned away from him and continued deeper into the forest. The wolf’s tongue lolled as it lumbered along beside her. He looked down at the boar and waited until blood had stopped flowing from its throat. He then tied its feet together, and after a momentary struggle, lifted it onto his shoulders and went in the direction his wife had gone, stumbling once or twice in an attempt to keep his balance. At least he had given the rabbit he trapped to one of the guards before they separated.

~*~

Freydla and Nanne came across Regnur on their way back, and it required her ordering him to return with her for him to give up the hunt. Although he had a decent variety of animals, he would have liked to hunt until after nightfall. Telling him that Hilde would be angry with him if he made her wait for him any longer was enough to make him pick up the pace.

A few men were still wandering the woods when Éothain returned with the boar, which drew a quick reaction of joy and excitement. Éothain blew a horn to call back the others, and then the men set to work of preparing their bounties for the feast.

After everyone was seated—whether at the high table or around one of the many campfires—Éothain rose from his seat and lifted his cup, the sinking sun making the gold glow red. He opened his mouth, hesitating for a moment as he tried to think of what to say. Nothing came to him, but he supposed that his best chance of not humiliating himself would be to repeat things his father had said at past Beltane festivals.

“Tonight, we offer words of gratitude to—” he began in Rohirric, but cut himself off. He glanced down at his wife’s despondent expression. In perhaps a lapse of judgment, or perhaps a stroke of enlightenment, he realized that keeping her and her kin in the dark about his words was unfair. “Tonight, we offer words of gratitude to Béma for a successful hunt and to Vána Ever-young for her gifts of sunny days and fertile soil. May their union continue to bless us with a bountiful harvest and the strength to overcome all challenges that we encounter. Gōd hælo!”

“Gōd hælo!” the Rohirrim echoed before drinking from their cups. The five Holtlanders followed suit after a brief pause, though they appeared slightly more apprehensive than the other attendees.

“That was a beautiful toast,” said Eadlin, who beamed with pride. Éothain managed a hint of a half-smile, but it vanished just as quickly as it had appeared.

“Thank you, Mother. I was only repeating Father’s words.”

Though it was not as uncomfortable as the wedding feast, there was still some tension at the high table. While the families gathered around the fires were clearly enjoying themselves, laughing loudly, singing and dancing, those seated at the table were somewhat rigid and taciturn.

“What am I supposed to be doing?” Freydla finally asked when she grew tired of sitting still.

“Whatever you want,” Éothain replied boredly, sounding as though he hadn't really heard her.

“Whatever I want? Very well.” She pushed back from the table and gave some sort of signal to her countrymen because they also stood and joined her.

“Wait…” Éothain uttered, too little too late. His mother leaned over to him and covered her mouth with her hand.

“What are they doing?” she whispered. He could only shake his head and gape as Regnur all but wrestled a drum out of the hands of one of the musicians. Freydla’s aunt drew out a painted wooden flute from an unknown location and stood next to Regnur, who had sat upon a boulder and secured the drum between his knees. “Are they going to play a song?”

Freydla and Raina dug through the piles of wood that had been collected for the fires and grabbed two sticks each before lighting them. Regnur started to play a lively beat, and the women swayed in time with it. When Eilif began to play on her flute, Freydla and Raina twirled their burning sticks. Éothain was trying to convince himself that he wasn’t slightly concerned. But then his wife began to sing, and sing beautifully.

Rising to the darkening sky,
Sparks catch in the warming breeze
Hjaldnef’s folk and Brúðr’s kind
Join this dance on Summer’s Eve

As we circle ‘round the fires
Reaching out to touch the stars
Songs that tell of passion rise
Voices travel near and far

Roots of trees carry our dreams
‘Til the dawn welcomes the light
Whilst down the current of streams
Flow the memories of the night

Hear the drums, hear the drums
The fires are alight
Join the dance, join the dance
On this Lovers’ Night

She paused in her singing and, to the shock and awe of her captive audience, began to throw the burning sticks into the air, catching them effortlessly. Raina moved so they were standing across from each other and then they tossed the sticks back and forth, twirling and dancing without breaking tempo. When the sticks had burned down enough that the flames were close to reaching their flesh, they tossed them into the campfires. Freydla reached out and took her friend’s and cousin’s hands, and they began to sing as one while dancing in a round.

