Actions and Their Consquences

Wedding Night

Of all the strange customs of the Golodhri-Noldor, Dior decided that the worst one for them to share with the Sindar was publically escorting newly weds to bed. It was a)humiliating and b) inappropriate in a normal marriage. She swallowed hard, and could not have been more grateful when the door of her dressing room finally shut and the footsteps of the drunken laughing crowd receded. 

The Sindar maids who had come with her quickly stripped her, brushing out her long golden-brown hair and helping her don a long nightdress. Then they gently pushed her into the bedroom. The last contact that she had was a reassuring hand on her shoulder from her cousin Nimloth.

Lord Maedhros had been shoved in the opposite door, and she was suddenly very, very afraid. He was so tall and so big. Would he not crush her? She did not know, and was not keen to find out. Actually, she wasn't keen to be at all near her new husband. He took a step towards her, and she shrank towards the door, clutching her robe at the neck. Dior was terrified, she could not breathe, the world was spinning, it was black, where was she, someone was touching her, please please stop-

"Lady Dior. Can you hear me?" Where was she? She nodded. A sigh. "Very well. I am going to pick you up now. You fell on the floor, and I do not know whether you hurt your head. Do not panic. Breathe in and out, focus on your breathing." Arms came under her shoulders and her knees, lifting her easily. Dior did as the voice bid her, and slowly, the darkness began to recede. Softness beneath her, and warmth around her. "Can you open your eyes?" No...yes. She did, and was met with the sight of Lord Maedhros bending over her, a worried look on his face. Oh dear. Dior was suddenly very embarrassed. She had fainted, at only a step from him, like any silly swooning maiden in those stories Lúthien was so fond of. What a wonderful impression she must have made on such a stern warrior, fainting at nothing. 

"I...I am sorry Lord Maedhros."

A slight lightening of his stern countenance, and he seemed suddenly much less imposing. "Call me Maedhros. Seeing as we are married, I think it would be acceptable."

"Of course,  Maedhros." She hesitated, feeling very awkward. "Then you must call me Dior." It seemed that he too felt the awkwardness of their situation, for he shifted slightly, and his eyes mysteriously had problems making contact with her own. 

"Are you alright Dior?" 

"I am fine. I am sorry for making such a scene, I am not sure what came over me."

"I think I do. And I apologise." She gaped at him, her jaw hanging open unattractively. A wry grin. "You are not even two decades old, and expected to bed me, a complete stranger with a reputation as an unhinged murderer. Anyone would be more than overwhelmed by such circumstances. And, your grandmother spoke to me." Ah. That would explain a lot. "I believe you had a...what do you call them, when you are short of breath. Asthma attack, brought on by stress, and the lack of air caused you to lose consciousness."

"And are you?"

"What?"

"Going to...bed me." She flushed a brilliant, eather unattractive shade of red. She really hoped he wasn't - Lúthien had told her in great detail all about her first time, and taken a vicious pleasure in relating how quickly she had concieved - quite possibly the only time the petty woman had done anything even remotely resembling her parental duties. Considering that she too had the unfortunate strain of Maia blood, Dior did not doubt that she would be just as quick to concieve as Lúthien. And she was not physically able to carry a child, not yet - she was as tall as she was going to get, but as weak as her body was and as young as her fëa was, she did not doubt that bearing a child would at least severely injure her. If not kill her outright.

"No! You are yet a child - your body may be grown, but your fëa is not. Nor are you willing, and I...could not do such a thing." She looked up startled, to see a surprisingly gentle smile on his face, and his voice was soft. "You do not have to fear me. Now." And his tone was brisk again. "If you will pass me a pillow, I will be quite comfortable."

He was going to sleep on the rug. Dior was hard pressed to not to give voice to an unbelieving giggle. Eru, he was going to sleep on the rug! Her hand reached for a pillow, before hesitating. If she gave him the pillow, let him sleep on the rug...he had been kind to her so far. He had helped her when she had acted like a silly goose, and he did not seem to judge her for her weakness, not pity her. Indeed, he was kinder to her than her own people. For all he seemed stern and  intimidating, he was willing to sleep on the floor so that she would be more comfortable. 

Dior knew something about relationships. If she let him sleep on the rug, let him give and give without giving in return, their relationship would not even approach the symbiotic one of a love-match. And she wanted to be, if not happy, at least content. It would not be so bad to try at least, surely. "Wait." He looked up from where he had been stoking the fire. "I would not drive you out of your bed." Dior stuttered a little, unable to find the words that she wanted. Thankfully, Maedhros seemed to understand. With another grave smile, he came and sat on the other side of the bed, pulling off his boots and taking off his outer tunic and robes. Dior considered it horribly unfair that the woman was stripped and put into defensless night-clothes, while the man got to continue to wear his armour like clothes. 

He lay down quietly, and folded his hands behind his head. She noted that he was careful to give her space, remaining on one side of the bed, as far away from her as the frankly huge piece of furniture allowed. "Thank you Dior. You did not have to."

"Nor did you Maedhros." It was stiff and stilted, but oddly comforting. They did not know each other, but they were willing to try - to make their odd relationship work. 

"I am going to kill Fingon."

"Pardon?" She wasn't even sure that she ahd heard him speak. Maedhros looked over at her with surprise.

"I did not realise you were still awake. My apologies." But Dior was always curious.

"Why do you want to kill the High King?" In a rush all of her fears came back. Was he really an unrepentant murderer? Was he only playing her so as to kill her later?"

"He didn't specify which race. Race of beings." Maedhros clarified at seeing her confused look. "He should have said, when you were a century old, or something reasonable. Frankly, he should not have asked for your marriage to anyone at all. I was horrified when he told me. Unfortunately, diplomacy is not my cousin's strong point. He is all about heroics, and love stories and glorious battles. To him, the idea of a marriage between two royals of the Noldor and the Sindar was the epitome of romantic - two estranged peoples, brought together by the bonds of marriage. Or some such rot. Fingon was never sensible, and he quite failed to recogise several important factors. And you, more than I, must suffer the consequences." Well. She had rather expected Maedhros to be withdrawn and taciturn, but obviously he was of different make to how she thought he was.

"I...I do not mind so much.'' And to her surprise, she found that she did not. "I have lived my whole life knowing that one day I would be sent to Himring as your bride. It...I never..." She trailed off, again unable to articulate. 

"You never had a life of your own." Well, she wouldn't have put it like that, but basically yes. She had been raised to marry him. "I am truly sorry." 

They did not speak after that, but lay in companiable silence as the red glow of the fire died down. And for the first time in her short life since her overly-romantic ideas at the age of five, Dior wondered if maybe, just maybe, she could be more than content here. If she could be...happy?