Lord of the Rings 1. Chapter 1

**Title: **King and Lioness

**Rating: **M

**Pairings: **Éomer/Lothíriel

**Genre: **Romance/Drama

**Disclaimer:** The Lord of The Rings is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien and his estate, and the line in summary is from the song "Ghosts That We Knew" by Mumford And Sons. This is a work of fanfiction, written for the enjoyment of myself and others. No financial profit is made by writing this.

**Summary: **Ghosts that we knew will flicker from view and we will live a long life. Continuation of _Flickers of Light_.

**Author's Note: **In the latest chapter of _A Light that Endures _I asked my readers if they would be interested to read more about the life of Éomer and Lothíriel after the events of that story. As you recall, the chapter in question introduced a wide variety of events that were not much explored, like their adjusting to ruling, meeting again Aragorn in Gondor, and then the eventual birth of their son (I imagine he and his siblings should be making many appearances in this one!). Several readers did express their wish to read more, and I decided to comply. Not only am I glad to indulge you, but I also mean to take bit of a break from writing - that is, I am not going to start another full length story any time soon, but a story in the frame of _ALTE _and in similar form as _Flickers _is entirely doable. Even if I am taking a break, I can't quit writing completely! :D

My original plan was to continue _Flickers of Light _indefinitely after I was done with _A Light that Endures. _I would keep writing scenes in the same fashion as from the beginning as far as my muse would remain active for this particular storyline. However, now after some thinking_, _I have started to feel like the years of Fourth Age would have to be covered some place else. I wanted _Flickers _to stand alone as a companion to _ALTE._ As a result, here you have the first installment of _King and Lioness. _Indeed this is similar to _Flickers _in form but it delves into widely untouched ground that is only briefly described in the next to last chapter of _ALTE. _I am hesitant to call this a sequel, though I do not know what other word might better describe it.

I hope you enjoy the story!

* * *

_"For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach."_

\- J. R. R. Tolkien

* * *

The thing Lothíriel, Lady of the Mark, had known to expect was that being a queen would bring challenges with it.

What she did not expect was how small those challenges could be. And not just small, but also kind of ridiculous compared to all she had dealt with lately.

For on the first morning, when they had finished their breakfast and Éomer had wandered to dig through his chest of clothes, she remembered she could not exactly make an appearance in the Hall wearing nothing but her husband's robe, but on the other hand she did not have much to replace it with. All her gowns and goods were back in Dol Amroth. Well, there were some dirty clothes in her saddlebags like she had told him, but even clean they would not consist of a fitting array for a queen. In war camps and on the road it hadn't mattered, but here and now was different, and Éomer's wife shouldn't look like she had been dug up from some ditch.

"I think you don't need gowns to be queenly", said her husband as he kissed her brow, "but I do see your problem. Don't worry – I will ask if Éowyn can find you something for the day."

"That would be nice. I have plenty back in home, because Aredhel insisted I need a wardrobe fit for a queen, but that doesn't help much now. It will take weeks before any will arrive", she muttered, pulling his robe tighter about herself. "Some queen I am, having to borrow others' clothes."

"Dear wife, after all you have done, no borrowed gown could ever make you less worthy. It is not wrong to ask for help when you need it", Éomer told her firmly. And she knew he was right – he was more right than one could ever say.

"I know", she murmured on his lips and kissed him once more – as a result, the matter of clothing was postponed for almost another hour.

Éowyn, tactful as to not make any observations about the late appearance of the royal couple on this day, did find her a couple of spare gowns, and more could be purchased in the capital's markets; however, when she was helping Lothíriel with lacing at the back of the garment, she suggested: "I was wondering if you would like a proper tour of Meduseld and all the royal holdings. I was in charge of the household for several years, so this would be a very good chance to get you familiar with it."

Her brothers, Amrothos especially, proved helpful as well: "Oh, don't worry about us, sister. We are perfectly capable of entertaining ourselves, and anyway we should probably get out of your way while you and Éowyn turn the place upside down."

From her previous visits to Edoras Lothíriel knew or at least recognised some of the people she was introduced to on that day, but by the end of the day she felt it would take a while to learn to remember everyone's names. Fortunately the chatelaine of the Golden Hall, a woman named Osythe, seemed like a woman she could easily get along with; she had served in the position for almost twenty years and knew all that went to running of the household, and she was in familiar terms with all of its members. Éowyn did not have to tell Lothíriel this lady would be her best friend and ally in coming years.

All things considered she learned much that day, and come the evening she was brimming with everything she wanted to tell Éomer. She had barely seen him during the day, as he had spent most of it locked in his study with his advisers – Éowyn had commented they all had been so gleeful in their expectation to get to him that they had virtually forgotten about ale last night. So, the thought of seeing him was wrought of anticipation.

But when he did return to her that night, she could see right away he was bone tired. After all, last night had not seen too much sleeping, and he didn't look like he had taken many breaks from work during the day. Soon as he had kissed her briefly and kicked away his boots, he more or less collapsed on the bed and let out a groan.

"And here I was thinking I had a busy day", she said teasingly and hopped to sit next to him on the bed. One could easily get lost there, what with the sheets and blankets and the sleeping furs and massive pillows.

"Mmh. It's even worse than I thought. What was that traitor even doing here?" Éomer muttered, rolling over to his back and rubbing his forehead. "If I will ever manage to work through this mess, I will be old and withered by the time I'm done."

"If you need help..." she started gingerly, reaching to brush her fingers through his hair. He gave her a tired look, but there was affection as well.

"I know, my queen", he said and then closed his eyes with a sigh. Then, in minutes his breathing turned slow and even, and she knew he was already asleep. Lothíriel bit her lip – she hadn't even had chance to ask if he had eaten supper.

Carefully she lifted up some blankets over him and rested her hand against his cheek.

_Looks like I've got a lot to learn, _she thought to herself. _I may as well as start by making sure he is kinder to himself. _

* * *

Though she had not exactly expected anything else, Lothíriel saw quickly that learning to navigate this new world would take her some time, and she would not digest all the intricacies of being the mistress of the household overnight. However, she landed the position as comfortably as it was really possible, what with the support of Éowyn and Osythe.

Couple of days after Éowyn took her leave of them in the middle of the day when they were sitting down in the Queen's Chamber to eat some lunch. It did not escape Lothíriel why her sister-in-law did that. The White Lady wanted her to get to know Osythe better, and without herself hovering nearby all the time.

As the two women were sitting and eating, the chatelaine offered the young queen a friendly smile. She was in her fifties, and was quite a handsome woman with wide face and large, expressive eyes. Her hair was red gold and in her eyes glimmered dark blue of evening's shadows. Her husband was the household's head smith, while their three daughters were all married and living in different corners of the land. Luckily at least her oldest had chosen to stay in Edoras and was fast producing grandchildren for Osythe.

"Now, my lady, how are you finding Meduseld and Edoras so far?" she asked to open conversation and perhaps usher away the slightly awkward mood. Lothíriel looked up from her meal and returned the smile.

"Oh, it is all I thought it would be, and more", she replied. "Not to mention I am very happy to see how warmly I have been welcomed here."

"I would say you deserve all the respect of the people, considering everything you have done for the King and for the realm", Osythe stated solemnly. Then another smile touched her features, "I must admit, after all these years I am quite happy to see Éomer so happily married to such a lady as yourself. That lad ought to have some happiness in his life."

"You have known him for a long time?" Lothíriel asked. Her question brought the shadow of memories on the older woman's face.

"Aye, I have. Since Théoden King brought him and Éowyn to live here... watched them grow up. They are dear to me, like my own children", Osythe said softly. She smiled then sheepishly, "That is why I took great personal interest in the matter of their marriages. For years I kept wondering when Éomer would settle down and start a family, but on the other hand I also knew he would first have to find his match. Some men are hard catches but if you manage in that, they fall so hard the ground shakes under them."

She shook her head and hurried to continue, "I beg your pardon, my lady. I speak too boldly."

"It's fine. I know I have nothing to worry about", Lothíriel said, waving her hand in nonchalance and fighting to keep the smile from her face. Osythe's words hit closer to home than the older woman even knew!

"Indeed you don't. Though there are many maidens in the Mark who would not mind sharing the King's bed, I do not believe a single one of them would dare to try and seek his affections", she said.

"Why is that?" Lothíriel asked, lifting her eyebrows. Despite all, she did feel slightly curious. Now the woman before her smiled widely.

"Oh, it is because of you, my Queen. Not only do they know his heart utterly belongs to you, but they should also know to fear your response... who of the sane mind would wish to taunt a lioness?"

* * *

Éomer had known Éothain for so many years it was hard to imagine a life where he did not have his friend. They had been riding together, saved each others' lives, and seen the darkening of the years. When Uncle had made him Marshal, there was no doubt on his mind who should be his second in command. And Éothain had fulfilled that role better than one could ever have hoped for.

It had been his friend's calling, Éomer knew, and he could see how difficult it was to Éothain to let go of it. Though the man did give his blessing to the idea, the King of the Mark had a feeling deep down his friend would always resent the knowledge someone else was the Captain of the Royal Guard.

Bitter as it was, Éothain had been right to say he could not be the captain anymore. Yet the position had to be refilled: no matter their personal sentiments, Éomer knew he could not go on without riders to guard his and Lothíriel's lives or a captain to command them. And so, couple of days after their return home, he finally made his decision about who should be his new second in command. Once he had come up with it, he thought it made all the sense in the world.

The Shieldmaiden appeared at his door not long after he had sent his summons. Tall she stood, with her feet apart in the fashion of a swordswoman, though for now she had abandoned her chain-mail. She looked understandably curious as to what business the King might have with her.

"Sire? You requested to see me", she said, bowing at Éomer. He had never seen her curtsying, like most noble ladies did when addressing to him.

"Aye, I did. Please sit down, Ceolwen", said the King of the Mark and gestured at a chair opposite his. Ceolwen bowed again and then took the seat.

"How can I be of service, my lord?" asked the woman as soon as she had settled down.

"I do have a lot of concerns in my mind, as you may very well understand, and to be honest I have to admit I did not think of this just by myself... but Éothain keeps nagging at me and I suppose he does have a point", Éomer started, watching the woman before himself for any reactions. "As you know, most of my guard was slaughtered in the south. I would give anything if I could have them back, but alas they must be replaced by living riders."

He let out a sigh, his mind heavy with memories of the fallen, and looked away briefly. When he went on again, his voice was softer.

"Éothain has resigned from his position as my captain. I obviously need a new one, and when I started to think of the matter, I realised there was only one I could possibly consider. That someone is you, Lady Ceolwen... if you would accept it", he finished and regarded her again straight into her eyes. She looked at him in surprise, even with something that looked like shock.

"Sire, that is... this is an honour, but why would you offer it to me?" she asked after a moment, when she regained her voice. He offered her a slight smile.

"How could I not? You stood with me from the moment I found your éored on the plains, you did everything I've asked of you, and you guarded the life of my queen... you are a capable warrior and a level-headed leader. And you have the trust of both myself and Lothíriel", Éomer replied. He leaned back in his chair and regarded her, "Now, I am aware you would gladly like to start your life with Elfhelm, and that is why I only ask for a couple of years."

"And after that? You will need another captain, my lord", Ceolwen stated. She had narrowed her eyes and he deemed she was very seriously considering his offer.

"Aye, and I have already given that some thought. Do you think young Edelric could be up to it, after you and Éothain have mentored him?" Éomer asked. The Shieldmaiden tapped her chin with her forefinger as she thought about his question.

"He's a good warrior and efficient in running matters. And he seems to know how to lead men... the lad has still much to learn, but you could make a worse choice", she said at length and then smiled. "Aye, I will accept. I would give my aid in rebuilding the realm, however you may need it. Still, I will have to resign sooner or later, for I fully intend to raise a family with Elfhelm."

"Of course. A year or two is all I ask", Éomer said, smiling fully now. She nodded emphatically.

"That is settled, then", Ceolwen spoke. Suddenly she straightened up and squinted her eyes at him, "Say, have you given any thought to the riders of the Royal Guard? Then again, perhaps I shall consult with Éothain – with all due respect, I do not trust your ability to look after yourself enough to let you choose your guards..."

Strange as that was, those words showed to the King of the Mark just how well he had chosen his captain.


	2. Chapter 2

Around dinnertime Lothíriel knocked at the door of the royal study. Éomer's muffled voice called her in and she entered, unsurprised to find him surrounded by piles and piles of parchments and maps.

"How is it going?" she asked as she approached him and walked around the desk. It was a large piece, and she knew it was beautifully carved – only, now it was so covered with numerous objects that one could not exactly appreciate the expert handicraft. Before it was a colourful carpet of green and blue and white, like the plains and the sky over them and the white mountaintops to the west. A tall window exposed a view to the lands about the capital; near it was a shelf of books, which could very well be the most extensive collection in all of the Mark. There was a fireplace too, and the banner of White Horse hung on the wall behind the desk.

"Not as well as one might hope for", he muttered, looking up at her only briefly. The young queen stopped by her king's side and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm having dinner with my brothers and Éowyn. We were wondering if you'd like to join us", she said with a hopeful smile. His brow furrowed.

"I would love to, but these piles will not disappear by themselves", he said and looked down at the piece of parchment and a map he had been working on upon her arrival. Gently she touched his chin and turned his face towards herself again.

"You have been working since the early morning. Don't you think you have earned a moment of peace? Even a king can't go on endlessly without food and drink – and perhaps a laugh with friends and loved ones", said Lothíriel, her voice gentle. She saw his expression become soft at hearing her words, and he pulled her into his arms. Softly she fell into his lap.

"You're right, of course", Éomer said and let out a small sigh. "I am being a rather horrible host and a brother, aren't I?"

She leaned closer to kiss him, and when she pulled back she gave him a smile.

"Your sister and my brothers understand why you are busy. To begrudge you for it is the last thing they'd do", she reminded him. Her king held her a bit tighter and momentarily rested his cheek against her arm.

"Hmm. What would I do without you?" he murmured.

"You would be buried in this chamber, never to be seen again", said the young queen and rose up on her feet. She offered him her hand, "Will you come with me?"

Her husband got up as well, easily towering over her. He claimed her hand in his.

"Always."

* * *

About a week after the return to Edoras, there was a gathering for justice in Meduseld – same as the one almost two years ago now, when Lothíriel had stepped out of the crowd to ask for the hand of the King of the Mark in marriage. The coming gathering was unlikely to include anything so light-hearted, however; Éothain had reported there were many disputes in the land, and by settling those perhaps the troubles of the underking's rule could be put to rest.

She and her king both made some effort for their looks – this was apparently expected for the occasion – and he also donned on his coronet. She carried a beautiful circlet of gold, which Osythe had proudly presented to her the other day. The chatelaine had found it in the treasury gathering dust and at her request, it had been cleaned and polished. It was nothing less than the pair of the King's coronet and previously it had been worn by all Queens of the Riddermark. Lothíriel was the first one to wear it in over forty years.

She felt no small amount of intimidated respect when she put it on – it was almost like she was carrying the very history of this land on herself.

When they entered the Hall, it was already packed full with people. Quietly they regarded the royal couple as they emerged, and Lothíriel barely dared to breathe as she tried to keep up a calm countenance. Éomer had of course told her she'd be fine, but she could not help the sudden feeling of nervousness.

They took their places on the dais: next to the throne was a smaller chair brought for her – another object apparently retrieved from some dusty corner after decades of disuse. About the seats was Captain Ceolwen and the guards she had already chosen to serve as the King's own knights. Among them was Edelric and few others who had ridden with Éomer during the Kin-strife, but others Lothíriel did not know so well yet. Ceolwen stood clearly out as their commander.

Soon as she and her king were settled down, there was a soft rise of chatter among the crowd; briefly she had time to spot her brothers and Éowyn there too. Her sister-in-law winked at her and smiled, as did Erchirion, but Amrothos looked strangely solemn.

The matters brought to the King's attention that day varied, but many if not most had to do with the period of the underking's rule. There were disputes on land and property, claims of harassment and blackmail and violence, even a couple of escaped wives who had been forced to wed men they did not want. Some cases Éomer could settle on spot, others his scribe had to document for further investigation. He was so focused on the task at hand that when she passed him some ale, he even momentarily looked surprised – but the way he downed the drink proved how welcome her little intervention was.

So many were the people seeking the King's justice that some of them did not even get a chance to plead their case on that day – instead, Éomer instructed them to return in one week's time, when he hopefully would be able to listen to their concerns again.

They did not speak as they returned into the royal chambers. Words were not needed; he just wearily collapsed in a chair, and gone was the man who had maintained an aura of kingliness through the audience.

Once Lothíriel had placed her own circlet on a table, she carefully reached for his coronet, laying it next to hers. Then quietly she settled to sit on the arm of his chair and kissed the top of his head.

He let out a sigh and rested his head against her.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's a little something to prove I'm not dead! I've been taking something of a holiday and there has not been much time for writing. I imagine there will be even less now that Christmas is coming. Anyway, I promise I do have the epilogue of _A Light that Endures _in the works, but for one reason or the other it's taking some time to get finished. I guess that's in part because I'm reluctant to let go of the story, even with _King and Lioness _up and running.

Thanks for reading and reviewing, and if I don't get around to updating _ALTE _before the next week, I wish you all great holidays!


	3. Chapter 3

To Imrahil of Dol Amroth, there was no greater happiness than the knowledge his children were safe and sound – even his wild, wayward daughter. Past months of uncertainty had not been easy, and each day he had met with the fear that he might receive a word of her passing. But then had come the day when a rider had arrived from Rohan, bringing him a letter composed in her own hand. Though in this letter she had again written about danger, somehow Imrahil had felt his spirits lifted, his hope growing.

His hope had not been in vain. For it had not been long until they received news of Éomer's victory over the usurper. Another letter had also arrived, inviting him along with Faramir to north. Even so, he had not been able to hold back his tears of joy, knowing she and her brothers were all right.

So he and his nephew had quickly made ready for the road, as they were both anxious to see the extended family; Faramir had also received a letter from Éowyn and looked like he might just burst. On the way north he kept reading her letter over and over again, to the point where Imrahil thought the parchment would fall apart by the time they reached Edoras. The journey was anxious of course, but holding his daughter in his arms was worth the wait.