Éothain didn’t understand any of the lyrics, as they were being sung in the Dunlending tongue, but even so, he felt… something. Was the song itself an enchantment? He found himself unable to look away from his wife as she danced boldly, freely, and unburdened. There was something primal, not just about the performance but also building within him.

Drums rolling like Hjaldnef’s thunder
Cast a spell of flame and wind
And the maidens gasp in wonder
As magic embraces them

Now we circle ‘round the fires
Dancing in unguarded ways
Singing praises to the skies
For the lengthening of days

Roots of trees carry our dreams
‘Til the dawn welcomes the light
Whilst down the current of streams
Flow the memories of the night

Hear the drums, hear the drums
The fires are alight
Join the dance, join the dance
On this Lovers’ Night

The three women released one another’s hands, and while Freydla and Raina began doing cartwheels and leaping over the fire, Hilde sauntered up to her husband. She slid a hand across his shoulders as she circled around. Regnur continued to play the beat with one hand, maintaining the song’s pulse, while he wrapped his other arm around Hilde’s waist and drew her down onto his lap. Hilde shifted and took over playing on the drum. Regnur rested his hands on her hips, and as he pressed lingering kisses to her shoulder and neck, his hands wandered towards the curves of her breasts. Mothers scrambled around, trying to cover their children’s eyes. Hilde slapped Regnur’s hand, and he returned them to her hips with an unapologetic grin.

Éothain had only looked away from Freydla once, to watch her cousin and her husband, and his face warmed with shame as his gaze followed the path of the other man’s hands. Closing his eyes didn’t help, because all he saw behind his eyelids was his wife sitting on his lap while his hands explored her body.

Hear the drums, hear the drums
Our hearts burning bright
Join the dance, join the dance
On this Fire Night

The voices and instruments fell silent, and after a few beats, there was a handful of uncertain claps; mostly from men and a couple of children before their mothers grabbed their hands to keep them still. Hilde got off Regnur’s lap so he could return the drum, and he gave a dramatic bow of thanks to the musician before turning on his heel and making a beeline for his wife. Raina and Freydla were both trying to catch their breath, and Eilif went to fetch them drinks. Éothain cursed at himself when he realized he was staring at his wife’s heaving chest and how the flames highlighted the sheen of sweat on her skin.

“Are you alright?” his mother asked, laying a hand on his arm. Éothain didn’t answer right away and downed the rest of his ale before bringing the cup down noisily.

“I’m fine.”

It took great effort to not look at Freydla as she returned to her seat. Instead he stared at his clenched fist on the table and half-listened to his mother’s lukewarm praise of the performance. His jaw tightened when he felt his wife’s gaze, suddenly hyper aware of her mood as she seemed disappointed in what she deemed to be a lack of a response. He was just grateful that the table cloth was long enough to hide the evidence that he was not wholly unaffected.

~*~

To say that the tension in the room was thick enough to slice with a dagger was an understatement. Éothain couldn’t get the visions in his imagination out of his mind, and Freydla seemed to have picked up on his agitation, because she moved slowly as she readied for bed, making as little noise as possible in order to not draw attention to herself. She wondered if she should go sleep in the adjacent room with Raina and Eilif. For the first week following the wedding, after her husband had drunkenly told her that he would not consummate the marriage with her, she had slept in the room with her aunt and her friend; Hilde and Regnur had their own room across the hall. Once things had settled a bit, she joined Éothain in the marital bed, but they barely acknowledged each other’s presence. This time, however, was different for some reason. It was as if they were both hyper aware of each other, and they were simply waiting for the other to snap.

“Alright. I will do it.”

