Actions and Their Consquences

A Marriage Of Convenience

Dior was not weak. She should have died within the first few years of her life, so the healers told her parents, but she had lived and thrived. It was true that she was weak phyiscally, but the fire of life was hot within her, and she was bright and bold. This is not to say that she was not nervous. Dior was terrified. 

Maedhros was well over two millennia old, a seasoned warrior, general and diplomat. Not to mention a Kinslayer. She on the other hand, had not even two decades, was weak and sickly, and her mother had played his second brother. 

Not the best start to a marriage. Not at all. "Dior, calm down. You are starting to breathe too much again." Her grandmother's calm voice steadied her, and she relaxed a little. 

"Daernana. I'm afraid." Melian smiled sadly and encircled her arms gently about her only grandchild. 

"Ai penneth. It is not fair that your parents transgressions should have such great repurcussions upon you." If a few stray tears spotted Melian's dress, she would not tell. "I am so sorry granddaughter. If I could do anything to change this, I would. If you wish me to, I will send you back to Menegroth this very instant."

"No Daernana. I have to do this. It was a promise, and I do not mean to break my word."

Melian smiled, startled. "After all this time, you would think I would be less surprised. But I suppose that is the wonder of the Eruhíni, and the beauty of them. Ah. Can you hear the Song penneth? It has changed again." Dior listened, and indeed, the Music had changed once more. The Third Theme was stronger yet.

*****************

There were so many people there. Perhaps she should have expected it, but there sheer scale of the Noldor was staggering. They wore jewels as though they were flowers, flitting here and there like bright exotic birds. By contrast, the silvery-grey and pastels garb of the Sindar seemed drab and dull. 

Now she understood why the jewellry sent from her husband-to-be's family was so elaborate - in Doriath it would be out of place and over the top, but here it would be just right. 

She tried to spend the walk down the aisle thinking about anything but what she was walking to. There was High King Fingon, and his son Prince Ereinion. The dark ellon next to them - that was her cousin Lord Maeglin, or Lomion here she supposed, of Nan-Elmoth. They knew each other a little. 

Uncle Círdan was there, his laugh-wrinkled face stern and unsmiling, which somehow gave her failing courage a bolster - surely it was not so cowardly to be afraid if Uncle Círdan was frowning. 

Then Lord Maedhros came into view, and only her grip upon her Daerada's arm stopped her from picking up her skirts and running. Very fast. Preferably back to Menegroth, where she was safe within Daernana's protection and the thick stone walls. His face was black and angry, and he was glaring. Had she done something to anger him already? No, he was glaring at...the High King? His eyes landed on her, and he inclined his head gravely, his dark countenance lightening a little as he smiled at her. She managed to smile back it him, though it doubtlessly looked as though she were trying not to cry. Which she was, but that was neither here nor there. She was just so scared. 

Then her eyes moved behind Lord Maedhros, and she barely managed to stop a strangled whimper of terror from crawling it's way up her throat. As it was, her eyes flashed white with the sudden surge of fear, and it took a great effort to return them to their customary grey. Five ellyn stood behind Lord Maedhros - three with dark hair, one with red, and one with silvery-gold hair who glared at her as though she had personally offended him. Lord Celegorm of Himlad, and her mother's jilted suitor. She supposed that maybe her existence offended him. Seeing the daughter of the woman you intended to wed wedding your elder brother would be difficult. 

''Lady Dior." 

She curtseyed this time in response to his courtly bow. "Lord Maedhros. I bring a Silmaril, the work of your father's hands, returned at long last to its rightful owners." She handed the glowing jewel to him with a good deal of well-hidden glee. Lúthien had been furious when forced to give it up.

And then, within half of an hour, she was married. Bound eternally to an elf she did not even know. She sat quietly by his side as the feast went on around them, rubbing the freezing band of shining gold around her finger. 

"Dior. You've grown little cousin." She looked up startled at the unexpected, and rather welcome, voice, slipping easily into the sharp tongued battle of wits they often got into.

"Maeglin. I suppose it never occurred to you to visit."

"Well, I was going to, but then little Ereinion got an obsession with spears, and I decided that as the resident spear expert, I should remain."

"So, you really are a golodh now. How disappointed Lord Eöl must be."

"He's in the Halls, he can't do anything. And he can rot there as far as I'm concerned. As long as Amil is away from him I don't care."

''Wish Beren and Lúthien were there. At least they're far away here." She said, suddenly gloomy.

"Oh dear, what happened this time."

"I got badly ill last month, and Lúthien visited me. She said it was my own fault. And they wanted another child. She's pregnant now, I got the letter just before I left. A lovely little farewell to their sickly disappointment of a daughter."

''Oh my poor dear little cousin." And suddenly she was enfolded in her dark cousin's arms. ''Have you told anyone?"

"No. What's the point?  It's not going to change anything, only distress Daerada and Daernana."

"Oh Dior. You're well away from them now. In any case, you need to eat. You're thin as a rake. Come on, try that, it's remarkably nice for golodh cooking." And that was why Maeglin was one of her favourite cousins. Along with Uncle Celeborn and Oropher of courses. Her cousin's teasing distracted her from gloomy thoughts of her parents, and apprehensive thoughts of what lay ahead. 

***************

Maedhros meant to speak to her. It was only, she was so young, and so different from him. What could they even speak about? So he spent the feast sitting in uncomfortable silence, despondently wondering if this was to be his married life. 

Aredhel's Maeglin was speaking to her now, and he realised with a start that the two looked similar - just as did that boy who had come with her earlier - Oropher was it? He supposed that Eöl must have been related somehow. Maybe Elmo? That was the name of the King's brother wasn't it?

Fingon, the orchestrator of this farce, sat down next to him and engaged him in conversation. If hitting his highly aggravating little cousin who also happened to be his High King wouldn't have made a difficult diplomatic situation, Fingon would have been unconscious by now. Preferably on his way back to Hithlum slung over a horse. 

Instead, he contented himself with glaring at his very annoying best friend and imagining it. Fingon just laughed.