They arrived in the capital of horselords midway through March, making haste as much as they could. An escort was posted at Rohan's side of Dimholt Road, waiting for them, and as they emerged from the shadowy path a rider sped to the capital to announce the arrival of the Prince and the Steward.

"They must be waiting for us very anxiously", Faramir commented at that, and Imrahil smiled.

"Just as we are expecting to see them", he said and looked ahead, wishing to cross the leagues that remained between them quickly. Even so, the road from Dunharrow to Edoras had never quite felt as long as it felt that day, and the sight of Rohan's capital had Imrahil's heart bursting with expectation. Soon he'd see his daughter, and his sons... after all these mad events, how would his daughter have changed?

The gates of the city were immediately opened for them, and Imrahil had to hold back his wish to race uphill and towards the Golden Hall. Spying a glance of his nephew's face he knew Faramir too was fighting an urge to speed to meet his wife; this was indeed a day of many dear reunions. But where his sister's son could rest assured with the knowledge Éowyn would be coming home with him, Imrahil was very much aware another parting awaited beyond what precious days he could have with his only daughter. Yet painful as it was, this was the sacrifice he had already seen coming and accepted when he had given his blessing to the union between Lothíriel and the King of the Mark.

At last they reached the courtyard of Meduseld, and there up the steps of the Hall they stood, and only the two princes were missing, but he could ask later where they were... for Lothíriel let out a cry and she came dashing down the stairs, and Imrahil barely had time to dismount before she leaped on him.

He pulled her close and tight, his dear only daughter, just vaguely aware of the tears streaming down his face. Oh, his daughter! That last sight of her on the night before she had left Pelargir, the letter she had left, the months of uncertainty... all was mended and pain of longing was gone, for his Lothíriel was safe and sound.

Eventually he had to pull back to properly look at her – both of them busy blinking tears from their eyes.

She had changed, of course, but he had not expected anything else. The extent of it, though... when he looked at her now, he could see she had lost this naïve glimmer in her eyes. It had been replaced by a stark, bright shine of a woman strong and fearless, one who knew her potency and dared to trust it. Though he would miss her terribly once he returned home, Imrahil knew his fay-child would be just fine.

* * *

A couple of days after Father and Faramir had arrived in the Mark, Lothíriel and Osythe were in the middle of supervising taking down the great banners of the Hall for cleaning, when the doors of Meduseld were opened. Both women turned to see who was arriving and were surprised to see Ceolwen with Amrothos. Well, it was not them really that surprised the two women, but rather Amrothos' state: he was covered in mud and wearing the expression of a man in the middle of an existential crisis. The King's Captain, however, was grinning.

"Béma, what happened to you, Amrothos?" asked Elfhelm from his seat near the hearth. He had returned from a patrol to the eastern parts only yesterday. Though he and Ceolwen had a home in Astdun, presently both were situated in Edoras, as Elfhelm was not eager in the slightest to return to their Hall alone without his wife.

"We were sparring, dear husband", Ceolwen stated and her grin only grew wider. Though she had taken off her rich green cloak, the one that marked her as one of the King's Riders, she was still in chain-mail, and her hand rested on the pommel of her sword. Notably there was no mud on her. Seeing Éomer and Imrahil had been locked in the royal study since the morning, her services as captain were not needed, and so she had readily agreed to Amrothos' challenge.

The prince looked like he had just witnessed the appearance of Manwë himself.

"She beat me!" was the only thing he managed to say.

"Poor darling", Lothíriel said, fighting back her smile. She knew her brother thought very highly of his swordsmanship, and it wasn't entirely unwarranted either. However, she had seen Ceolwen in battle; not only was the Shieldmaiden as tall as many men, she was also just as strong. But what made her a truly formidable fighter was her skill with arms. A Rohirric man would have known to be careful – though it would not have guaranteed his victory – but for a Gondorian, Shieldmaidens were entirely strange.

Elfhelm beamed. He set aside his mug of ale and strode to his wife, whom he lifted from the ground in a mighty bear-hug.

"I love you, Ceolwen!" he announced loudly and kissed her right there. She laughed and wrapped arms about her husband's neck. Some quiet words were exchanged between them and Elfhelm grinned.

Osythe let out a small laugh and shook her head.

"Your husband knew what he was doing when he appointed her his captain, Lothíriel. I would love to see anyone trying to get through her", she said warmly to the young queen. They had already agreed to drop the titles, as neither felt the need for such. The chatelaine spoke again, "Shall I have a bath drawn for the Prince?"

"I imagine he should appreciate it, Osythe", said Lothíriel and reached over to pat her brother's shoulder. "Don't be so downcast. It's not shameful to be beaten by a great warrior."

"Rohan is truly a scary place", Amrothos muttered and rubbed his cheek. "I see now why you are so at home here."

Hearing that, the young queen had to laugh.

"It took you this long to understand?"

* * *

Night had come to Meduseld again. A steady rise and fall of chatter and laughter filled the Hall; the warm atmosphere was something Éomer remembered well and welcomed, and he thought once more how good it felt to be home. It had not been easy to make it here, but he was glad for every effort.

His gaze wandered to where his wife was sitting with her father and cousin. The three were talking animatedly and he was pleased to see how happy Lothíriel looked. Even if he could give her the world, he could not provide her with the joy of having near her Gondorian family.

Imrahil, on the other hand, seemed to be somewhere between happiness and sadness. He would miss his only daughter dearly once he'd return home, and Éomer could very well understand it. The prince had to know what a generous gift he had given in granting his blessing to his daughter's marriage to a man of the Mark, especially after the way she had disappeared into the night.

He was disrupted from his thoughts by the arrival of Éothain by his side. To Éomer it seemed that the conversation they had shared on the day of the feast of return had restored some of his friend's spirits – he was certainly proving to be a very energetic member of council, and he already was overseeing the training of some lads who wished to become Riders. It was as the King had surmised: Éothain had just needed to see his potential went far beyond being a captain.

"How long are they staying?" asked the older man and glanced at his king.

"For a week more or so. Neither of them can afford a longer trip", Éomer replied, his eyes moving from his wife to the men of her kin. "She will miss her family terribly. I wish I could do something..."

"Your wife is a tough lady", Éothain said comfortingly. "And being the Queen will keep her busy."

"Aye. That is true", Éomer had to agree. He let out a small sigh and turned his eyes once more to Lothíriel. She was laughing now at something, and her eyes glimmered with joy unburdened. If only she could be always so!

"Such is life. We will always have to let go of things we love, no matter how much it hurts", said his friend. Only a faintest note of bitterness was to be found in his voice, and the King of the Mark did not wonder why it was there. He knew Éothain spoke with the voice of experience.

He reached to rest his hand on his friend's shoulder. The former captain met his gaze quietly, even tried to smile.

"Still, there is much to be glad about", Éomer spoke quietly. "What is more, we survived. We owe it to our brothers in arms to live and strive to make each day count."

"You are right", Éothain replied softly and lowered his eyes; on his face there was the memor of the Riders who had died in the south. "This all... it cannot have happened for nothing. I will do all that I can to help you, my king. This land will be beautiful and glad again."

* * *

After a while, Father excused himself to go and get something to drink and stretch his legs a bit. Lothíriel suspected he also wanted to give his daughter and nephew a moment alone. Faramir looked to be on a good mood, sitting relaxed next to her and with a mug of ale in his hand. The figure of Éowyn had drawn his eye: she was at the other side of the hall talking with Scýne, but she threw an occasional smile at Faramir.

"I cannot say how happy it makes me to know the madness of late is finally over", Faramir spoke then, glancing at his cousin. "I look forward to the more peaceful times."

"As do I, cousin", Lothíriel replied and took a sip of her own ale. She looked at him carefully, "I'm really sorry for dragging Éowyn away from you like that. I know it can't have been easy for you..."

Faramir gave her a gentle little smile and he reached to pat her forearm.

"It is quite fine. I understand why she had to do it, and I know you needed her help", he said and sat back again. He sighed softly and spoke again, his voice more quiet now, "Of course, it has not been an easy year, and many a night I have lain awake worrying about all the things that could happen to her, and to you... but since I married Éowyn I have come to know true happiness. I would not deny it from you, or from Éomer. So I told myself: if your deliverance can be bought with my pain of parting from Éowyn, then I would pay that price. And her return is all the sweeter."

Hearing those words, Lothíriel could not help but put aside her mug and reach to hug her cousin. He smiled at her gently and patted her shoulder; she had to wipe an errant tear from her cheek when she pulled back.

"Thank you, cousin. Your words mean a lot to me", she said in quiet tones. "Éowyn has been such great help in things small and great. I do not think I would have got far without her."

"She lends her strength to others. It is her gift", Faramir simply said and looked at his wife. Then he turned towards her, and when he spoke he was smiling, "Just as you lend your light."

* * *

**A/N: **I didn't think I would be able to update anything before Christmas holidays, but you know me and my weird sleeping patterns! Here are some little family moments, hope you like it!

The epilogue of _ALTE _is advancing, but it does go kind of slowly. It is in the works though, and I will try to upload it before the New Year. Anyway, I once more wish you merry holidays!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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**Jo - **Yes, I thought it would be good to show that they would have their challenges in returning to ruling. Glad you liked it. :) I wish you Merry Christmas as well, and a great New Year!


	4. Chapter 4

Night came again after another long day, and before falling asleep Lothíriel had considered it a success because she had been able to persuade Éomer to finish the work earlier than usual in the favour of a hot bath with her. Far as she could see, he was on a fairly good mood, especially after a relaxing bath, and that was probably the reason she did not expect anything when she snuggled close to him in the bed.

It was his troubled tossing and turning that awakened her in the dead of the night. Half awake, she heard him mutter under his breath – the words were too muffled for her to make out clearly.

She blinked the sleep from her eyes and sat up, reaching for his shoulders to shake him gently.

"Éomer, please wake up. It's just a dream", she called to him, frowning even as she tried to reach him; it had been some time since she had last woken up to his nightmares.

Seeing she was still not fully awake herself, and the fact she was with him, his reaction came as a complete surprise. As a result to her surprise and shock, she could not respond, not before he had grabbed her by wrists and pinned her down with his own body weight. Just before he came out of the nightmare, she saw on his face a terrible and ferocious look, as though he was in the middle of battle instead of sleeping in his own bed.

"It's me, beloved", she managed to stutter, and at last his eyes cleared. The fury was replaced with dread and shock, and quickly he rolled away from her.

Éomer moved to the edge of the bed and sat down there, heaving deep breaths. She crawled next to him and carefully reached for his shoulder.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked before she could speak.

"No. You just startled me", Lothíriel said gently and wrapped an arm about his shoulders, noting only very briefly the cold sweat on his skin.

"I am sorry", he sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead.

"It is fine. You didn't do it on purpose", she murmured, keeping her tone calming and soft. He didn't answer right away, and when he did, his voice was very quiet.

"Perhaps you should sleep in the Queen's chambers", he muttered and she didn't almost hear him.

"Why would I ever want to do that?" she wondered out loud, which at last made him glance at her.

"What do you think might have happened if there had been a knife close to my hand just now?" Éomer asked ominously, and his expression made her realise how deeply the mere idea frightened him.

"Dear heart", Lothíriel said softly, "I have spent numberless nights next to you since the south, and even in those first days you never harmed me."

He grunted as a reply and she reached to kiss his temple. Against his skin she whispered, "I never sleep very well without you, anyway."

"You are certain you're all right?" he asked, still half unconvinced.

"Absolutely. Now come back to sleep", she suggested and pulled gently at his hand.

Moments later, she was curled up against him once more... hoping that the rest of the night would be peaceful.

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**A/N: **Here's a little update for the first day of the year! I hope you have had great holidays, my dear readers, and will have a great year. It is strange to realise it was two years ago that I posted the first chapter of _Heart's Desire _on this site. Hopefully, I will be posting many more stories before all is said and done!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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**Jo - **Yes, it did feel nice to bring them together once more. :) These side stories and continuations definitely give a chance of saying many things that did not make it into the main story.

**Anonymous - **Thank you! I must confess I rather enjoyed writing that little bit. :D Amrothos had no idea of what he was getting himself into. And of course Elfhelm is tremendously proud!


	5. Chapter 5

About two weeks after Lothíriel's family had departed, word came from the Wold to report sightings of orcs. Apparently it was a smallish band, but still very much worth the notice: a famished pack of orcs could mean serious trouble for the folk living in the lands of Eastemnet. Moreover, reports spoke of a huge uruk leading them, and Éomer deemed it must be some survivor from Isengard. He knew the like well and also the damage such creature could cause if left alive.

To the young queen, it looked like the news somehow energised her husband; though Éomer enjoyed orc attacks as little as anyone, it did give him a chance of breaking out of the prison that was his study and council chamber. While he made a point of going for a ride every day and sparring with one of his riders, action did come to a need. In his heart of hearts, Éomer was always a warrior.

When he told her he would be riding out come the next light, Lothíriel made up her own mind quickly.

"I think I should be coming with you", she stated, rubbing her chin thoughtfully and thinking over everything she'd have to see to before departure. He frowned and she could see he was trying to come up with a way to persuade her to stay back. Why that was, she couldn't tell exactly; after everything that had happened during the past year, she knew he trusted her skills. But perhaps this was not a rational thing for him at all.

"It should not be anything very serious", he said at length, and she reached to pat his arm.

"Which is exactly why it would be a good idea for me to come with you. To be honest, I could use some fresh air too", she started and took his hand in hers. "Not to mention it is a good opportunity for me to learn more about war. I can't imagine a better teacher than you."

"You should not have to learn about war more than you already have", Éomer muttered reluctantly.

"Maybe not, but I'm not a princess in my father's castle anymore. I'm your queen, and we do not know what future might bring. A time may come when I will have to face battle without your guidance and leadership. At such a time all experience should be only useful, and I'd rather be an asset than a way for your enemies to take a stab at you", she explained her thoughts to him, and watching his face she knew he agreed, though he didn't particularly like it. So, eventually Éomer sighed and nodded.

"Very well then", he said and pulled her into his arms. She tiptoed to kiss him and wrapped arms about his neck.

"You're being a fuss", she told him gently, which brought a smile to his face.

"Aye, I suppose you are right", he allowed and kissed her again, and would probably have let it go far longer had there not been a patrol to plan.

On the morrow they departed at first light, and many members of the household stopped to watch them go. To herself, Lothíriel wondered if it was more about this being the first time since Kin-strife that Éomer was leaving Edoras, or if it was considered very odd that the Queen should still be riding with the King. Osythe at least had not said much – she had merely nodded when Lothíriel had explained her reasoning and said she'd take care of all while the Lady of Meduseld was gone.

Though the reason for this campaign was not a pleasant one, Lothíriel still could not help but enjoy being on the move. When she and Éomer had first come to Edoras, she had thought there would not be slightest desire in her heart to leave their home for some time. But perhaps this came as a fresh change simply because she knew they would be going home soon as trouble with orcs was over.

The lands of the Wold were wilder than rest of the realm – the herders did not come there at all, and aside from the occasional patrolling éored, only Rohirric hunters dared the dangers of the North-mark. Ceolwen, riding close to the young queen, said it was because of orcs.

"Recent years, we simply didn't have the resources to keep the Wold inhabited and defended, and so our lords pulled people closer to garrisons and towns. The main concern of éoreds has always been to protect the people rather than the empty lands to the north. This is why Éomer means to establish new settlements in the Wold. Cultivating the land will also make it safer, and yield new prosperity to our people", she explained to her friend.

"He has told me about it, yes", Lothíriel said and gazed ahead. She had heard there were more bogs in these parts, which made travelling perilous, unless one knew the safe routes. If one kept going, one would reach the forest of Fangorn... and then beyond lay the Golden Wood. She had heard Rohirrim had superstitions about that place, or at least used to have. The end of the Ring War had changed many things, and she knew Éomer had sworn friendship with the Lord Celeborn back in Minas Tirith.

"It troubles him too. New villages are not easily built when there are not enough men..." she continued then, frowning as she spoke. "It makes me feel so angry and helpless, knowing Feran's deeds are still impacting us. Even if Kin-strife has ended, it will slow down all the plans Éomer had for rebuilding the realm."

"I know. It is an evil thing but we must not let it dampen our spirit", Ceolwen stated firmly. Lothíriel nodded grimly and held on tighter to her bow. Even now it remained something of a talisman to her.

Her husband called to his captain then, and Ceolwen urged forward her horse. Her long hair flowed in braids down her back and shined brightly against her green mantle – somehow, Lothíriel thought the sight of Ceolwen was unreal, but perhaps that was just the Gondorian in her. The Queen had to smile as she considered her friend, talking quickly with Éomer. No wonder Elfhelm was smitten with this Shieldmaiden.

It was a several days' journey to the lands of the Wold, but Lothíriel did not mind. Not only was she glad for a chance of observing seasoned riders on the move, to learn the workings of an éored, but she also saw the positive impact this had on Éomer. He seemed to be on a fairly good mood and she knew it was because this was known to him like a second nature. If he was ever burdened by the concerns of kingship, he could always fall back on what he knew as a warrior. On the other hand it was interesting to observe him as a leader in arms and how easily it came to him, and how men followed him. Witnessing the air of authority he carried like a second skin, it was not difficult to understand just why he had been appointed Marshal at such a young age.

He and his captain came up with a plan to ensnare the orcs rather quickly. Some horses and a few riders would graze the plain as herders would, while the rest of the éored lay in wait. A herd of horses would attract the orcs; for though a Rohirric steed would never let an orc ride him, a famished pack would not be able to resist the opportunity of some fresh meat. Their hunger would make them reckless as well.

The most difficult part was the wait. Day became night, but it did not mean rest for the King's Riders; without the Enemy's will to drive them, night-time was when the orcs would be on the move. Lothíriel did not complain, though her patience was tried. After all, she had asked to come along and she did not want to give Éomer a reason to regret it. And she could remember things Boromir had taught her long ago – he had said that sometimes, patience was nearly as important as skill in arms.