“I beg your pardon?” Freydla asked, somewhat startled by his sudden statement.

“Your tradition of unbraiding hair. I will do it. If… if you want me to.”

“Oh.” Without even realizing it, her hand strayed up to the end of one of her braids. “What changed your mind?”

“Does it matter?”

“No. I suppose not.”

Éothain cursed under his breath. He didn’t drink as much tonight as he did at the wedding, but he was still making an ass of himself. And while he was far from being happy with his marital situation, he had to admit that he was being unfair. Freydla had been trying to learn more about running the household from his mother and did her best to not step on his toes. Showing up during the hunt was the first time that she had overstepped in any way. He hadn’t done anything to help her adjust to her new life here, and she had no reason to want to be in the same room as him, let alone in the same bed.

“If you don’t want to—”

“I do,” she blurted. “I mean… what I mean is… we should. It is our duty.”

“Right. Of course.”

He should have felt more relieved that she only wanted to share his bed out of obligation and had no interest in being intimate with him outside of that obligation. Instead, a heaviness settled in the pit of his stomach.

A noise on the other side of the room made him startle, and both he and his wife turned to where Nanne was scratching an itch. Freydla looked at him, and though he said nothing, there must have been something on his face that revealed his desire to not have the wolf in the room.

“I will have Nanne sleep in the next room. I will return in a moment. Nanne, koma.”

The wolf instantly hopped up from where she was sitting on the floor and followed Freydla out of the room. Éothain released a breath and felt a wave of relief wash over him. But it was short lived, because as soon as she entered the room and shut the door, the mutual awkwardness returned. They both remained rooted to the spot, until a minute later, Freydla moved towards her side of the bed and sat down, but instead of slipping under the blankets, she scooted back closer to the center and sat cross-legged. She placed her hands on her knees and released a breath.

Éothain moved away from the window and paused next to the bed before lowering himself onto it and sitting behind her. He saw her shoulders move as she drew in a sharp breath.

“Is there a specific one I am supposed to start with?” he asked, immediately regretting it as soon as the words left his mouth. What a stupid question!

“No, it does not matter.”

He decided to start in the middle and work outward. Once again, he failed to notice until this moment that there were ribbons weaved into the braids, though they were a slightly darker shade of blue than the ones she wore at the wedding, which went with the blue in her wedding dress. He supposed he hadn’t paid all that much attention to her, and it made him feel worse. What must she think of him? Had she written to her brother and told him about how inadequate he was as a husband? What would his father have thought of him if he was still alive?

“Soft…” he murmured as his fingers slipped through her wavy unbound hair.

“Pardon?” He cleared his throat.

“Nothing.” He moved on to the next braid as though nothing had happened. “You… you sang beautifully.”

“Thank you.”

“I couldn’t understand a single word.” Her shoulders shook with a laugh.

“Perhaps I will tell you one day.” They fell silent again until Éothain finished with the larger braids. He noticed the much thinner braids that looped across her forehead. He couldn’t even fathom how braids could be that small.

“I don’t think I will be able to undo these.”

“You do not have to.”

The uncomfortable wariness returned as they both sat unmoving, as though neither one knew what was supposed to happen next. Freydla cleared her throat and combed her fingers through a section of hair, busying herself with checking for tangles. In doing so, her nightgown slipped lower on her shoulder, revealing a hint of a scar.

“How did you get this?” he asked, reaching for it. His fingertips barely brushed the discolored line when she quickly tugged the gown up.

“It is nothing.”

“I want to know.”

“The chieftain of a neighboring clan sought my hand in marriage, but my father refused because he did not like or trust him. He invoked the Rite of Hjaldnef and challenged my father, who was much older and not as physically strong as he used to be.”

“The Rite of what?”

“Er… I will explain another time.” He only hummed in acknowledgment. “My brother was away from the village, but I am sure he would have fought in our father’s place. Regnur could not fight because he was married to Hilde by then, and when a Rite is invoked over a woman’s hand in marriage, both fighters must be unwed unless one of them is the woman’s kinsman. And as the chieftain’s daughter, my father had made it clear that none of the men of our village could seek my hand in marriage without his prior approval. With no other choice, I said I would fight him myself.

