The celebration wine served on banquets and other solemn occasions was stronger than usual, and made Elendil drink even less than usual. There were to many important guests to tend to, too many political matters that would be further complicated after this day. His position was not yet as secure as he would like, and he could not afford to seem weak.
He had tasked his sons with tending to the highest ranking guests. AnĂĄrion had made easy conversation with Lord CĂrdan of the Grey Havens, on the projects he had to expand the harbour at Pelargir. On his part, the Shipwright had brought up the topic of trade, and soon the two of them were joined by a few Dwarven Lords from the Blue Mountains. Isildur had soon found a seat next to Lord Elrond of Imladris, and had managed to draw even Oropher of Mirkwood into listening to one of his anecdotes. As his eldest son began yet another telling of his incursion into the gardens in Armenelos to steal the Fruit, Elendil had turned his gaze towards the other side of the table. His only daughter sat beside the High King of the Noldor, and aside from a few pleasantries exchanged with other guests for the sake of protocol, Elendil had not seen either of them engage in conversation with anyone else. He could hardly supress a smile at that. His would soon not be the only alliance solidified with a marriage.
Elendil let out a long sigh as he walked into his own bedchambers. He was certain that at least Elenna and Gil-galad would go into that marriage willingly, once they ceased their ridiculous denial of their feelings for each other. MĂriel, on the other hand, had been quiet most of the evening. Given the circumstances, Elendil had not expected her to be overjoyed, and as skilled as she was in the ways of court, MĂriel had played the part of pleased widow coming into an unexpected late marriage well enough. Well, until the wine kicked in, and her facade had begun slipping off.
The King had then announced the newlyweds would like to take their leave. There would be none of the bawdy wedding traditions and games played back in NĂșmenor. Elendil had been unsure of what the protocol ought to be like for a second wedding, well past the prime of his life and with no intention of bearing children. Their traditions had been for the young couples who in NĂșmenor married once and for life; it was uncommon for a man to take a second wife, unheard of within the royal family. Still, this was his wedding, and his kingdom, and he had decided to keep the nonsense to a minimum, hoping to ease his new wife into her new position.
Strangely, Elendil thought as he sat down heavily on his bed, and began unlacing his shoes, MĂriel had seemed a little too eager to accept once he had explained his idea to her. Elendil had framed it as a political marriage, an alliance of sorts to gain the support of anyone that still doubted his claim to kingship, while offering protection to her. Nevertheless, as the evening had avanced, the Queen had seemed less pleased and more miserable, even close to tears. She was not as sneaky as she thought either, and Elendil had seen her drink heavily when she thought he wasnât watching her. Perhaps he should have outlined the role he had designed for her, it would make for interesting talk at breakfast, if she was willing to join him.
Elendil unclasped the silver fastings that kept his doublet together, and threw the black velvet over his head with little care, then moving on to his breeches. He was exhausted, emotionally drained after not only the day, but the months of preparations that had led to many late nights for him. And as he discarded his heavy and embroidered clothes, and donned a simple nightshirt, he mused of the ironies of fate.
A lifetime before, back in NĂșmenor,a young boy that responded to the name of Elendil had once been in love with Princess MĂriel, the Jewel of Westernesse. It was a childish infatuation, and as such it was brief and intense as a candle flame, and left deep marks on the boy that would grow to become the High King of the DĂșnedain in exile. That boy would have given an arm and a leg, and his entire soul, to even caress the lovely cheeks of the Princess; being bound to her in marriage was an idea reserved only for dreams. And now, centuries later, he sat in his own palace, only a few steps away from the woman the Princess had become, both wearing matching rings. Elendil would have laughed had he not been so tired.
He could not remember who came up with the idea, or if they came up with it together, but after Elennaâs latest trip to Gondor, she had begun to suggest marriage to MĂriel. Elendil had refused at first, and for a few months had stubbornly stood his ground. He would not defile his late wifeâs memory, he would not insult the Queen of NĂșmenor so. But AnĂĄrion had pointed out the fragile foundations of his kingship, and left his father with no retort and no other choice. Isildur had been the only one opposed to it after that, but he was outvoted.
And so it was that Elendil had wed once again, with a woman he had so long believed to be out of his league, even dead. This would be nothing like his first marriage, when he had been so young and full of hope, and of love for his bride. MĂriel would bear him no children, not that Elendil would even think to ask that of her. He nonetheless would have need of her cunning intelligence and her considerable knowledge of politics, to navigate the first centuries of his kingdom.
The room to his bedchamber burst open then, abruptly dragging the King out of his musings. A very drunk MĂriel stumbled in, and threw her arms around him, mumbling words of gratitude. Elendil barely managed to catch her before she fell to the floor. Alarmed, and more than a bit embarassed due to his state of partial undress, he guided MĂriel to the closest stable surface. He made her sit on his bed, offering his arm to steady her.
âYou should go to bed, milady. Itâs late, and we have matters of state to see to tomorrow.â
discoholicmusic
dailybridgerton
origamiaround
titsay