She shook her head and tried to concentrate on the present moment. If patience was important, so was focus.

The young queen breathed in the cool air of night and fingered the handle of her bow. She cast a glance to Edelric nearby; he along with nine other men was appointed as archer for the battle. His smaller Rohirric bow did not have the range hers did, but Lothíriel knew how effective those could be when wielded by a riding Eorling, and at any rate they were more than sufficient for the battle ahead.

Erkenbrand's son gave her a brief smile before quickly glancing over the rock they were using as cover. All was still in the sheltered cove below. Horses were quiet as well – their sharp ears and eyes were usually the best guard against creeping orcs.

Minutes dragged by, each moment long as a year. Sitting in one position had numbed her limbs and carefully she stretched herself. She could not be stiff and slow when the time came. Éomer had warned her that orcs could be dangerously fast, and she must be able to answer the attack just as ferociously.

In the quiet stillness it was easy to lose one's sense of time and Lothíriel found her eyelids drooping. She pinched the back of her hand to stay alert. Falling asleep in the middle of an ambush was no way to learn, nor would it convince her husband that his paranoia was unwarranted.

It was a whinny from the herd that alarmed her suddenly. A glance at Edelric confirmed he had taken notice of it too, and his expression spoke in volumes. The archers shifted and readied, waiting for the right moment.

Slowly, carefully, Lothíriel lifted up her head, but only so much that she could just about see down into the cove. She saw the dark shapes, but though moonlight was bright she could not make out much of their features. Then again, she felt like if you had seen one orc, you had seen them all, and she certainly did not fancy the idea of gazing upon them longer than was necessary. Only once before in her life had she seen an orc up close and the memory was clear, for how could she forget that fateful night in the woods of Ithilien?

_Steady now, _she thought to herself as she took several deep breaths. Concentrating on her bow, on the sharpness of her arrow, and the nearing moment she would send it on its way, cleared her mind: there was nothing but this instance.

And then, when the foremost orc was only few feet away from the herd, that instance burst into the flame of battle.

There was, Lothíriel surmised afterwards, a kind of steel sharp focus in the middle of a battle. It was different from fighting Men, and it tied with all the dreadful stories her brothers had told her about orcs, and with the knowledge these creatures could not be swayed to mercy. Falling into their hands, the best one could hope for was being killed on the spot. For being left alive would mean horrors beyond imagination.

The reports had spoken of a dozen orcs at best, but what they met was thrice more, and Lothíriel had time to think it was a good thing Éomer himself had decided to see to it. This was a large, ferocious pack, led by a huge uruk that could only be from Isengard. It could have turned out very bad for the archers had they been alone, but this was just a part of the plan. When they had engaged the marauding pack, it was time for the riders to make their appearance.

Silfren's coat shimmered in moonlight, and for a brief instance that was fuelled by the rush of battle, Lothíriel thought he lent this shimmer to his rider. Éomer came riding and with him was Ceolwen, along with thirty men on horses, and a wild feeling of hope and joy filled Lothíriel's heart. From that point, it was clear as to how the rest would go. The young queen had to think if this was how it had always been – if even in his younger years his arrival to the battle had always ignited such hope in the hearts of the people he fought for and protected?

He was magnificent in battle, but that Lothíriel had known from the beginning; yet still she could not help the moment of admiration when he charged at the uruk leading the pack. Seeing movement in the corner of her eye she had to shake herself from gaping about like a common idiot and send an arrow to end one orc's flight from the battle.

The uruk's head sailed through the air, and with the creature's death, it was over.

* * *

It was past midday when they finally entered the Watch of the Wold – most of the night had gone by in piling the carcasses and burning them. The Watch was the first garrison in the area, meant to help with establishing new villages in this part of the realm. Building it had started before the southern campaign and carried through Feran's time, and now the Hall was nearly finished with the adjoining steads and stables. Of course, the garrison was far from finished, but in the future it would guard the North-mark, hopefully making it a safer place for living.

The arrival of such a company seemed to electrify the entire settlement, and when Lothíriel handed over the reins of her mare, the young stablehand stared at her with wide eyes. When she smiled at him, he blinked and blushed, until an older lad slapped him on the back of his head and he hurried along. Apparently it was not often that queens rode with éoreds.

Even so, she did not miss the lad's whispered question when he thought she was out of hearing range: "Do you think she could be an Elf?"

Éomer had heard the question too, judging by his smile.

Captain Osgar was in charge of the Watch and he was the one to welcome King's Riders. He was a gruff man who had few friends, but according to Éomer as a warrior and a leader he knew his business. Still, though he was respectful towards his king, Lothíriel felt he did not harbour particular fondness for her. When she saw him giving similar sour looks to Ceolwen, the young queen thought perhaps in his world women had no place riding in an éored. But even if he believed so, he at least had the tact to hold his tongue.

The sullen man fell from her thoughts soon enough, for she and her king were offered the best rooms in the Hall, and after a long night both were eager to get cleaned up and rest for a little while. So, after Éomer had thanked the captain and received promises his riders would be looked after, the royal couple made their exit for the time being.

The rooms were a simple Eorling kind and there were no unnecessary furnishings or decorations. But those were not needed: the merry fire in a hearth and some water for bathing were more than enough to her at least.

They undressed of their gear in a companionable silence – she undid the buckles on his chest plate and he helped her out of the chain-mail. They would speak of the battle later, and perhaps they'd discuss what she had learned and his assessment of her performance. All that could wait, though... especially when she suddenly took note of the expression on her husband's face.

He had stopped with the task of getting rid of his gear. Instead, he was watching her as she undid the laces of the coat she had worn under the mail. She knew that look and the way it travelled about her form... the heat of it, the possessiveness she welcomed... and she answered it by standing straighter, meeting boldly his gaze, and letting the coat drop from her shoulders.

In seconds, hands were grabbing her hips. The grip was tight and demanding and his fingers were iron, but it did not hurt – it was the very opposite. Her own arms she wound about her horselord's neck, entangled her fingers in his mane, and pulled his head closer. She met his mouth hungrily with her own, tasting the saltiness of sweat in the kiss. He smelled of wind, of the fury of battle, of male musk; her head suddenly felt dizzy for all the sensations assaulting her mind.

Hastily Lothíriel reached to release him of the leaf mail and then the chain-mail, and Éomer was already pulling down her leggings. Then soon as her undergarments were gone, he lifted her against the wall, for there was no question about whether they'd make it as far as the bed, and she could not remember the last time she had felt such mindless and demanding _lust. _When she received him, her thighs and shins locked about his waist just as tightly as he held her, and her nails dug into the fabric of his coat. There was nothing gentle about that embrace but it didn't have to be, and each thrust had her moaning louder, until she was past caring if the entire Hall heard her.

She was spent before her husband, but she didn't mind watching him with half-open eyes... overwhelmed by the knowledge that _this _belonged to her, and no one else would know the total abandon and bareness of his face in the middle of passion. Then he threw himself at her one last time and called her name, his voice more song than a spoken word.

Idly she wondered if he felt just as wobbly as she did, and if the wall behind her back was the only thing keeping them upright. But after several minutes of ragged breathing and clumsy kisses he slowly lowered her down again, and surprisingly her feet did carry her still. Helpfully she buckled his belt for him again and smiled lazily, "I think I have the pattern of the wall panels pressed into my backside."

Éomer's answering smile was just as wicked.

"That is most unfortunate for your poor backside. I will make amends later, my lady", he replied, his voice low and rich and husky. Even after such a thorough treatment Lothíriel felt tempted once more, and looking at him did not help with this desire in the slightest.

What was it about a sweaty, dirty man? She had a feeling she'd never know.

* * *

**A/N: **I did not think I would be updating so soon, but you know me and my insane muse! And this one pretty much demanded to be written. Who doesn't like some post-battle steamy scenes with our favourite horselord and his lady love? ;)

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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**Thalia - **There just are some stories that refuse to die! I suppose it is surprising that Éomer chose Ceolwen as his captain, but I think he has changed enough to make some surprising decisions, and she has certainly proved herself to him.

**Jo - **Thank you! :)

**Talia119 - **Originally I did mean to go for more _Flickers _kind of style, but I guess things got out of hand again. I suppose this is kind of between _ALTE _and _Flickers. _Anyway I'm glad to hear you're enjoying it! :)

I think he'd have an occasional nightmare, too. Stuff he went through is bound to come back every now and then, and especially in dreams our minds can be very vulnerable. I don't really think he'd harm her either, but he is afraid of that anyway - I'd say it ties with his fear that he might lose her. Fears are not rational emotions, after all!

We'll see how it goes with their kids! :)


	6. Chapter 6

After the long ride from Edoras, the battle against orcs, and then disposing of their carcasses, Lothíriel herself would have preferred a quiet evening. But Éomer did not need to explain why they should share the supper with the men of the Watch. She knew his people ought to see him, and these days he was often so busy he could not afford rides to remote places like the Wold. They should use the opportunity now that they were in this part of the realm.

So, after they had bathed, spent a couple of hours resting, and found some clean clothes from their saddlebags, it was about the time to join the others in the hall.

"Are you quite ready? I must warn you, there are very few women in the Watch, because until recently it has not been the safest location in the Mark. The men may act in like fashion", Éomer said to her before they made their appearance.

"Are they all like Lord Osgar?" she asked with a slight frown.

"I would say his prejudices are the harshest you will find here. I do not know why it is, but he doesn't appreciate women bearing arms, not even Shieldmaidens. Others should not be as opinionated, but neither are they alike the graceful noblemen of Gondor", he answered. She could not hold back a small snort.

"Believe me, those Gondorian noblemen are not always quite so graceful. I can deal with a few ill-mannered males", she said glumly, and her husband smiled.

"I know you can – I have personal experience of it, my fierce Lioness", he said and reached to kiss her briefly. "You and Ceolwen will have no trouble making yourself at home, I imagine..."

When they entered the hall, the men rose up from their seats by the tables, and there was the noise of benches scratching the floors. Quietly Lothíriel wondered if she should have packed at least one split skirt – though she had met some of these men during and after the Kin-strife, the occasion hadn't been very formal, and at any rate sites of war were not places for showing off one's wardrobe. Lord Osgar at least was unlikely to welcome the Lady of the Mark wearing leggings. Éomer had told her anyone who mistook her for a man was a fool, but perhaps a bit of formality would still have been in order.

It could not be helped now, though – let them come to Edoras if they wanted to see proper queens.

She walked with her king to the dais, similar as the one back home, where a table had been prepared for the King. Éomer noticed what was wrong with it before she did.

"Lord Osgar, have you not set a place for my Queen?" he asked, his voice low but sharp. Indeed, there was the centre spot, and then Osgar's own seat on his right. Ceolwen had been stationed on his left.

"My lord, won't the Queen wait on you?" asked the gruff man. From the corner of her eye Lothíriel saw the frown deepening on her husband's face.

"My wife the Queen rides not as a servant but as an archer. She requires supper just as any man of my guard", he stated, his voice bearing witness to his displeasure.

"My lady, please take my seat", Ceolwen put in and made way; she and Edelric seemed to be of a like mind, because he instantly forsook his seat for the captain and stepped down from the dais. Erkenbrand's son did not make a show of joining the King's Riders in the lower tables, but he did not have to – many if not all eyes were on him nevertheless. Lord Osgar's face shifted and his mouth became a thin line, but he said nothing. Éomer considered him for one moment more, but then he turned towards his wife, helped her to sit down, and then took seat himself. All present sat down to enjoy their meal.

Lothíriel did not understand what had just taken place, not before Ceolwen leaned towards her during the first course.

"I take it you have already surmised what Lord Osgar thinks of us two", she whispered to the young queen's ear, "but I have a feeling he will be most respectful for the rest of our stay, and consider carefully what he does and says."

"Why is that?" Lothíriel asked quietly.

"His negligence just caused Edelric, the son of Marshal Erkenbrand himself, to take seat in the lower tables. Of course the lad didn't have to do it, but his deed draws attention to the disrespect Lord Osgar has shown tonight not only to you but also the King. It was quite tactful of Edelric, as he relieved our king from having to address to it, which I believe would be unpleasant for him", Ceolwen explained. Lothíriel thought of this for a moment and glanced at her friend.

"Oh dear. And here I thought in coming to live in the Mark I had freed myself of the tyranny of etiquette", she muttered half-seriously. A wry smile visited Ceolwen's face.

"Don't despair, my friend. We are usually more relaxed, but respect is an important thing in the Mark. That's what you get with a people so proud", she said and sipped her ale.

"I hope he wasn't too difficult with you", said the younger woman; she had been happily preoccupied with her husband, but perhaps the sullen man had caused more grief to the King's Captain.

"It was nothing. I could see he was not comfortable with me, but I suppose it was easier for him to be polite to King's Captain than the Queen, bizarre as that may be", Ceolwen muttered and her brow knit slightly.

"It certainly is bizarre", Lothíriel confirmed and looked at her friend for an explanation.

"Well, I could be wrong, but I have a feeling he deals easier with Shieldmaidens, though he does not like my kind. After all, women of the Mark have participated in battles since times immemorial and among them are heroines whose names are remembered in songs just as those of heroes of our people. You, however... you are from the south and Osgar must have seen ladies of Stoningland after the war had ended. You don't fit any criteria he is familiar with... he is old enough to remember Morwen Queen, and if anything can be said based on stories, you and the old queen are carved from very different trees", Ceolwen spoke. She took note of the fathomless look on her queen's face, and smiled again wryly. "Beyond that, I can't explain it. Men are sometimes so irrational."

Her statement made Lothíriel laugh at last. It earned her a glance from her husband – he smiled slightly, perhaps because he thought she was not upset by Lord Osgar's poor manners – and the two women proceeded into a hushed but entirely fond conversation about the oddities of their respective husbands. Éomer remained blissfully unaware of it.

The rest of the supper did not see more conflicting events, and towards the end of it Lothíriel felt tired. Once she had urged Ceolwen to go and join the other Riders, she reached to kiss her husband's cheek and murmured softly against his skin that she'd go to bed soon. He turned so that he could properly answer her kiss, and soon as it ended she whispered mischievously that he should not stay behind for too long – he still had amends to make. Her words brought a glint into his eyes that she knew to mean her demise.

"I will follow you soon, my Queen", Éomer promised.

Even as the thought of bed tempted her, Lothíriel decided she'd catch some fresh air before retiring. Most of the men paid her no heed as she made towards the end of the hall, which for the most part was because she walked behind the shadows of the pillars, similar as those in Meduseld, but mostly undecorated still – in building the Watch, the carvings Rohirrim were so fond of had not been the first priority. She recalled Éomer had spoken of stationing a Marshal here, so perhaps the Hall would be made more beautiful when some time had passed and some sufficiently energetic family had taken to inhabit the place.

Night's air was cool against her face but she welcomed it as she stepped outside. March was at hand and spring was nearing – her first spring as the Queen of Rohan. Foaling season would come soon and all the realm would be full of bustle, if Éothain's words could be believed.

Lothíriel stopped to stand in the shadows of the Hall's entrance and regarded the vistas extending about the hill on which the garrison had been built on. It was not quite as great as the hill of Edoras and the lands around it rolled steeper, but it still very obviously commanded the area. In the air she smelled the smoke from peat they used to warm up the houses. Perhaps she just imagined it but it was as though the very air was here somehow more untamed than in the lands she knew near Edoras.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the arrival of two men. She did not recognise them as members of King's Company – they had to be men stationed in the Watch. Judging by their slight stagger they were well into their cups.

She'd have announced herself, but then the two began to speak, and she froze where she stood.

"... I say it's not fair, even if he's king... gets to bring his woman with him. She's not even a Shieldmaiden! What business does a lady have in the wild, unless she's there to amuse him..." one of them muttered, wavering on his feet.

"Béma's balls, what wouldn't I give to get to ride _that _mare... never thought one of them ladies from Stoningland would have so much fire in them or make such noise..." mumbled the shorter and stouter of the two before downing at least half of the contents of his mug.

For the first time ever since agreeing to marry Éomer, Lothíriel regretted acquiring knowledge of Rohirric. Her cheeks were flaming with a mixture of anger and embarrassment and she had to battle an urge to go and punch down both of the drunken pigs. Men!

"Heh, you try touching this mare and we lads will be picking up your pieces all over the Mark" retorted the first one.

"He's not the same he used to be. Who says he'd care? Maybe the little lady wouldn't mind a different taste of Rohan... would make her scream like that..."

The only reason she did not stride straight to the drunken man and kick him down the hill was her shock for having to listen to such talk – she had never heard anyone, not male or female, talk about her in such a fashion.

However, it turned out Lothíriel did not need to be the upholder of her own honour. For suddenly there was a cursing voice in the dark, and she realised she wasn't the only one who had been listening to this uncouth conversation. She just about had time to recognise his face in the light of torches, but then young Alger, a recent addition to the King's Guard, delivered a blow of fist with enough force to send the short man rolling down the steps of the Hall.

"I swear, if you speak of my lady Queen in that way _ever again...!" _

"What is this ruckus?" asked the voice of Ceolwen, sharp and stern like a blade of steel. She stood in the doorway of the Hall, her shape in stark contrast against the light streaming from inside. The other drunken fellow stood motionless as well, though for one reason or the other he had lifted up his arms into the air.

"Just teaching manners, Captain. There seems to be a general shortage of decency in this part of the realm, especially towards our Queen", Alger answered and bowed to the Shieldmaiden. The drunkard made a vague mumbling sound that could have been in agreement or not.

Ceolwen groaned and shook her head.

"What was Ilúvatar even _thinking _when he came up with you lot?" she muttered to herself, her voice bearing the weight of years and years of dealing with intoxicated riders. "Did any of you see the Queen, by the way? The King is missing her."

"Here I am", Lothíriel announced herself. The drunken man, the one who was still on his feet, went very pale at the sight of her. She gave him the kind of smile a sword would give if it could. "You were right – you _would _be picking up his pieces all over the Mark."

Ceolwen blinked, Alger looked admiring, the short drunkard gave a snore, and his friend mumbled something that sounded like an apology. The young queen paid him no more heed. Instead, she bid good night to her friend and the young man – for him, she spared a kinder smile as thanks – and made her way inside.