“It was hardly a fight. Because he was the chieftain of his village, he did not train as much because he could send other men into battle while he remained behind and gorged himself on food he did not hunt himself and harass the women while their husbands and fathers were away. He did manage to cut me once,” she said, tugging her gown lower and revealing the wound, which formed a half-circle around her upper arm, “but I drove my blade into his gut and watched him bleed out.”

“Did that cause any animosity with the other clan?” To his surprise, she snorted.

“They despised him as much as we did. Perhaps more. He had no clear successor, and rather than choosing someone among their own people, they asked to join with our clan and swear their swords to my father. Now, they follow my brother.”

Éothain had learned a lot more about his wife in just the past few minutes than in the first month of their marriage. Not only was she bold and somewhat of a free spirit, but she was a formidable fighter in her own right. He didn’t think she would actually kill him in his sleep, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be more attentive to how he spoke to her, just in case she instead chose to just let her wolf rip out his throat. On the other hand, if he was called away, either by the orders of Éomer King or because of issues in his own lands, he knew he could count on her to defend their home.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked when the silence dragged a little too long.

“You are… not at all what I expected.”

“In a good way?”

“Yes.” He noticed the smallest upward turn of her lips. “Something else I am thinking is… I do not want to do this just out of duty or because it is expected of us.”

“I want that, too,” she said quietly. Éothain hesitated a moment before he began to retreat to his side of the bed, only to be stopped when one of Freydla’s hands darted out and grabbed his wrist. He looked down at their hands then at her, and her dark eyes seemed to draw him in. His gaze was drawn to her throat as she swallowed. She turned slightly toward him. “If I did not want this, my hair would still be braided. Unless… you do not want me.”

“I do.” The shock he felt about his own words seemed to mirror the look of surprise on her face. He cleared his throat. “I do… want this.”

When he didn’t make a move right away, Freydla guided the hand she still held in her grip to her waist. Immediately, images of Regnur’s hands on his wife’s body during the song came flooding back. He swallowed and drew closer to her, until his chest was pressed against her back, placing his other hand on her hip then slowly inching them up her sides.

He leaned forward and turned his head before pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She turned her head as well, meeting him halfway, lightly tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth, drawing a groan from his throat.

As one of his hands was guided to her breast, Freydla drew her nightgown up and lowered his other hand to rest on her thigh. Éothain leaned back, meeting her gaze for confirmation. She nodded once before surging forward and kissing him hard on the mouth.

Éothain’s fingers slipped under her nightgown and met the patch of curls between her legs. While he toyed with her nipple, his fingertip dipped into her folds. Another groan rose in his throat as his finger was coated with her arousal. Freydla moaned into his mouth, and that seemed to awaken his own.

“Fuck,” he said against her lips. Her head fell back onto his shoulder while his finger pumped in and out of her, her breaths warming his cheek. As her peak rose, her hips moved in time with his fingers. It was taking all of his self-control to not rub his erection on her tailbone like a green boy. When her walls began to tighten around his finger, he quickly withdrew, earning a noise of protest. “Not yet. Lie down.”

Freydla moved stiffly and started to lower herself onto her back, but she paused, watching him fumble with the laces of his trousers. He was still wearing his tunic, and so she sat up again and grasped at the hem of his shirt, causing him to pause in what he was doing and stare at her. She swallowed nervously, then slipped her hands under his shirt, slowly exploring the expanse of his chest with her warm fingers. He leaned forward and tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth, kissing her until the shirt had reached his shoulders, and he tugged it off and tossed it onto the bed. Another minute went by, with neither one of them making a move. Éothain reached out and took a hold of the edge of her nightgown, and Freydla raised her hips so that he could lift the garment before sitting back on her heels. She raised her arms over her head as he tugged it off. Unlike the Gondorian women he met during the coronation and the days that followed, as well as a few of his past trysts, Freydla did not avert her eyes shyly or try to cover herself. Instead, she held his gaze steadily, almost as if she was challenging him to a contest of wills.