Hopefully, Éomer would just laugh when he heard of this.

* * *

**A/N: **Happy Tuesday and greetings from my insane muse! Originally I did not mean to write more about the trip to the Wold, but somehow the reviews to the last chapter inspired me to continue for at least this one chapter. Hopefully this shows that while women of the Mark lead different lives than their Gondorian sisters, they still have their problems and troubles every now and then. Also, Ceolwen is proving to be incredibly entertaining to write!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Talia119 - **I must say, I did quite enjoy writing that end part of the chapter. ;) Glad to hear my efforts were not wasted! I think both Éomer and Lothíriel are the kind of active people that it would be a turn on for them both.

I would say Osgar is a problem only as far as Lothíriel (and Ceolwen, to an extent) goes. No matter his misgivings towards the ladies, he is still loyal to Éomer. But we will see! :)

**Thalia - **That he certainly is! And he's not so consumed by his fears that he would not hear sense in her words.

**Jo - **Thank you! I hope you had nice holidays too. :) And yes, they are one fine couple!

**Felion - **Glad to hear that! :)

You make a good point there. It's true, he can't always depend on her and he will have to see it for sure, sooner or later. Same goes for Lothíriel.


	7. Chapter 7

Technically, Lothíriel had known a time would come she could not go with Éomer when he rode out. Éowyn had once said that the Queens of the Mark had sometimes different duties than their Gondorian sisters – in the King's absence she was his voice, and so there would always be times when she would have to stay behind. Ruling was her concern as much as his, especially when he was away.

Yet even as she knew this on a rational level, it was still difficult to let him go, and the mere idea brought her the feeling of aversion. The southern road had left her with a fear that if she was not with him, something horrible might happen... but it had also made her always look for his hand to steady her, even if her feet were firmly on ground.

She was not alone with the feeling of uneasiness. For as she helped him to get ready, she could feel his eyes on her, following her every move.

"Do you have everything you need?" she asked, having secured the buckles of his breast plate.

"Aye", Éomer replied quietly, but she did not miss the implications in his voice. She sighed and wound her arms about him, trying to tell herself there was nothing to worry about.

"I wish I could come with you", she muttered, resting her head against his shoulder.

"And I wish I would never have to ride out without you. But you have to let me go", he replied in muffled tones. Gently he lifted her chin so that he could see her eyes, "It will get easier with time."

She knew what he meant – the ways they had travelled together, leaning on one another, and finding comfort and faith in each other... the only time he had been gone had been in the middle of Kin-strife, and then the urgency of the battle for the Mark had sustained them both. The young queen did not think those bonds that had grown between them since the south could be severed, but perhaps they could be loosened.

Perhaps they _needed _to be loosened.

"Just be careful", she told him.

"Of course. I'm convinced Ceolwen will take very good care of me. She makes such a wonderful mother hen, I think she may even surpass Éothain", he told her with a slight smile, which did cheer her up a bit.

After one more embrace and several kisses, he took his helmet and side by side they made their way out. Ceolwen waited outside for the King, and she too was in full gear and ready for the road. She stood tall and rested a hand on the pommel of her sword with the ease of an experienced swordfighter; indeed, Lothíriel could trust this woman to guard her husband.

The young queen escorted her king all the way outside. Down in the courtyard his Riders were ready and waiting for him, and Silfren stood there as well. She could not say she truly understood the relationship between Éomer and the great stallion, but on the other hand she had a feeling no one really did. It was something from an older and stranger world than the one they lived in – a story without words, and an explanation that could not be made.

Before striding down the steps of Meduseld, Éomer turned towards his wife once more. The kiss he gave her was a brief one, for he knew not to prolong it any more than that. She had to fight the urge to grab his hand, remind herself this was a selfish and an irrational reaction, and instead she crossed her arms on her chest.

Éomer went, lifting his helmet upon his head, and mounted Silfren in a swift movement. Ceolwen leaped into saddle as well and moved to his side; on the other was the banner-bearer. The White Horse was once more roaming free in the land of Eorlingas. She knew not what had happened to the standard of two spears, which Feran had used, but she suspected fire had been involved.

Lothíriel's eyes were fixed on her king and so she barely noticed Marshal Elfhelm as the man came to a halt by her side – she had not known he was here too, though of course he would be present to send his wife on her way. Quietly they stood, watching their loved ones depart. The King's Company had started to move and they were heading downhill, and all the while she followed the white horsetail of Éomer's helmet... until at last he disappeared from her sight.

The young queen let out a sigh and only then did she become aware of the lump that had formed in her throat. Elfhelm seemed to sense her mood, as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I never understood", he spoke in low tones, sounding somehow confused and disbelieving, "I never knew it was so hard. Watching them go and staying behind. I didn't want to let her go."

Lothíriel had to smile at this epiphany, though she felt entirely sympathetic. Before the events before and during the Kin-strife, she would not have guessed she would share such a companionship with Elfhelm.

She turned to look at him then and met a pair of incredulous eyes. Elfhelm spoke again, "And in misunderstanding I also ignored just how brave our womenfolk are!"

* * *

Sleep evaded her that night. It felt strange to be all alone in the royal chambers of Meduseld; she kept listening to the silence, which was domineering without the slow, even breathing of her king – the sound which had, in a way, become a lullaby for her. Yearning for his warmth she tried to curl up to forget the feeling of loneliness, but it did not help.

"Damn it", she muttered eventually and threw aside the blankets and sheets. The moon and embers in the fireplace gave enough light for her to dress in a simple gown – she may be queen but she was not going to wander the Golden Hall in her night shift – and find her slippers.

Lothíriel knew Osythe kept some soothing tea in the kitchens, and as she dressed, she decided she'd go and make some for herself. Of course, she could have woken up one of the servants, but it was very late and she did not want to sit in the quiet room waiting for someone else to cater to her whims.

The guards bowed their heads as she exited the royal chambers. One of them would probably have followed her had she not dismissed him. After all, it was unlikely there was anything to warrant a guard trailing her in her own home. Though the Hall certainly looked different at night time than during the day, she was able to make her way to the kitchens without losing her way even once. Now there would have been quite the story: the Queen getting lost in Meduseld!

She did not expect to find anyone else in the kitchens at this time. However, upon entering she noticed a shape sitting by the hearth, singing to himself quietly. For a moment she had to just stand and wonder, as she had not known Elfhelm possessed such a fine singing voice. Then again, she _was _in the land of the Rohirrim, and while the lords of the realm might be literate, the people were famously singers and poets rather than scholars. The tune was a sorrowful one, though she could not quite make out the words except for the name of a long dead king.

When Elfhelm fell quiet, she approached him.

"That was beautiful. You were singing about Folcwine King?" she asked, making Elfhelm look up from the flames. He was sitting by the hearth and was cradling a mug of ale between his large hands.

"Aye. It is a lamentation he made when he heard two of his sons had fallen in battle. The stories say he never quite recovered from the loss... or regarded his remaining son Fengel worthy of the throne", he replied. She snatched herself a stool and sat by the hearth as well. She considered his words for a while before speaking.

"I know their names are recalled in songs, but... are any of the stories written down in books?" Lothíriel asked carefully.

"Not that I know of. Gondorian scribes may have recorded some tales, but Eorlingas don't write books", Elfhelm answered and reached for more ale. He offered it to her as well, but she refused with soft thanks.

"Is that because you don't see the point of writing down the past, or because you don't have means to do it?" she wanted to know.

"Perhaps it is little bit of both. You see, we do have a written language, but very few use it, and we don't have the kind of scholarly tradition you do", he said and sipped ale from his once more full mug.

"I didn't know you had written language", she commented. The letters she and Éomer had exchanged during their betrothal had always been in Westron; she had still been learning Rohirric then and he had not mentioned his language had a written form. Even if she had known it, she would not have wanted to insult his eyes by mangling his native tongue in letters.

"It is actually quite old, which often surprises our allies in south. Eorl the Young himself was impressed by the uses of written words and he strove to create something similar for our people. Only, like many of his works, completing this fell to Brego King because of Eorl's untimely death. It was a laborious work and took years, but towards the end of Brego's life his trusted man Folca had come up with a way of writing. In theory, Marshals and lords of the realm were supposed to learn to write and read, but in truth few of them did. There were times when the knowledge of writing and reading was almost entirely forgotten in the realm. But then Thengel returned from Gondor, full of southern ideas, and he went to great lengths to make his lieutenants and lords learn. He demanded even the most thick-headed Eorling lord learned to communicate with him in written word. In this day, most of the high nobility are more or less literate, though even the best of us would probably be the common laughing stock in Gondor. All the same, Eorlingas are and do remain a people of songs", Elfhelm explained. His voice was rich and animated and one might have thought he was telling about some great and heroic battle instead of the penmanship among Rohirrim. But then, if she had learned something since she had first met people of this land, it was that Eorlingas were natural storytellers. As a result Lothíriel had listened to his words in deep fascination. She had forgotten completely about the reason of her sleeplessness and why she had even come to the kitchens at this hour.

"That is very interesting", she commented and regarded the Marshal. "Elfhelm... I do not mean to imply I do not appreciate the ways of this land, and perhaps it is very Gondorian of me to ask this, but... do you think a history of Rohan could be written? In Rohirric way and tongue?"

He shrugged as an answer.

"I don't see why not. Even Eorl thought written word has some use. You will have to ask Éomer about this, though I have no reason to believe he'd be opposed to it", Elfhelm answered.

The mention of her husband brought her thoughts back to the present moment. She could not hold back a small sigh, and she couldn't mask it from the man sitting next to her.

"He'll be home soon, lass", he said gently.

"I know. I just wish I could somehow make myself worry less about him... rationally I do know he is perfectly fine, and even if there were some dangers on the road, Ceolwen and the Riders are there with him", she said and looked down on her hands. Then after a moment's silence she glanced at him again, "She's a marvellous woman, your wife is."

Her words made Elfhelm smile and his blue eyes glittered.

"That she is. I remain bewildered that she actually wanted to marry me... I am quite proud of her, because how many men can say that not only their wives are great ladies in their own right, but also ride as the King's Captain?" he said and shook his head, vaguely disbelieving even now.

"I hope it doesn't inconvenience you two too much, that she has all these duties as a captain... I know you and her both would like to move on with your own life", Lothíriel said, her voice soft now.

"Of course we are impatient, but there are some things one has to do, no matter what you feel. That you and Éomer came home is the only reason I'm alive now, and neither myself or Ceolwen have forgotten what it means. Every time I look into her eyes I am grateful. Because of you we _have _a life. It is only right we help in any way you need. And I have been fighting for this land for too long to just let it fall", Elfhelm said plainly.

"And I am glad that you are."

* * *

**A/N: **My muse is on a mad spree and does not show signs of slowing down. I truly hope he will let me sleep tonight.

I wanted to write something about the first time our horselord and his lady really need to part (I imagine it would not be quite so easy after all this time), but also build up the friendship between Lothíriel and Elfhelm. Also who doesn't like some Rohirric history? Though I must confess, I did make up the part about Rohirrim having a written language. Tolkien says they don't write books but sing many songs; however, I don't think it contradicts canon to suggest that there is a written language, but it's mostly used in communication between the King and his lieutenants and lords.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **I would imagine Lothíriel has been learning Rohirric ever since she agreed to marry Éomer. This was not touched in the main story, but I believe he sent someone to Dol Amroth to teach her the tongue. She probably has practiced it with Éowyn and then with Éomer when they were on the road. So, at this point, she is fluent in Rohirric.

Anyway, I'm glad you liked it! :)

**Thalia - **Yes, there definitely is a good reason why he doesn't have many friends. And yes, Edelric does ride with Éomer now. If you remember the first chapter of this story, there was a conversation between Ceolwen and Éomer that she and Éothain should mentor him to become the next Captain of the Royal Guard after she moves on to her life with Elfhelm.

I think the reason Lothíriel and Ceolwen are getting along so well is because they're both odd birds, if you get what I mean. :) Also I do think while Lothíriel kicking some drunkards around would be amusing, it would be also too much.

**Talia119 - **I didn't really have much more to say about that story thread, and I didn't mean to delve into it more, but I can say what happened with those drunk fellows. Lothíriel did not recite the full story to Éomer right away (having thought of it, she knew he'd be furious indeed), and by the time those two drunkards had sobered up they realised their mistake. So they came to apologise formally. Even though he didn't yet know the extent of their uncouth words, Éomer was displeased with them. But even then he recognised the two had understood they were wrong to disrespect their queen, and also were brave to show up to apologise. So he let it pass, though he made it very clear if this should occur again, he would not be so understanding.

Lothíriel did tell him the full tale after they had come home, but only when she had him tied up (whether that was figuratively or practically, you decide ;) ). I can say it was quite an interesting night in Meduseld.


	8. Chapter 8

Lothíriel came across the girl when she was on her way to the royal chambers. She had been talking with Ceolwen, who was feeling lonely without Elfhelm – he had ridden to Aldburg to hold a court of justice for the common folk and would not be back before a week or two.

Leofrun was the girl's name and she served in the kitchens, and the young queen knew she was not older than sixteen summers. Her father had died in the Ring War and she had several younger siblings, for whom she now needed to provide. Fortunately, she happened to be related to Osythe, and so with the aid of the chatelaine she had started working in the Golden Hall only last autumn. As a servant of the royal household, she would easily be able to take care of her family.

Usually the girl was of cheerful mood, but now as Lothíriel approached she was sniffling quietly and trying to wipe her eyes on the sleeves of her gown – she was so upset she didn't even notice the arrival of the Queen.

"Leofrun? Is something wrong?" Lothíriel asked, but even though her tone was gentle and concerned, it nearly made the girl jump in the air.

"M-my lady!" she stuttered and curtsied clumsily.

"Be calm. What has upset you?" inquired the young queen. Her question made Leofrun blush in embarrassment and she looked away.

"I'm fine, my lady. I was just seeing to the King's request – he had asked for some tea, and I was... I didn't..." Leofrun mumbled.

"Was he very coarse? Did he snap at you?" Lothíriel asked, keeping her tone steady and calm.

"Aye, my lady. I nearly spilled tea over him", the girl replied, looking like she thought she would be dismissed from the service in less than minutes.

Gently the young queen wrapped arms about Leofrun's skinny shoulders and gave her a hug, which turned her fear into surprise; apparently even now there remained some confusion as to how well the Lady of the Mark represented the common stereotype of a Gondorian noblewoman.

"Don't worry, Leofrun. It was just an accident, and he has been on a dark mood. You needn't be upset", she told the girl, and now she saw some relief on the young face. Lothíriel smiled and pulled back. "Now, dry your tears and return to the kitchens."

But then she saw Leofrun hesitating, and she narrowed her eyes slightly. She asked, "What is it? Is something else wrong?"

"My lady... aren't you ever scared of him?" asked the girl gingerly, looking like she wasn't sure if this was an entirely appropriate thing to ask. First it did surprise the young queen, but then she considered Éomer had in him the capability of being terrifying – before now it had been reserved only for battles and the enemies he faced. She knew her husband and no mood of his could ever startle her, but Leofrun was young and saw only this side of the King of the Mark.

Lothíriel shrugged – perhaps, if she showed nonchalance, she could make sure Leofrun or any of the other younger folks would know they needn't be afraid.

"Why would I be?" she asked. She patted the girl's shoulder, "Go ahead, then. I need to go and tend to that irritable bear of mine."

Her words made Leofrun smile again. She curtsied once more and hurried along, and the young queen herself took a small breath before making for the royal chambers once more.

She found her husband before the fireplace, fighting with the lacings of his boots, and wearing an expression like he had just had a horrible day.

"Let me do that for you", she said and grabbed a footstool, and while Éomer was still staring at her, she sat by his feet and began to undo the lacings. She didn't look up at him when she asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I just spent the whole day arguing with some obstinate lords over lands they think they should have as a reward of their help in Kin-strife, and I have a raging headache. But you needn't worry. It's nothing that will kill me", he said and leant back his head. He had to be quite weary, seeing how he just let her work over his boots.

"You did scare the living daylight out of Leofrun, though", Lothíriel pointed out warily. He made a gruff sound at the back of his throat.

"Aye, I suppose I did. Was she very upset?" he asked, closing his eyes.

"She seemed to think she would be dismissed from the household", she replied and pulled off one boot. She continued to speak, "It will not make you feel better, taking it out on servants. Leofrun is a sweet girl and she deserves good treatment."

"I know", he muttered. "Rationally I do know that. There are just moments that I..."

He didn't seem to know how to continue, and he didn't really need to. Lothíriel knew him well enough.

"I will apologise to her when I see her again", he said quietly and let out a sigh. She hemmed softly in agreement and pulled off the second boot. She let it fall where it may and then she stood up, but only so that she could climb into her husband's lap. He wrapped arms about her and she could feel tension leaving his form at last.

"If only I knew how to do more", she said quietly into his hair, but unexpectedly he let out a small dry laugh.

"Beloved wife. Don't you realise you already do make it so much better? If you did know how to do more, you would not be a mortal woman, but perhaps a being akin to Béma's folk", Éomer said and held her a bit tighter. His words made her look at him sharply, and from his expression she knew just how honestly the statement was delivered.

She didn't really know what to say, so she just smiled slightly and leant down to kiss him, slow and lingering. When she pulled back she considered him and saw the shadows under his eyes, and so felt obliged to ask: "Do you want to go to bed? You look tired."

"No, not yet. I have barely even seen you today or spoken with you. Sleep can wait", he declined and settled back more comfortably. Shadowed thoughts left his features at last, and he spoke once more, "Please, tell me about your day."

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update for Sunday! Here I hope to have shown life is not untroubled always four our favourite horselord and his lady. He has short temper especially when he's tired, so sometimes even small things push his buttons so to speak. But luckily for him he has a wife who is not intimidated by short tempers and irritable Rohirrim.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **Thanks, glad you liked it! :) It seemed to me they would indeed bond over the fact that they sometimes need to stay behind when their loved ones leave.

**Thalia - **Yes, it's difficult to her because they have not really got used to being apart. But both of them know they can't always go everywhere together.

**Talia119 - **I would imagine his trip in the last chapter had to do with inspecting some western villages of the realm. In those parts Feran had more followers and Éomer is concerned with making sure the realm will mend again. So it wasn't really any dangerous trip, but Lothíriel worries anyway (even though she knows she doesn't really need to).

It was fun to write that scene between them. Elfhelm definitely has jobs to do, but he misses his wife, and so he comes to Edoras as often as he can. The last chapter had such an instance, but here we see he has gone again.


	9. Chapter 9

Spring came that year with heavy rain and storms. Éomer and his riders were a muddy lot when they returned from this or that errand, but to him it seemed that at least his wife did not mind a wet man parading in the royal chambers.

The stablehands left to care for horses covered in mud and the servants cleaning up after pools of rain water and boot prints on the floors most like had their own ideas, though.

However, Éomer knew spring rains were not always a completely harmless phenomenon. These were known to cause mud slides and floods, especially in Dunharrow. So he had an additional concern in sending riders to evacuate the parts more vulnerable to the nature's disasters and making sure there would be provisions for people who had lost their homes.

Unfortunately his fears did not prove to be unwarranted: after almost two weeks of nearly continuous downpour, a call for help came from the lands of Dunharrow and even some parts of Westfold. Many families had lost their homes in landslides and they now possessed nothing but their lives. Some horses had been lost as well and Éomer knew those would be grieved more than any dwelling. Altogether it would have been a troublesome situation had Aragorn not sent goods to help with rebuilding. With his friend's aid, Éomer knew he could manage this.

"I think I should go and inspect the damage myself", he said on that evening to Lothíriel. She tensed noticeably at first, and even as she tried to relax he could see the slight frown on her features.

"Can't you ask Erkenbrand to see to it?" she asked him.

"I could, and I have no doubt in his ability to fix it. But I believe I should be the one to see to this matter", he said and reached a hand towards her. She took it and came to him, then slipped into his lap. Once she was there, he went on, "Many of the traitor's supporters came from the West-mark. It could be they even expect me to ignore their need. They need to see their king cares about them still."

Lothíriel thought of his words and nodded eventually.

"You are right, of course", she said and absent-mindedly wove a lock of his hair about her fingers. She leant down to kiss his brow, and then murmured against his skin, "I suppose I'm just being needy."

"Hmm. It's quite all right", he replied and held her a bit tighter. Sometimes, it still surprised him when she revealed this vulnerability. But it reassured him somehow as well: he could depend on her and it did not make him weak.

On the morrow he was glad to see rain had stopped. Wind was chasing clouds towards east, giving him hope perhaps the rains had finally passed.

Lothíriel saw him on his way, her face a mask of determination but her eyes revealing her discomfort. As he bid her farewell and promised to be home soon, Éomer wondered if there ever would come a time when leaving her would not be so hard. Yet even if it was hard, he knew he could do it – _had _to do it.

After one last embrace he turned and fixed his eyes on Silfren, waiting for him down the steps of the Golden Hall. The riders of his Guard were gathered as well, all ready for the road. Beside him strode Ceolwen, who had already proved to be as efficient a captain as Éothain had been. If they would be able to pour all that formidable spirit into their training of Edelric, the young rider would surely be a great one. He expected nothing less of Erkenbrand's son.

As he mounted Silfren, there was that brief moment of awe he still felt whenever he rode with the stallion. Perhaps it would never quite disappear... because every time they rode, Éomer knew he was worthy. After the events of past year he more than needed that knowledge.

On that same instance as Silfren began to move he threw one last glance to the Golden Hall – or namely on the figure of his queen. Clothed in blue and her hair catching in the wind, she was a sight that meant so many things, much of which he could not put in words.

But it was only a glance and he turned, gazing ahead. Duty was calling him on the road again.

* * *

The King's Company reached the town of Harrow in late afternoon. After the rains the road had been in less than perfect condition, but at least weather remained clear; hopefully, it would dry up now and sowing the fields would not go awry with too much rain. Even with the provisions Aragorn had sent Éomer did not think the Mark could take many additional bad years.

His arrival was noted quickly: townsfolk stopped by the road to watch the King and his Riders and many came from their houses too. He deemed they remembered very clearly the last time he had been here... as he surely did. A cold shiver ran down his spine and he thought of another thing he would have to do once he had spoken to the Lord of Harrowdale and discovered how were things with the evacuees. He had yet to learn the extent of the damage by floods and mudslides, and if many people had been killed because of it. At least to his knowledge Heming and Eadgyd were safe, or so a Rider he had sent to inquire about them had reported.

The residence of Lord of Harrowdale was located near the centre of the town, not far from the place they would have executed Éothain and Elfhelm. Lord Dúnhere, nephew to Erkenbrand, had previously held the station and done it admirably, but he had fallen in the Ring War, and now his younger brother Déor acted as the chieftain of Harrowdale. He was a very young man, lad almost; as such, Éomer did not wonder why his men had ridden with Feran during the Kin-strife. The recent happenings had been chaotic enough even for an adult mind, and later events had further convinced the King that the young lord had not followed Feran because of truly supporting the traitor's cause.

At the King's arrival, Déor rushed outside, his flaxen hair a mess and a flush on his ruddy cheeks. The skin of his beardless cheeks was so fair a maiden might have envied it and his eyes were sky blue; altogether he had a face that would mean trouble for the lasses of the Mark when he matured a bit. Déor wasn't as tall or strong as Dúnhere had been, and he quite obviously was still getting used to his position, but Éomer remembered Gamling saying he did show some promise.

"My lord! Welcome to Harrow!" called the young man and made a clumsy little bow before his liege-lord.

"Thank you, Lord Déor. I trust your stablemen can help with our horses?" Éomer inquired in calm, steady tones. Erkebrand's nephew blushed as though he was ashamed he had not thought to offer it himself.

"Of course, Sire", he replied right away and turned to give orders to his stablemen. Those flooded the yard, but dismounting Éomer saw the one reaching for Silfren wearing a highly troubled look. Judging by the man's expression he was probably happy there were no ponds nearby.

"Don't be afraid. He won't harm those who treat him well", he said and patted the neck of his stallion. Silfren nickered softly as though to confirm his rider's words and let himself be lead to the stables, demure but majestic.

Ceolwen came to her king's side and he turned to look at Déor again. The young lord seemed kind of lost in the middle of this bustle, and Éomer felt a sudden pang of sympathy for him. Most likely Déor had expected to become a lord so important as little as he had expected to become a king, and he at least had been a man grown at the time of Théoden's death.

His thoughts were interrupted, for an elderly man made way to Déor's side. He looked like he had been a big man in his youth, but age had shrunk him somehow, and he leant heavily on a cane. He was too old to have participated in the battles of the Great War of the Ring, but his bright eyes showed where his body had withered, his mind had not.

"Sire, this is Banstan, my adviser. He has been a great help here since old Gamling died", Déor introduced the old man.

"My lord. It is honour to finally meet you in person", Banstan said, his dark blue eyes regarding Éomer unblinkingly. His lined face bore nothing that might speak of his thoughts and the King of the Mark had to wonder what he was hiding behind.

"I am glad to meet you as well, Master Banstan", he said for his part, keeping his tone nondescript. He then turned his eyes back to Déor, "I had word of the floods and landslides. I would hear the details of these events."

"Of course, of course. Please, do come inside, my lord. We shall explain everything", Déor hurriedly answered.

Éomer and Ceolwen were led into the Hall. There, scattered about the feasting hall he saw what could only be families that had lost their homes. On bedrolls lay several injured men and an old woman. At the arrival of the King the refugees lifted up their faces, and silently they watched him. One little girl's face in particular stood out; she was clutching what could only be her newborn sibling. Her hazel eyes seemed enormous in contrast to her delicate features. She did not speak as she gazed at the tall man striding by her, but Éomer did not need any words to see the plead of help in her eyes.

_I am their king. Who will fix this if not I? _

Suddenly, a young woman leapt on her feet. She was perhaps sixteen or seventeen summers and her curly golden hair was so voluminous it almost looked unreal. For her age she already sported a curvy figure, though her gown did not do her justice. Very fair, very young – and very much homeless.

"Éomer King! Please help us!" she cried out as she reached for his arm, clutching it with her both hands. Ceolwen shifted anxiously but did not try to interfere – really, one might have thought Éothain's spirit had descended on her.

He gave the girl a gentle smile and reached to cover one of her hands with his own.

"Worry not, lass. I will do all I can. You will have your lives back", he promised her. She moaned out loud in what he thought as relief and threw her arms about his neck. The grip felt nearly tight enough to break a man's neck.

Éomer blinked in surprise and couldn't react at first, until Ceolwen spoke up, "Lass, I need to ask you to let go of the King."

As he was trying to unfasten her arms from around his neck, the girl suddenly pulled back and looked at the captain with wide eyes.

"You're a woman", she blurted in surprise. A wry smile touched Ceolwen's face.

"Aye, that I am. But as the King's Captain I must ask you to let him go. There is much to do, if we are to fix what has happened", she replied. Éomer could not tell if it was her words or the girl's sheer surprise which had her letting go.

"Do forgive my granddaughter, Sire. Hlísa has been very upset by the loss of her home", Banstan muttered and made a shooing gesture towards the girl.

"It is quite all right. I understand very well the meaning of one's abode", Éomer said graciously, glancing at Banstan and Déor by his side. He took notice of the frown on the young lord's face and recognised it as well. _Béma, the things I get involved in. _

He ushered away that thought and looked straight at the two men, "Shall we proceed, then?"

Déor shook himself and blushed once more. He lead the way again and the King and his Captain followed; Éomer just about had time to share a glance with Ceolwen. She controlled her face masterfully, but the glint of her eyes spoke in volumes.

The Hall had a tiny study to serve such needs as the Lord of Harrowdale might have. There were only two chairs, and Banstan claimed one of them as though he was the owner. While the old man and the King sat, Ceolwen stood by her liege-lord and Déor remained on his feet as well. A servant from the kitchens appeared with mugs of ale to wash away the taste of the road.

_He has a lot to learn. Would that Gamling were here, _Éomer thought to himself before he moved along to ask about the recent events in Harrowdale. Déor and his adviser proceeded into an explanation of the damage caused by the rains, and the King of the Mark received a rather well-detailed account of all the lost property. Unfortunately, six people had died, and many more had lost their homes. Most had come to Harrow for help, though apparently some had gone to Erkenbrand as well.

"We are housing some of them here as you noticed already, my lord, but there is only so much we can do, and many more are depending on the good will of the townsfolk. We can barely feed them as it is. I am afraid we do not have the resources to rebuild the lost homes. In this we look to the throne", Banstan finished the account. The young lord nodded emphatically and fingered his mug in a rather anxious fashion.

Éomer sat silent for a while before he answered. He considered all that he had heard and his decision was more or less made. It was obvious he could not abandon these folk now.

"And the throne will deliver", he said at last and set aside his mug, which he had half way emptied. "I shall require someone who knows the damaged farms. I would inspect them myself to determine if I will have to make purchases in Gondor. Goods will be sent here in Harrow, along with someone to supervise their division to those who need it."

"Now, Lord Déor, does my company have your hospitality until morrow? I know your household must be stretched thin for the moment, but I assure you will be fairly compensated for all your trouble", he spoke, and the young man nodded quickly.

"Of course, Sire! You are most welcome in my humble home", he said and stood up straighter. "Let me find my chatelaine – she will organise lodgings for you and your men..."

* * *

"May I have a word with you, Éomer?" Ceolwen inquired, hovering at the doorway of the chamber given to the King of the Mark. He had come to rid himself of armour before he would enter the hall again, as he meant to speak more closely with those evacuees who were being housed here.

"You may have two, my friend", he replied and put aside the vambrace he had just been unfastening.

His captain entered and closed the door behind herself. She glanced around as though she expected there might be others hiding in the chamber.

"I thought perhaps you should know that this old man Banstan supported Feran during Kin-strife", Ceolwen stated – it was like her to get straight to the point. Her words certainly roused his interest right away.

"How do you know this?" he wanted to know.

"I assume you haven't forgotten Éothain was kept as a prisoner here in Harrow before they meant to execute him?" Ceolwen asked back.

"Of course I haven't forgotten. What of it?" Éomer said and narrowed his eyes. The memory of what the traitor had meant to do to two of his best friends still angered him.

"He told me of it lengthily – as you know, we have been talking a lot since you appointed me your captain. He also mentioned many of the names of Feran's supporters. I understand Banstan was present when Éothain was brought to Harrow... in any case, I have memorised all the names he gave to me, as we agreed your captain should be aware of such things", Ceolwen explained.

He was frowning now, and so deeply was his mind on this matter that he barely paid attention to the buckles of his gear.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" he asked.

"Because before I did not know Banstan to be very powerful. Apparently he does have some noble lineage, but not enough to warrant him a lord. At any rate I thought you have enough concerns as it is, and an old man did not seem like a threat on the safety of the throne... which is not your business, but mine", Ceolwen replied and smiled wryly, "if you get what I mean."

Éomer let out a non-committal sound and finally released his other arm of the vambrace.

"Déor is very young and inexperienced", he stated at last, moving his fingers to the buckles of his chest plate. "Do you think Banstan will have a bad influence on him? Should he be dismissed?"

"I would not advise it, my lord. Feran is gone and even if this old man fancied him, he can not do much about it now. Dismissing him would show distrust not only to him but to all who made the mistake of following the underking. I do not think it would help with mending the realm and uniting the people again", Ceolwen answered at length. "He has done good job in helping Déor to care for the evacuees."

"Aye. That is right", Éomer had to agree. His captain did have a good point. He let out a sigh and laid down the plates, quite similar to the old ones he had lost. These bore similar devices but the colour was not the same. Now he was arrayed in green so dark it almost seemed black.

The King of the Mark looked tiredly at his captain, "I wish Gamling was still here."

"He would keep an eye on things – and especially on this Banstan", she agreed.

"Hmm. Even so, Déor _is _Erkenbrand's nephew and cousin to Edelric", Éomer stated thoughtfully. He looked at her again, "Do you think it would be a good time to include the political aspects in his training?"

Ceolwen picked up his meaning right away.

"You mean to have him to take care of Déor?" she asked.

"It is not a bad idea, is it? I think a kinsman's words would be more influential in his case – whereas my own interest in him would raise more than just few eyebrows. As my captain Edelric will have to consider such things anyway", he answered and sat down to work over his greaves. Quickly he looked up at her, "Like you said, Feran is gone. I do not think we have more to fear from those who supported him. Still, it is a matter I would like to bury for good, and be reassured it does not emerge again. I would not have young Déor getting caught in things he is not yet ready to deal with."

"Aye, my lord. I will speak with Edelric of this", Ceolwen promised solemnly. Then suddenly she smiled, "But to be honest, I have a feeling he is more like to begrudge you for a rustle of skirts than because of an old man's mutterings."

"You noticed that too? What nonsense. She's not much more than a child", Éomer snorted and sat back.

"_They _certainly did not seem to think like that, my friend. You might want to set a a guard and lock your door tonight, lest you find yourself a bedfellow", she chuckled.

"What does that lass even see in me? Surely she should be more inclined to chase a young and fair lord than some grim and greying man", he grumbled, rubbing his forehead. Ceolwen laughed again.

"I don't think you see yourself very clearly. You really haven't changed _that _much, and half the lasses of the Mark have been in love with you since you came of age", she said, grinning as she spoke. The damned woman was enjoying this much more than she should. "Not to mention you _are _a king and a famous warrior. She has just lost her home, and then you arrive on your great silver horse and promise to make it all right... what else did you expect?"

He could only snort again.

"Béma be kind, I thought marriage would save me at last. Will I ever have peace?" Éomer said with just a hint of drama and leant back his head like a tired old man.

"If you ask me, you need to introduce them both to Lothíriel. That should take care of things", Ceolwen offered helpfully. "I don't know if you have noticed but your lady wife can be a fairly intimidating woman when she wants."

He had to smile at the mention of his Lioness. Anyone who doubted his love and devotion to her, especially when faced with her, was blind.

Éomer shook his head then – he could not get distracted by daydreams of his wife right now. Moreover, there was one more thing he had to speak of with Ceolwen... potentially it was the most unpleasant of topics today.

"I have a favour to ask, my friend", he said then. She seemed to sense the nature of this favour, and the smile fell from the captain's face and she looked at him intently.

"What is it?" she inquired.

"Send someone to ask about where Gamling is buried. I would pay him my respects... I did not get a chance to tell him goodbye properly", Éomer said and the words came out even more painfully than he had thought. He could hear the fall of his voice too – try as he might, he could not hide the grief.

"Of course. I will see to it right away", she promised gently. Then, after a moment of hesitation, she strode next to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "His death was not your fault, Éomer."

"That is kind of you to say, but I'm afraid I cannot agree", he said quietly and looked away. "I could have prevented it, Ceolwen. If I had taken Feran captive right on the moment I came back..."

"You were trying to come back as a just king. Feran had people imprisoned for ludicrous reasons – I ought to know, better than most – so how would it have looked like if you went down to his level right on the moment we got you back?" she stated firmly. "Gamling loved and respected you, my king. This much even I know, though I was not familiar with him. But Elfhelm knew him well, and my husband says Gamling would not have regretted what he did for you. He would only be glad to know that his sacrifice bought the freedom and safety of our king."

* * *

Éomer had feared Feran had not granted a proper resting place for Gamling. But perhaps the traitor had possessed some instance of decency, for inquiries revealed Gamling had been buried next to his late wife.

The visit to that tomb Éomer made alone, as it was not something he wished company for. The way there felt just as long as it had been when he had gone to visit Théoden's barrow after the ending of Kin-strife.

He found the right tomb easily enough. The sight brought him a choking feeling instantly, and he remembered his last conversation with Gamling. His friend's words came back to him, almost like an echo from the past: _"I have seen my King alive and returned. That is more than enough for an old man like myself... Please, Éomer. You have to live."_

In grief he lowered his head and the words came out, his voice carrying them weakly: "I know you are far beyond hearing me, but I am so sorry, Gamling. I'm sorry I could not save you..."