“Have you ever…?” he asked. She shook her head, causing her wavy hair to flutter across her bare shoulders. “You just do not seem shy about anything.”

“What would I have to be shy about? We all have bodies, and I know what men look like. And I am sure you know what women look like.”

“Yes, I do.”

As he took the sight of her in, he noticed a couple more scars—one under her collarbone and one just below her ribs on the left side—which seemed older than the one on her arm. Perhaps injuries from her childhood. But that could wait for now.

He kissed her again and drew her flush against him, and her arms circled around his shoulders, her fingers tangling in his hair and lightly scratching the nape of his neck as she curled them. Holding her by the waist, he eased her down onto the bed, propping himself up on one elbow so he could tug his pants lower on his hips. She still wasn’t shying away from him or pushing him away, nor was she backing down from holding his gaze. As he positioned himself between her legs, he waited until she nodded.

Her brow furrowed as she adjusted to him, but she seemed to be handling it well. His hand remained anchored on her waist as he began to move.

Their lips met once more, this time with more biting and tasting each other’s mouths. Her arms came around him and her hands explored his back, her short nails creating ripples of pleasure within him. He was trying to make this last as long as he could, but the way she felt around him, the way she looked with her hair spread out on the pillow, the sounds she was making, and the thin layer of sweat that made her skin glow in the firelight from the hearth were all making it difficult.

He slipped a hand between them and rubbed at her clit with his thumb, causing her body to jerk and a gasp to escape her lips. As her peak began to build again, her head fell to the side, exposing her neck. Éothain couldn’t resist and traced his lips along the length of her throat.

Suddenly, she dug her nails into the flesh of his back and arched off the bed as much as she could with him on top of her, and her walls tightened and pulsed around him. Éothain groaned and thrust his hips forward, almost causing her to slide up on the bed and hit the headboard. As he spilled his seed inside her, his hand came up and he curled his fingers in her hair, just wanting to feel the silky strands on his skin.

After their breathing had slowed a bit and they could move their limbs, Éothain slipped out of her and crossed the room to the wash basin, bringing over a damp cloth to clean themselves. Freydla wiped between her legs and then unfolded the cloth, letting out a sigh of relief at the red stain. Éothain looked away. He was relieved that they finally had evidence of their coupling, but it still didn’t give him any pleasure knowing that he’d made her bleed. He should have been more surprised for feeling this way, especially about her, who he had all but ignored up until now, and yet he didn’t, because he could finally admit to himself that he wanted this marriage to work, as well.

As they slipped under the covers, Freydla looked like she wanted to be closer to him, but she kept her distance. She drew the blanket up to her chin and looked up at the canopy overhead. Éothain could see her eyes shifting. He turned onto his side, facing her, and hesitated before reaching towards her and resting hand on her hip. She turned her head in his direction. He added a little pressure where his hand lay, and she took that as a sign to move closer. Once she was flush against his chest, she shifted up and pressed a brief kiss to his lips and then lied back down, burrowing under the blankets until she was comfortable and then going still.

Éothain lied awake for some time after that. Despite how relaxed his body was and how sated he felt, sleep did not come easily. And so, he passed the time listening to the crackling fire and counting the breaths that tickled his skin.

If they had done this a month ago, the whole experience would have been much different and probably much more unpleasant for them both. He probably would have insisted that she sleep elsewhere or would have left her here alone and sought another place to sleep. They probably would have argued and said things that they would come to regret the following morning. He never would have known about how she got the scar on her arm and would have found it disgusting, like most men do when they see a woman who has any “imperfections.” He probably would have hurt her, and he probably would have thought she deserved it. But things had unfolded differently, and he was glad of it. He wasn’t sure if he would ever have what his parents had, but it was a start.