Gamling should have lived to see the peaceful days dawn at last in the Mark. The world was a different place without him; in the first bewildering months of Éomer's kingship the old man had been an irreplaceable help. He tried to imagine how it all could have gone had he not...

The memories of the south remained too vivid, and whatever might have been was lost behind the heat and dust and blood and _that_ _stink_. That was another story he had never been able to tell Gamling. He had to fight the sudden feeling of being short of breath, and fortunately it faded quickly enough.

"I will make sure you did not die for nothing, Gamling. I will live, like you asked me to – and I will make the best of it", he spoke out loud, as though the wind might take his words to the friend he had lost.

He reached for the flask he had taken with him and took a mighty gulp of it. The strong Rohirric liquor felt like fire as it rolled down his throat. On Gamling's tomb he poured carefully the same amount; in a strange way, it helped to think his friend was sharing the drink as he sat among his forefathers.

The liquor was still burning in his stomach when Éomer turned at last and made way to return to Déor's Hall. Yet even as he walked he knew already that tonight, he would remember the south.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's a somewhat longer update for Thursday! I guess this little story thread had me especially inspired and things got out of hand, like they sometimes do with me. I wanted to write about Éomer doing some kinging and also build his relationship with Ceolwen a bit. Also, I thought it would be good to show him paying his respects to Gamling.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo -** Thank you! It seemed to me Éomer would sometimes lose his patience, but he knows it's not right. Most of the time he has it under control, but there are moments his temper emerges and people who have not witnessed him working through his issues (meaning, people who are not Lothíriel) don't really understand it.


	10. Chapter 10

_Late April 1, Edoras_

_Dear Éowyn,_

_It has been three months since you, Faramir and Father departed from Rohan. I miss you dearly, but so is one's wont when the family is so scattered in different parts of our world. I hope you and Faramir are well, but also have had some time just to yourselves. I know Faramir doesn't mind, but it still sometimes troubles me to think I caused him pain by dragging you along with me._

_Now I can just picture you rolling your eyes at me, telling I am being foolish. You are probably right. _

_Things are well here in the Mark – as well they can be, I suppose. For a while weathers were quite poor and Éomer was worried the rains would prevent spring sowing, but now it has been nothing but sunshine and fair weathers. Foaling season was a success and there is a reason to be very hopeful: if things go this well next year, we will soon be completely recovered from the loss of horses in the Ring War. Altogether this spring has come with a great promise and Éothain says people far and wide are talking about Éomer the Blessed, who has brought hope and prosperity with him. _

_We are terribly busy, but you must have guessed that. Your brother seems to have decided he will single-handedly fix every little problem in the realm. I'm just as glad as anyone that he has such motivation for rebuilding the Mark, and things are improving, but often it causes him to be on such a foul mood... I do not need to tell you about Éomer and his temper, as you must have witnessed it in person for many times. _

_I wonder when it will get better and sometimes I pray for the day when it does. I have to admit, I long for the time we spent in wandering. Everything was so easy then... even though in my heart I know it could never have lasted for longer than it did. _

_You should be pleased to hear myself and Osythe are getting along finely. She is truly a lovely woman, and I can see why you so praised her. It seems to me there is nothing she doesn't know about Meduseld, or running a royal household, and she is an endless source of anecdotes about your and Éomer's younger years. Don't worry – those are entirely good-wishing anecdotes (though if you must insist on revenge, I'm sure Faramir can share a few embarrassing stories). Osythe seems to miss you very much, as she often mentions you, and when she heard I would be writing to you, she demanded I send you her love. Well, at least she still has Éomer to dote on. Sometimes she treats him as though he were her own son! It is quite endearing, I must say. She's a dear woman and I'm afraid there have been times when I would have been lost without her. Though Ceolwen and Scýne have proved to be good friends, along with that mad fellow Elfhelm, they don't have the kind of view on life Osythe does. I suppose I feel like this because I can barely remember my mother, and even now there are still instances when I miss someone like her in my life. _

_Please forgive me my whining. I did not mean to write to depress you or moan and mope, but my pen seems to have a mind of its own. _

_This late April, it must already be very beautiful in Ithilien. I can imagine you and Faramir wandering in the woods, enjoying the spring and the peace. You must tell me about how things are going there and how your own mission of mending that fair land is proceeding. I wish we could come to visit you, but as you must already have guessed, we are not quite capable of making long journeys right now. _

_Give my love to Faramir. I wish you both all the best. Write me soon – I long to hear news of you both._

_With love,_

_Lothíriel_

* * *

_Early May 1, Edoras_

Evening was growing late when Lothíriel entered the kitchens of the Golden Hall. It was quiet there now – the servants had already finished cleaning up after supper – but quick glance about confirmed it was not entirely empty.

Osythe was still about and a small fire in the hearth illuminated her figure. She had said she'd stay late tonight, for her husband was on some business in Aldburg, and she did not fancy going to their empty home alone. The light gave a shine to her red gold hair and caught in the folds of her gown, contrasting the shadows. The young queen was about to speak up when the woman looked up and smiled.

"What is it? Do you or the King need something from the kitchens?" Osythe asked.

"I was just..." Lothíriel started, but didn't know how to continue, and the chatelaine must have seen the look on her face and heard the tremble in her voice.

"Is something wrong, my dear?" asked the older woman worriedly. She put aside the knife she had been handling and took some steps closer to the young queen.

"We argued. He wouldn't listen to me... he was so cranky and cantankerous, and I – I think I just made it worse. I didn't know where else I should go", Lothíriel mumbled. She felt like crying but somehow managed to hold back the tears.

Osythe considered her for one moment more, quiet and thoughtful. Then she moved again.

"Sit down, dear. I will make us some tea", she said firmly then, and obediently Lothíriel took seat on a stool near the hearth. There she sat watching as the chatelaine worked. Soon the water was boiling over the fire, and from somewhere Osythe found some scones. Generously she spread jam made of wild berries on the scones, placed them on a plate, and turned to finish the tea.

When they both were sitting and had cups of tea along with scones, Osythe looked at her starkly.

"Do you love him?" she asked forwardly. It did not come as a surprise, as Lothíriel had already learnt something about the straightforwardness of her new people.

"I do. More than anything", she replied and looked down into her cup. "I just... sometimes I wonder if it's enough."

"You mustn't think like that", Osythe said, her voice sharp. "No one's – not even his – salvation depends on you. Trying to make yourself into his sole rope is not good for either of you."

The younger woman bit her lip and tried to think of something to say. However, her mind was blank, except for tiny but growing doubt perhaps her approach would bring more harm than help if she did not change it.

Osythe let out a small sigh then and took a sip of her tea.

"I know he can be difficult sometimes, but that is not just a recent thing. Even as a young lad he could be troublesome to deal with... so are those with strong personalities. I suppose it has to do with all that grief and loss Éomer had to deal with when he was still just a boy. It changed him, and not always for the better. Be it as may, he never was and still is not anything but a good man. Stubborn, of course, but good", she said slowly. She looked straight at Lothíriel then, "And I know he loves you. Perhaps it is not always easy with him, but I've never seen him love anyone as he loves you."

"I never doubted that", said the young queen softly.

"I wish I could do more to help you", Osythe spoke, her voice gentle and somehow sad. "I know you carry many burdens not only as a wife but also as a queen."

At that, Lothíriel had to smile. She met the older woman's bright eyes.

"And you are tremendous help in carrying those burdens. I don't think I would be much of a queen if you were not here", she said warmly. Her words made Osythe smile as well, and the chatelaine reached to pat her forearm.

"Do you wish me to talk with him?" she asked.

"Perhaps not", Lothírel decided and shook her head. "I don't want to give an impression I go crying to you every time there are some difficulties."

Her brow furrowed then, "I think maybe I should go and apologise. I was being stubborn too."

"Aye, that could be for the better. My own mother used to tell me never to let the day end with an argument", Osythe said, her voice kind and gentle.

Her spirits considerably lifted, Lothíriel put aside her tea and half-eaten scone. She reached to hug the chatelaine.

"Thank you for making feel better, Osythe", she said, her words entirely heartfelt.

The older woman smiled.

"You're very welcome, my dear."

* * *

**A/N: **And here's an update! Things don't go always so smoothly, and even the strong one sometimes needs the support of friends, but I would imagine Osythe's tea and sympathy -routine is very effective. It's certainly much gentler than scoldings Éomer would receive from Ceolwen when and if she heard about the argument!

* * *

**Jo - **I'm glad you liked it! The last chapter was pretty entertaining to write as well. I have to say, I'm really enjoying writing these little scenes and showing the every day life of our horselord and his lady. I guess it's because in my previous stories haven't really written that much about things like these.

**Thalia - **I think it's bit of both. There certainly are positions that go to those who are most qualified (from the King's point of view): whoever acts as a Marshal or the King's Captain does have to show the capability of doing the job. But there are also some hereditary titles. For example, the seat of Aldburg has gone from father to son in Éomer's line. The seat of Harrowdale is the same. Déor is the last of his line, so even though he is very young, he has no choice about it really.

**Wondereye - **Glad to hear you think so! They are also wonderful to write about. :)


	11. Chapter 11

_June 1, Edoras_

On a fair day of June around midday Elfhelm burst into the royal study, more or less puffing with energy. His countenance was wind-blown and cheerful. The Marshal had returned from a lengthy ride to the eastern parts the day before yesterday, bringing mostly very hopeful tidings. It truly looked like the realm was on the mend.

The King of the Mark was in the middle of reading some reports from Harrow – Déor had sent him updates on how things were going with those folk who had lost their homes because of the landslides and floods. Rebuilding their homes was apparently going fairly well, what with the goods he had been able to provide.

"Oi there! Are you in the need of someone digging you up from that pile of parchments?" asked his Marshal jovially.

"Not before supper, my friend. What is it?" Éomer asked back and looked up from the report he had been reading. It took time to decipher, because Déor's command of writing was not the best one could hope for. Then again, though Thengel had gone to great lengths to establish literacy and penmanship at least among the most important lords of the realm, on this day one would still find not all of them had been schooled as well as the late king had hoped. Not that Éomer did not understand: he knew the every day life of an Eorling lord was often too busy to provide time to practise writing, and tools for that were expensive too.

"Bah, supper is far too late. You're coming with me now, laddie", Elfhelm informed him as the man came to a halt next to the desk. The Marshal snatched the report from his hands before he had time to react.

"Please give that back. I have work to do", Éomer said, now just with a hint of annoyance.

"Work can wait. We are going riding and you will comply, or so help me Béma, I will put you in ropes and throw you on the back of my horse", Elfhelm said, resting hands on his hips and tapping one foot against the floor. The King of the Mark lifted one eyebrow.

"Technically I could have you arrested you for making such statements", he told his friend. Elfhelm smiled charmingly.

"Technically I don't care. But Ceolwen very much does, and you know what happens when people try to imprison her husband. Now get you up – there is something I need to talk with you", he said and gave a light kick to Éomer's chair.

The King sighed. His Marshal was obviously on one of those moods and he deemed it was far easier to just give in – otherwise, he would not have any peace for the rest of the day.

Less than half an hour later, they were exiting Edoras. Silfren seemed pleased at the sudden whim of his rider and Éomer had to hold him back so that Elfhelm and the guards accompanying them could keep along. It was a beautiful day and the Mark was blooming in high summer. Sky seemed very blue and vast today and it was warm enough he had not bothered to put a coat over his linen shirt.

"So, what did you want to talk about with me?" asked the King of the Mark once the capital was behind and the guards had fallen back to give some privacy to the two men. He glanced at his friend, "And why could we not speak of it in my study?"

Elfhelm met his eyes and winked.

"That is because I am on a mission from the Queen", he said indulgently. "She told me to snare you out of that dusty closet."

The younger of the two lifted his eyebrows.

"Why did she tell you to do that? Lothíriel is fairly capable at snaring me herself", he pointed out.

"Of course she is. I know very well who is the true ruler in Meduseld, but let's not go into that", Elfhelm replied good-humouredly. "I am the errand boy because she needed to go and set the scene."

"Would you cease talking in riddles?" Éomer asked, giving his friend one of the less formidable frowns. Of course, it didn't affect the Marshal.

"It is such a fair weather today and she wanted to have a picnic with her most lordly husband", Elfhelm said and gazed ahead, "Which idea one can fully support, don't you think? Marvellous things, wives are."

"You interrupted me because of a picnic?" Éomer asked, which instantly earned him a stern flash of blue eyes. Even before Elfhelm spoke out – which was quite fast – he realised what he had just implied.

"I interrupted you because your wife wants to spend time with you. And it is starting to look like a good thing that I did, because your brain is apparently in the process of dissolving", said the older man sharply. Though it was easy to forget with his easygoing manners, underneath lay some truly fierce currents.

Éomer was quiet, trying to process his own reaction and Elfhelm's words. The Marshal spoke again, his voice softer now, "It would also be a good chance to convince her you still love her."

"She knows I do", he said starkly, though at this point he was starting to feel troubled and confused.

"Does she? Ceolwen and Scýne have told me the Queen has been downcast lately. They think you are being neglectful of your wife", said his friend. There was no accusation in his voice – just the statement of what the ladies had said to him.

"Why didn't she say anything to me, then?" the King of the Mark demanded to know, worried that he had not realised this. His friend sighed and looked at him, and all traces of good humour were completely gone by now.

"She thinks she needs to support you in all things, and ask only very little for herself. She believes she can't be sad around you, because it would distract you from all your duties as king. And because she's just as stubborn as you are, no one can make her see how foolish she is being", said Elfhelm, shaking his head.

The younger man could not really say anything. He was too much in a stun to really speak, and even wrapping his mind about his friend's words was difficult as it was unpleasant. But still he could not deny anything Elfhelm had said. It was true: Lothíriel had been more quiet lately, she had been smiling less, and at this point he should have known her well enough to understand its meaning. Only, he had been too distracted.

While he was still in the middle of these thoughts, his Marshal spoke up again.

"Éomer", Elfhelm said steadily but gently, "I know you are deeply invested in healing the hurts in this land, but even you need to let go every once in a while. The realm will not fall into ruin if you do so for a day. In fact, you might find it will do you good."

Éomer did not get a chance to answer, because then the older man straightened up in his saddle and gazed ahead, "Ah, we seem to have reached our destination."

They had kept up good pace, and so were some leagues from Edoras now. Before them there was a sheltered little glen – a very nice place and full of flowers in spring – and a horse he recognised as Lothíriel's was grazing nearby.

The Marshal reached to pat his king's arm.

"Go ahead, old fellow. Be with your wife, forget about your concerns for a while. And try and make her smile. Otherwise, Ceolwen and Scýne will have your hide", Elfhelm more or less ordered. Then he turned his horse and smiled again, "Guards will remain close, but they will know to give you some privacy. I will see you later!"

Without a further word, the Marshal sped away, leaving behind a fairly baffled king. When his friend was gone, Éomer shook his head and urged Silfren to move forwards and closer to the glen.

There he found his wife, lying on the green grass of the gently descending hillside.. Her face was turned towards sunlight and she rested with her eyes closed, her face smoothed into a peaceful expression. For a moment, all Éomer could do was just regard her. Even as he stood there, he suddenly felt he hadn't really _looked _at her in a while... he had been so absorbed in all the work that he had started to take her for granted.

Elfhelm and the ladies were right. He _was _being a neglectful husband, especially as of late. And Lothíriel deserved so much more.

Éomer dismounted then and patted Silfren's neck. The stallion nickered softly; he would not wander far, and while he grazed, his rider knew he would keep his own watch.

His wife did not open her eyes as he approached her, though she must have heard his arrival. Only when he had passed the distance between them did she crack open one eye, and an impish little smile visited her face. There was the woman he knew and loved – the one who had taught him to laugh time and again. And yet Elfhelm had said she had been downcast as of late... the extents she went to make him happy! Really, he didn't know what he wanted more: to shake her for being so foolish, or kiss her senseless.

"There you are at last. I was starting to wonder if Elfhelm had kidnapped you instead of bringing you here", she said and stretched, reminding him of a cat waking up just after a long and pleasant nap. He settled down beside her on the blanket and kicked off his boots, if just to have something to do. It was bizarre to feel like this in her presence.

"Well, one could say he did kidnap me to bring me here. He threatened to unleash Ceolwen on me among the other things, unless I complied", he said, which made her splutter in laughter. She was laughing, so maybe he wasn't a completely wretched excuse of a husband?

"I see now why you made him a Marshal", Lothíriel said, unaware of his thoughts, and sat up. She reached for a bundle by her side and opened it to reveal an assortment of foodstuffs varying from fresh scones to three different cheeses – she even produced some Gondorian wine. He hadn't known the pantries and storages of Meduseld had such.

When she handed him a goblet of sweet white wine, Éomer had to comment, "Dear heart, you know you could just have asked me to join you for a picnic instead of sending Elfhelm after me?"

She hesitated for a moment and did not meet his eyes. Then, even as he desperately tried to catch her gaze, she looked at him.

"Yes, I could have done so. But I was afraid you would tell me you were too busy", she said her voice quiet and unsure.

He had no idea of what to say to that. _Foolish, foolish woman... _what in the name of Béma had made her think she couldn't talk to him? Then again, he'd have been utterly wrong to claim he held no blame. After all, his first reaction _had _been to tell Elfhelm he was too busy.

_If she thinks she can't speak to me, then who else can be blamed than myself?_

"You know that I love you, don't you?" he asked softly, battling this sudden fear that perhaps she didn't... hadn't realised how truly invaluable and irreplaceable her very presence was.

His wife turned her head to look at him. Her expression was solemn and slightly sad somehow, and it tore at his heart. _Am I making her unhappy...? _

"I know that, dear one. I may doubt everything else but not you", she said.

Without a word, he put down the goblet in his hand. Similarly, though with gentle fingers, he removed hers. Then he moved closer to her and pulled her close to himself. He felt her relaxing there and he let out a small sigh. _Even now she lets me close. _

When he spoke, it was against the softness of her hair.

"You are the clarity when all else ceases to make sense", he said at length. "You must remember that every day. I don't mean to be distant, but..."

"Beloved, I know. And I am not angry with you for anything. I just... I miss spending time with you, the way we used to before", she said, her voice so quiet he nearly didn't hear her.

"I am sorry for neglecting you lately. I will try to mend my ways", he promised and lifted up her chin so that he could meet her eyes, "Lothíriel, if I am being a thick-headed fool, or if there is something on your mind, you are more than welcome to say so. Or if it's easier to ask Elfhelm or Ceolwen to kick some sense into me... well, whatever suits you best."

"Yes. I know that – usually, I do. I'm not sure why I have apparently forgotten it lately", she said softly, frowning to herself. She shook her head and smiled once more, "Now, I did not have Elfhelm drag you here just so that we could waste time by being morose. Where did that wine go again?"

After those heartfelt confessions, a more relaxed mood settled on them both. He lay on his back, balancing his goblet on his chest and leaning his head against his forearm as he watched Lothíriel. They spoke everything and nothing and he got lost in how sunlight danced on her hair and skin. The weather was fair, the world was beautiful, and wine was sweet as the lips of his wife. He realised: what else did one need to feel glad to be alive?

In the end, Éomer had to agree his Queen and Marshal had a very good point: letting go occasionally did prove to have benefits.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's a bit of summer into the middle of winter! I hope you all will have a pleasant weekend. :)

I was reading some Rohirrim-related stuff by Tolkien, and I noticed one thing I didn't remember to address to properly when posting _ALTE. _That is of course Elfhelm's age. Though the year of his birth is not given (to my knowledge), it is implied he's closer in age to Théodred rather than Éomer. So, he would be in his late thirties or fourties. However, Elfhelm of _ALTE _and related works is in his thirties, a few years older than Éomer but still fairly close to him. I can't recall anymore if I genuinely forgot his canon age or if my express intention was to write him younger. It could be the latter, because I remember thinking I wanted Éomer to have at least one lieutenant who was about his own age, whereas Gamling and Erkenbrand are clearly older at least by a decade. Also, writing Elfhelm younger than he is in canon also allowed the sub-plot with him and Ceolwen.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**brandibuckeye - **I'm very glad to have you joined the ride! :) Hope you continue to enjoy the story.

**Jo - **Very much so! I suppose the purpose of this and the last chapter has been to show everyone has troubles sometimes and we misinterpret things. But it is all right as long as one remembers to apologise and make up.


	12. Chapter 12

_Early August 1, Edoras_

There were times when Lothíriel wondered who really was the Queen of the Golden Hall.

An example of such times was when Osythe would give a sharp look and tell her she should perhaps go for a ride.

"It is lovely weather outside and you look like sunlight would do you good. I have everything under control here", said the chatelaine in firm tones. When Lothíriel tried to protest and say she should be home preparing everything for her husband's expected return this same day, the older woman just waved her hand.

"He is not due back before evening, and I am perfectly capable of ordering his bath drawn and organising the supper for his welcome", Osythe replied, seemingly unmoving to her reasoning. Then something like a smile seemed to touch her face, "I should think it would please him to see the sunkissed face of his wife."

While Lothíriel had to admit she didn't know exactly what Osythe meant, it did sound convincing. Then Éothain turned out to be in league with the chatelaine, because he reassured her there were no urgent matters to demand her attention, and according to him he was well capable of preparing appeals for the King's attention when he returned. In the end she let herself be persuaded – or ordered – to go for a ride. Scýne joined readily as her mother was visiting Edoras. Aedre was more than happy to spend time with her grandchildren, both of whom were growing so fast these days. Elva was still following Elfhelm around whenever he was in the capital, and she had also announced she would become a Shieldmaiden just like Ceolwen.

"Béma, if that girl was twenty years older, Elfhelm would be in big trouble... and I would have some serious competition", Ceolwen had chortled as she and Lothíriel watched Éothain's daughter practice her braiding skills on Elfhelm's hair. The young queen had nearly choked on her tea.

A few guards came along too. The Queen, no matter how capable of looking after herself she was, could not just leave the capital all alone. Among them was Alger who seemed equally happy for the chance of a vigorous ride. Most of the Royal Guard was with Éomer and guarding duties back in Edoras were mostly nominal, though the King himself – ever the fuss – would probably have claimed otherwise.

So, about half an hour later Osythe had given her suggestion/command, the Queen and her small company were already speeding over the plains. They roughly followed the river Snowbourn which flowed north of Edoras. Playful riding contests took place of course, even if at this point Lothíriel knew it was in vain to try and win someone who had learnt to ride before they had started to walk. In this, Scýne was no different than any other Eorling.

Still, it was fun as ever, and the young queen did forget about the every day concerns for a while as they sped over the green plains. She did not think of harvest or rebuilding of homes or the blissful letters from new parents Aragorn and Arwen.

After about an hour they agreed to turn back, as Lothíriel wanted to be ready for Éomer's arrival. He had been visiting and inspecting villages in the West-mark for over a week and she did quite miss him. But before racing homewards they stopped by the river to water the horses.

This gave Lothíriel a chance to explore their surroundings a bit: she was always eager to get a closer look on whatever things she happened to see. The busy days in Edoras did not often provide her with a chance to see the different parts of the realm. While she explored, Scýne stayed by the riverside to bathe her feet in the cool waters of Snowbourn.

In a moment's spur, she decided to climb a small hill to get a better view on the lands about them – perhaps she might even see the capital from afar. Edoras could be spotted even from leagues away, especially on a sunny day when light would hit the gilded roof of Meduseld and give it a brilliant blaze.

The young queen came to a halt on the top of the hill and gazed about the plains. Some way to east she thought she saw a village but couldn't remember its name from the top of her head – she made a mental note of having to ask Éothain help her memorising the names of Rohirric villages. She saw a small herd of sheep grazing near the river, which glittered in sunlight as it ran eastwards to join Entwash. Bright midday was upon them and the world was fair in the late summer. A breath of wind came and blew through her hair, like gentle fingers combing through her tresses. She did not shiver but rather turned her face against the wind, the sun. There was a sense of rightness to this moment, and to being _here. _Yet it did not escape her memory where she had been only a year ago now: she remembered the journey from the south, the long days on Erchirion's ship, and then at last reaching Pelargir... it was strange, for at the same time it felt like no time at all had passed, and yet so much had happened since then.

Almost a year ago she had chosen to follow Éomer to a road unknown. Now she was in the Mark and she was queen.

Her reminiscing was interrupted then, for Alger shouted from the foot of the hill: "My lady! The horses have been watered."

"I'm coming!" she replied and began climbing down the hillside, her mind already turning towards the return of her husband; hopefully they would have some time to each other tonight, as he had been gone for so many days.

But then suddenly all thoughts of Éomer left her mind, because her foot seeking for the ground's support did not find any, and her foot left slipped; with a cry she fell as she felt her ankle twisting between stones.

"My lady!" Alger shouted again and came running. "Are you all right?"

Tears flooded her eyes as lances of pain went through her ankle. She didn't realise at first it was stuck somehow, not before a slight tug at her leg only made the pain worse.

"I – I think I sprained my ankle", she managed from between grit teeth. The young rider came down on one knee to inspect her leg carefully.

"Your ankle seems to be wedged between two stones, my lady", he told her; now Scýne was climbing the hillside as well, along with two other riders.

"Damn it", Lothíriel grumbled and wished away the tears of pain which were still burning her eyes. "Can you dislodge me?"

"Just a minute", said Alger and tore off some grass to see better the pit and the stones imprisoning her ankle. Scýne arrived then, looking worried.

"Are you all right?" she wanted to know, kneeling by the young queen's side.

"It's nothing serious. Just a sprained ankle, I think", Lothíriel said and grimaced as Alger worked to free her leg. "I should have been minding where I walk."

"It's no wonder you saw nothing in this grass. Don't worry, we'll get you to a healer in no time", Scýne promised.

"This may hurt a bit", Alger said as a warning and pulled her leg, finally dislodging it from between the stones. Lothíriel tried to hold back a groan but did not quite succeed. Before anyone had time to ask if she was all right for the third time, she tried to push herself up.

"Let's get going. I would like to see the healer before my husband arrives", she said and nearly fell once more, but Scýne and Alger caught her by arms before she went sprawling again.

Scýne told her she wasn't going to walk or ride by herself, and two riders more or less carried her down to where the horses were waiting. Before she had a chance to protest they already had her atop Alger's steed and the young man mounted to sit on the front of her. She took support from his waist, which felt awkward, but the last thing she wanted was to fall off a horse. The last time she had ridden with someone had been when she and Éomer had entered Edoras after the Kin-strife, and before it... well, she couldn't remember that far back.

For obvious reasons rest of the ride did not provide much enjoyment, and Lothíriel was mostly concerned with the throbbing pain in her ankle and the frustration it was already causing her. This would be a major inconvenience for weeks to come.

In the courtyard of the Golden Hall she did not have time to protest before Alger had leapt down from the saddle and was already lifting her as well. She let it pass, though – she knew she would not have been able to get down by herself without hurting her injured leg.

Still, the young rider looked like he just might scoop her up and carry her in himself. Scýne was fortunately more tactful than that and hurried along to fetch one of the doorwards to aid the Queen. One of them hurried down the steps, and between him and Alger Lothíriel was so well supported she did not really have to walk, but just let them carry her weight across the yard and up the steps of Meduseld.

About the time they got her to the royal chambers Scýne had already called a healer, and Osythe was there as well, fussing about like a mother hen. Apparently the common understanding was if the Queen was harmed in any way, a great many people would be in serious trouble with the King – even if she tried to tell them this was nothing more than a sprained ankle. Such was the healer's diagnosis as well and he went to fetch supplies soon as he had Lothíriel's now swollen ankle propped up on a pillow resting on a stool, along with some ice wrapped about it – trust Osythe to have some ice stored around the year. The chatelaine hurried off to fetch some tea and Scýne accompanied her; the young queen had a feeling it was more about tea's soothing qualities than anything else. Alger was the only one who stayed behind, and at first Lothíriel did not deem anything odd about it.

"My lady", he spoke, "does it hurt much?"

"I will live", she grumbled, leaning back her head and feeling foolish that this had even happened. She went over again the obvious observation she should have been more careful... though of course that was by now irrelevant.

"I'm sorry you hurt yourself, my lady", Alger said and took a step closer.

"It's fine. Really, don't worry about it", she said and waved her hand to dismiss the matter, but all of a sudden he caught her hand and fell on his knee next to her. The look in the young man's eyes was bright and somehow feverish.

"I would not be able to bear it, my lady, if anything ever happened to you", he said, clasping tight her fingers, "You are the sun that shines in this Hall."

She could not speak at first for her surprise. She blinked at the young rider and wondered if this was some kind of a bizarre jest. But even as the moments passed by she could see no trace of humour on his face.

"Alger", she sighed at last and pulled away her hand from his. "I _am _the wife of your King. My love and loyalty belong to him completely. You must understand that even if there was the slightest inch of me that was willing and capable of betraying him, you would not survive his wrath."

His face paled noticeably and she thought he was imagining the instance of facing his king in battle. To mask his reaction he lowered his eyes, but he could not hide how his shoulders slumped. Gently she reached for his shoulder and the young man glanced warily at her. Lothíriel gave him a comforting smile.

"You are a brave young man, Alger. I have not forgotten the debt I owe to you. Both myself and the King are grateful to you, and I know you will continue to prove your worth in times to come. But that is all there is", she said, her voice warm and compassionate.

The rider let out an unhappy moan.

"I feel so idiotic, my lady. I apologise for my conduct", he mumbled, not daring to meet her eyes.

"It is all right, Alger. I'm glad you spoke of this to me", she said to him and patted his shoulder comfortingly. "Don't be troubled. Your heart will find its true home, like mine did. It may not be today, and it may not be easy, but it will be worth it."

* * *

By the time Éomer came home, healer had already left Lothíriel with bandages to compress her ankle and instructions to recovery, and Éothain had limped in and out with a promise of providing her with crutches as soon as possible. The idea of having her ability to move so limited did not amuse Lothíriel one bit, but she knew all she could do was grit her teeth and wait for her ankle to heal.

Her husband seemed concerned as he strode in to the royal chambers, as though such a minor injury warranted worrying – the man was hopeless – but his expression lightened a bit when he saw her smiling at him.

"Welcome home, beloved", she greeted him and he came to her side, lowering himself on one knee.

"Thank you, dear heart", he said and leant closer to kiss her. When he pulled back, he frowned, "Osythe said you had hurt yourself. Are you quite all right?"

"Oh, I'm fine. It's just a twisted ankle – I should survive", she said and offered him another smile.

"I hope it doesn't hurt too much", he said, placing aside his gloves and reaching to brush hair from her cheek.

"I've had worse", she said and waved her hand dismissively. That brought a crooked little smile to his face and he rose up to his feet again.

"Let me just get rid of my armour. Have you had supper yet? I can go and fetch some – you should not be moving about with that ankle..."

_He may be a fuss, _she thought to herself with a fond smile, _but he's __**my **__fuss, and I would not trade him to anyone else. _

* * *

It was a quiet and pleasant night and Lothíriel's ankle did not become troublesome – rather, she did not complain about things like eating together by fire, or being carried into bed by her husband. And she certainly did not complain when she was safely nestled at the crook of his arm and he comfortably rested against some pillows. He had been telling her about his trip to the West-mark and the people he had met there, and in turn she had spoken of the past week's comings and goings in Edoras.

"You know, when you ride out the next time, you may want to take young Alger with you. I think some time away from Edoras could do him good", she commented eventually.

"Why is that?" Éomer asked, absent-mindedly running his fingers up and down her arm.

"He told me today he is... well, he did not say it outright, but he didn't need to. It seems he's sporting some kind of an infatuation towards me", she said, watching his face to see how he'd react. The news didn't seem to move him over much, though: they were both quite confident in each other's love.

"Hmm. I'm not really very surprised. You are a beautiful woman, and braver and stronger than many that live now", he said softly and kissed her temple. As he pulled back one corner of his mouth rose in a half-smile, "I shall spend the rest of my days fighting off amorous men in the pursuit of your good favour."

She couldn't help but laugh at that. She shifted on her side and snuggled closer to him, as much as her ankle allowed.

"Whoever pursues my good favour is only wasting their time. My love is given to one only", she told him. His dark eyes glimmered and her heart swelled with love and contentment. It was good to see him happy and unburdened.

"And for that I will always consider myself a lucky man."

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update! I guess this may seem kind of random, but I was on a random mood when I wrote it. And sometimes random stuff just happens, don't you think? Anyway, I don't know how serious Alger's feelings really are. To my experience, young people are sometimes prone to be infatuated with a person they admire. Most often it's just a passing fancy but at a young age it's always larger than life.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **Yes, Silfren is quite a special steed. :)

** Miss Pixie M - **Glad to hear that! I'm rather enjoying writing this one, and I've got plenty of ideas for more scenes/chapters, so I think we'll be on this ride for a while still!

**brandibuckeye - **And I think it was very much needed for them both. :)


	13. Chapter 13

_October 1, Rohan_

In October, an invitation to the King and Queen came from the Lord of Harrowdale. In his message, he said he was organising a feast to celebrate the successful rebuilding of homes after the spring floods, and seeing the throne had been essential in providing for the families while they picked up their lives again, Lord Déor hoped the royal couple would attend.

It was agreed they would go indeed, and so for the first time since the Kin-strife, they travelled together to the town of Harrow. Of course, Éomer had visited the place a few times during past months, but Lothíriel had not accompanied him, and now their arrival did bring back some memories that would probably always remain vivid in his mind.

Of course it was different too, because unlike the last time their coming was witnessed by the common folk, gathered on the sides of the road to watch the King and Queen ride by. It seemed they were particularly interested in seeing the Lady of the Mark – perhaps because they were curious if she'd appear similarly way-worn as the last time. But now one could not find fault in her skilfully braided hair, her dark blue cloak and spotless riding attire, made of purple fabric and sporting a split so she could ride astride. He imagined that should receive some appreciation among Eorlingas.

Déor seemed nervous when the royal escort arrived, while Banstan stood with him looking as stolid as ever. The young lord seemed even more uncomfortable when meeting the Queen, but on the old man's face there was not the slightest movement when he greeted her. However, Lothíriel's friendly smile never faltered. Being a queen had revealed in her something of a natural grace – Éomer could not say if it had always been there waiting to emerge, or if the journey south had given birth to it.

Either way, they were welcomed in Lord Déor's hall; before the feast in the evening, they would meet some nobility from the area along with their families, as many of them had yet to meet their new queen. As ever, it was interesting to see her navigating among them, for in some respects Rohirrim were just as prejudiced towards Gondorians as the southerners could sometimes be to their allies in north. Éomer knew very well how his people saw the high nobility of Stoningland, and while Lothíriel bore their looks and could make use of it to her advantage, she did not seem to conform to the idea of a well-bred princess. She had come here riding astride, she could talk fluently in Rohirric, and her manners were too easygoing to really fit with the image of a high and distant princess of the race of Westernesse. Moreover, he knew stories – both truthful and somewhat insane – had circulated among the people ever since the Kin-strife, and they must know what part she had played.

In short, there were times when Eorlingas were just as bewildered because of their young queen as Éomer himself had been when he had first met her.

Before the start of the feast they also met some of the families who had lost their homes due to the floods, and he was glad to hear the news of how well they had been able to rebuild their lives. Banstan's granddaughter was there as well; Éomer did not miss the looks of longing Hlísa cast towards his direction, nor the frown on Déor's face. He managed to keep a blank face, though he was surprised. One would have thought she would have moved on already and made notice of the young and fair lord of the town.

The matter passed his mind soon enough, and as the feast progressed Éomer had to agree Déor was at least a very hospitable host. Food and ale was plentiful and the good cheer of the crowd affected his mood as well. Though this was but a brief break from his many concerns, it was welcome. Lothíriel seemed to be enjoying herself too – when the plates and tables had been cleared away and chatter and laughter filled the Hall, Ceolwen whisked her away and soon Éomer could see the two women talking animatedly with Gamling's grand-niece Alfled. All three appeared to have good time, at least judging by how often they would burst out laughing. He hadn't known Ceolwen was familiar with Alfled, but then again Erkenbrand had once said everyone knew each other in the Mark, and there were often strong indicatives he was right.

He too had a pleasant time talking with people and seeing they were becoming more relaxed with him – during the Kin-strife and just after it many had regarded him with intimidated respect, even awe – but after fetching more ale and taking his seat again, things took a slightly bewildering turn.

Éomer did not see the girl approaching, not before she already was before him. He just about had time to give Hlísa an inquiring look before she fell on her knees and latched on his left hand, which rested empty on the armrest.

"My lord", she spoke, her voice just as animated as the last time he had met her. Though he usually had no trouble judging a person's character, with her he could not say if she was genuine or not. Strangely it reminded him of Banstan's stolid silence.

"What can I do for you, Hlísa?" he asked carefully, though he kept his tone friendly. The girl stared up at him with wide, brilliant green eyes.

"I just wanted to thank you for all you have done, my lord! I was so sad for losing my home, but then you came here, and everything was well again!" she said excitedly and went on talking, speaking so fast and disjointedly he could barely follow her. But the general impression seemed to be how pleased she was with him.

"I am glad everything has turned out all right", he said smoothly, though he kept a certain degree of remoteness to his tone. She really didn't need any more ideas planted in her head.

"My lord, I would wish to repay your help any way I can", Hlísa said, lowering her voice, perhaps trying for tempting huskiness she had not yet mastered. He was starting to feel like he'd perhaps have to show her some of his rougher manners to get cleanly out of this one... and make sure she'd get the point permanently.

"Use well the days, lass, and live in the way you may be proud of. I will not expect any other repayment", he said, his voice cooler now. She did not get the hint, though, for she moved closer to him, and suddenly she lowered her lips to the back of his fingers.

"Please, my king", she murmured against his skin – he nearly yanked his hand away – and lifted up her eyes into giving a coy look to him, "let me show my gratitude."

Éomer was still trying to come up with words that were not utterly hurtful, but would drive his point home. However, it turned out he did not have to, for arms wrapped about his neck from behind and there was a familiar good-humoured voice speaking: "Hello, lord husband. Will you introduce me to this young lady?"

Hlísa startled so suddenly that she nearly fell over; though she still didn't let go of his hand, he could see she had lost her nerve as she stared up at the Queen, who stood behind him. Éomer did not need to see his wife to know she was emanating only good-willing congeniality.

"This is Hlísa, a local girl whose home was lost in the spring floods", he said and relaxed on his seat. He knew he was quite safe from further approaches now that his Lioness had come to shelter him (he had to smile at the thought).

He looked at the girl, who was still kneeling, "I assume I don't have to introduce my wife the Queen."

"Nice to meet you, Hlísa", Lothíriel said, her voice friendly and warm.

"Likewise, my lady", the girl muttered and blinked. At least she let go of his hand; he drew it away and placed it on Lothíriel's, both to make the obvious statement and also hoping to avoid further contact with the girl.

"I know losing one's home must be a horrible thing, but I hope it has not been troublesome to settle down in your new abode", said his wife. Hlísa seemed to practically shrink before her mighty opponent, though perhaps that was not the right way to call someone who had already and irrevocably won.

"Aye, everything has gone so well", the lass muttered. She rose up on her feet at last and made a clumsy little curtsy. "I would thank you again, my king."

"You are welcome", Éomer merely said.

Without a further word she made her escape – young she might be, and perhaps foolish too, but she knew when she was beaten.

The royal couple remained quiet for a moment, and Lothíriel moved from behind the chair to sit on the armrest. When she spoke, her voice was light, "My poor man. You looked positively lost."

"Aye. I do not think I could have handled her so gracefully", he said, shaking his head. At first he felt ridiculous for not knowing how to deal with the girl, but then he considered it was because past two years he had been too busy to consider his manners towards young females who were interested in him. Lothíriel's entrance in his life meant he could not and did not want to answer to approaches like he might have in his younger days, and so he was lost in the face of such a meeting. Ladies like Osythe, Ceolwen and Scýne he had no trouble with, because they were friends and comrades.

His wife's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Young women... they see a handsome king and they lose their minds", Lothíriel said playfully and kissed his cheek, and he had to laugh at her self-irony. He turned his head to look at her.

"At least in your case the responses of the said king were not very helpful", he noted, which made her chuckle.

"Oh yes, he was quite a bewildering fellow. I'm so glad you saved me from him", she said, her voice amused and her eyes glimmering. The dear woman remained as apt as ever in making him laugh.

"Always a pleasure, my lady."

* * *

The rest of the feast went by without further unwanted attention from young women, and Éomer had some pleasant time talking with the local folk.

Lothíriel had gone to find Ceolwen again and he did not see her before the evening began to turn late. But couple of hours before midnight she appeared on his side, walking slowly and gingerly. He looked up at her inquisitively and she leant closer to him.

"I'm starting to feel tipsy. It would be a good time for you to take me to bed", she whispered, pronouncing the words very carefully as to not slur. He rose up to his feet right away, feeling quite surprised. He had never seen her drunk.

The sudden movement had her teetering and she took support of his arm.

"Did you have too much ale?" he asked quietly, which made her cringe.

"I tried to keep up with Ceolwen", she said, looking profusely disappointed in herself. With a slight smile he leant down to kiss her brow.

"I shall have a strong-worded conversation with her about making my queen drink", he told her solemnly. She just hiccuped as a reply.

His wife mostly remained quiet for the time it took him to say good night to Déor and thank him for the feast, but she did manage a "thank you" that did not sound entirely intoxicated.

As they made way to their chambers, she did lean heavily on him, but he supported her gladly, and he was happy no one tried to hinder them by attempts of engaging him in some conversation – Éomer too felt like it was a good time to retire. He bid good night to the royal guards stationed to night watch, and Lothíriel gave them a silent but tipsy smile, and then at last they got into the peaceful privacy of their room.

Getting undressed had its challenges, because his wife seemed to have lost the precise control of her fingers, and so needed help with the laces of her gown. He didn't mind, because she was giggly and very affectionate, and he found that quite endearing; even her wandering hands found an appreciative receiver in him.

Éomer half expected her to just pass out soon as she was out of her clothes and he had lifted her into the bed, but about the moment he laid himself next to her, she rolled on the top of him and engaged him in some hard, moist kissing. Her aim was less than perfect so half of it was more like slobbering, though, but he found he did not care.

Then in the middle of a kiss she suddenly seemed to just altogether lose her focus; she lay her head on his shoulder and passed out. It looked like she might very well sleep the night sprawled on the top of him, but he did not want her to end up with a stiff neck in the morning, so carefully he rolled her next to himself. Lothíriel mumbled something that sounded like Sindarin but did not wake up. Nor did she move when he pulled her against himself and wrapped an arm about her.

Having found a comfortable place for his face against her dark hair, Éomer let out a contented sigh. As sleep started to overcome, he thought of how much he loved his dear daft wife.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's a silly little update, featuring a fangirl and a drunk Lothíriel! Let's just say my random mood continues.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **I'm glad you liked it. :)

**brandibuckeye - **She does indeed! I think after all that happened it would be inevitable someone at least would feel like that towards her.

**Felion - **Glad to see you're still following this story! :) Also I am happy to know my writings brighten up someone's day.


	14. Chapter 14

_November 1, Meduseld_

It was a loud sneeze from the washing chamber which awakened Lothíriel. She startled awake in the bed, sitting upright and finding the place next to her empty. On the night stand on the other side of the bed were many crumbled handkerchiefs someone would have to collect for washing, and an empty mug of healing tea she had fetched him during the night when his headache had got worse.

Then Éomer emerged from the washing chamber. His hair was messily falling on his shoulders, on which he clutched a blanket. He looked pale and tired and there were shadows under his eyes. _Her poor, sick horselord._

"Good morning", she greeted him nevertheless, "How are you feeling?"

It was perhaps not a wonder he had gone down with a cold after a long ride to inspect the progress of building in the Watch of the Wold; the two last days of the journey he and his guard had ridden in a continuous downpour of rain. She knew it was not the first time he and his company had travelled in such abysmal weather, but this certainly was the first time it had any impact on his health. When on the next day he had started to sneeze and suffer from a raw throat, Éomer had darkly muttered he must be getting old.

"Miserable and exhausted", he grumbled, making way back to the bed. He more or less collapsed there beside her and let out a sigh.

"You didn't get any sleep?" she asked tenderly, lifting up the blankets for him; though her body heat had kept the bed warm, he was still shivering when he pulled a cover over himself. Absent-mindedly she arranged some sleeping furs over his feet to keep them warm.

"Not much. So instead I stayed awake watching you sleep..." he murmured. "And you look very sweet when you are in dreams."

"You could have woken me up to keep you company", she informed him.

"No sense in both of us losing sleep", Éomer said, shaking his head. As a reply she snorted – it wasn't much of a surprise to receive such an answer from him. It was his special skill to make a fuss over her when it was himself he should be worrying about.

She leant down to kiss him nevertheless, but before she could do that he placed a hand on her chest, preventing her from getting closer.

"You'll get sick as well", he warned her.

"Do you really think there's a way I can avoid it?" she asked him and he groaned, but the sound ended in a sneeze. Lothíriel got up and fetched some fresh handkerchiefs for him and placed one in his hand; in his dark eyes there was a grateful light.

"Thank you, beloved", he said and turned to blow his nose. Gently she stroked his shoulder.

"I should maybe go and ask them to bring you more tea", she suggested then.

"Mm. I ought to be getting up anyway", Éomer muttered. "I've got a pile of appeals waiting, and I need to -"

Before he could continue she leant down again, and this time he did not try to prevent her kiss.

"As your wife and queen I say you should take the day off and stay in bed", she said firmly after pulling back. She smiled at him then, "Don't worry about those appeals. I'll attend to them, and ask Éothain to help me if needed."

"You are sure?" he asked, still hesitant. She rested a hand on his cheek.

"Of course. I will manage just fine, because I've had the best teacher I could imagine – my husband", she reminded him. Her words brought a small smile to his features and he lifted his hand to cradle hers.

"I still keep wondering how would I ever manage without you", he muttered and kissed her fingers.

"Don't wonder, beloved. Be glad in the knowledge that your road brought you to me", she said to him and leant down to kiss him. He welcomed that sign of affection and rested his free hand on the nape of her neck until she pulled back. Gently she patted his shoulder, "Get some rest. I will tell everyone you won't be receiving anyone today."

"Hmm. As my Queen commands", Éomer said quietly and let out a sigh. As he settled down and closed his eyes with a small cough, Lothíriel gently ran her fingers through his messy hair. He was a king and his was a life of many burdens, but she would take any chance she got to take care of him, if only for a moment... for whenever he let down his guard, and she would see the unveiled love and gratitude on his face, she knew how very much _this _meant.

* * *

**A/N: **And the randomness continues! I don't know, maybe it's because I seem to be going down with a flu as well. Anyway, I hope you guys have a great new week!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **It was really very fun to write as well. :) Glad you liked it!

**brandibuckeye - **She's quite endearing indeed. :D

**Thalia - **It may seem surprising, yes. Maybe we'll discover more about it in the future. :)

**Felion - **I was cackling to myself when I imagined and wrote it. Poor man! :D


	15. Chapter 15

_Early February 2, Minas Tirith_

The parlour in the Steward's House was packed full: Faramir and Éowyn had insisted to host a gathering for the extended family and friends. There was Imrahil with his sons, his sister Lady Ivriniel, and his daughter-in-law Lady Aredhel. With the two women sat Lothíriel and it did not look like any of them might be leaving each others' company tonight, except whenever the young queen would flutter over to hug and kiss her father or one of her brothers for the sixtieth time. Éomer sat with Éowyn looking similarly absorbed as they talked away in fast Rohirric, and Faramir was conversing animatedly with his three cousins. Aragorn's eyes were drawn to his own wife: Arwen spoke quietly with Imrahil, her hands resting idly now that their little girl was in the care of the nurse for the night.

This was a gathering which did not often come together, and so it was all the more invaluable. Aragorn knew it had not been easy for his fellow king and his wife to leave their realm and the many concerns they had there, and so he was not quite capable of explaining how grateful he was for their presence. Éomer and Lothíriel had arrived only yesterday, and there had been a very emotional reunion when she had met her Gondorian family – some of whom she had not seen ever since the day she had set for Pelargir with the hopes of meeting Éomer returning from the southern campaign. Perhaps, if she had been able to decide, she would not attend to any court events, but rather spend most of her time here in the White City with her kin.

Regarding the faces of the people gathered in the parlour and listening to the rises and falls of their voices, Aragorn felt something warm spreading in his heart. After all the strife past few years had seen he could now say _it was all right. _Their roads had lead them home and love had found a way, for him and for Arwen, just as it had for his Rohirric friend and the princess.

"What are you thinking of so intently?" asked the voice of Faramir, distracting Aragorn from his thoughts. He turned to look at his friend and Steward and smiled; he had been harbouring his own suspicions but Arwen had confirmed it. There would soon be another happy announcement.

"Just life, my friend, and how far we have come. Though I always hoped, I could never imagine how beautiful peace could be_", _Aragorn said and gazed about himself again. Faramir seemed to know exactly what he meant, for the younger man nodded solemnly.

The King of the Reunited Kingdom turned to pour them both some wine, and his Steward silently accepted the glass. It was sweet golden from the southern gardens of Gondor, and its makers boasted their vines had originally come from Númenor.

"It is a good and fair thing", Faramir said softly, his eyes lingering on his wife. He glanced then at Aragorn and smiled, "and I would claim we have earned it."

"Indeed. This peace was needed and still is", said Elessar. His eyes too had shifted towards the two golden-haired heads. Then Éomer's rich laughter rose, and it was joined by that of Éowyn, clear like a bell. Both their eyes, one pair dark and the other blue, were glimmering with some inner light.

"It is good to see them laugh. Éowyn will rest easier now", Faramir commented, his voice falling even more quiet now. Aragorn could only agree, especially when he remembered the fateful days when the doom of Rohan and all of the West still hung on a balance. He had sensed quiet unhappiness in both children of Éomund. There had been Éowyn's raw despair, and Éomer had seemed convinced he would not survive – he had accepted it with a kind of grim calmness one might have found terrible. It all had changed with the ending of War. Éowyn had found Faramir and the meeting had awakened her like spring awakens a flower, exposing to her all the good and fair that still was in the world. And Éomer... well, first he had been bewildered to have survived, and then his life was turned upside down and renewed, because Lothíriel had made her grand entrance, and somehow in the process the joy of living had grown in his heart.

"Yes. She worries so much for her brother... as did I, until now at least. You can tell only so much based on letters, and I have been thinking of how he was before he left Pelargir with Lothíriel", Aragorn remarked, frowning briefly. It soon made way for the relief and wonder of knowing that she had broken through her horselord's walls even after the south.

Faramir glanced at him and seemed to know what he thought. The Steward smiled.

"My cousin has a rare spirit. I always knew given the chance, it would grow into something beautiful. If Rohan gave me one of her greatest treasures, I would say Gondor has fully paid that debt", he said fondly.

Aragorn smiled; it was good to know his friends had been just as blessed as himself. He lifted his glass and Faramir returned the gesture.

"To the family."

* * *

While Lothíriel did not particularly fancy making official appearances, she still understood the necessity – after all, it wouldn't have been much of a celebration if the invited guests wouldn't even arrive.

Meeting the society was the one thing she had not been looking forward to when travelling to Gondor. She could only imagine what stories had come to south after the Kin-strife, and what people thought of the part she had played. After all, she _had_ run off with a man of Rohan – even if the said man was a king. No doubt some elderly courtiers were bemoaning what a dreadful example she had set to all young ladies of Gondor, and surely noble maidens from Lossarnarch to Belfalas would be eloping with their secret lovers?

As a result, she was more or less a bundle of nerves on the evening of the great celebration, and frantically she smoothed her gown – she had chosen green and silver – and tried to not touch her hair. Ceolwen's hand had left an undeniably Rohirric air to the crown of braids.

Éomer followed her fussing for a time, until eventually he came to her and gave her a long, calming kiss. When it ended, he gently cradled her face between his hands.

"Beloved", he spoke, his voice soft and low, "what do you have to fear from them?"

She smiled sheepishly and hugged him. She could always trust him to keep her feet on the ground when her head was in the clouds.

"You are right, of course", she said and tiptoed to kiss him once more.

"Hmm. You look beautiful today", he murmured when she had pulled back again.

"Are you surprised your wife is a woman after all?" she asked playfully, which made him laugh.

"Oh, dear one, I never forget it for a second", he informed her.

"I thought of donning on my chain-mail and breeches, but I think Aunt Ivriniel might faint if she saw me like that", she commented lightly before she sobered again, "Thank you, though. And you are not looking too bad yourself."

Indeed, one could not stress enough how well green went with him, and he had let her do small braids – two on each side of his head and then linked at the back – in his hair. He truly looked like a king of a wild northern land.

A slight smile touched his face and he offered her his arm, "Shall we go, then?"

"Lead the way, O Lord of the Mark", she replied and placed her hand on his.

When they were nearing Merethrond, she could pick up the soft rise and fall of the chattering crowd that was already gathered there. They did not enter right away – one could not avoid formalities like being announced by the royal herald – and so Lothíriel took one more chance of smoothing her gown. Éomer looked at her gently and smiled. He didn't need to say anything to convey his message. She gave him a sheepish grin. After the south and Kin-strife she still had nerves for meeting Gondorian nobility!

But then she had to focus again, for the herald's voice rang before them: "Their Majesties, King Éomer and Queen Lothíriel of Rohan!"

The doors opened and they stepped into the candlelit hall of Merethrond. It was as she remembered: the vast hall filled with guests, though never before her arrival had piqued the interest of so many people. The light of candles seemed to give colour to the pale stone walls and floors of the hall, which to her own eyes most often looked colourless. Well, it was a beautiful place, but in a way mountains were beautiful: cold and unreachable. One might admire it from afar, yet one would not wish to give it a closer look.

What she hadn't remembered were the smells. The variety of perfumes mixing in the air like a sickly sweet cacophony of fragrances, some more outrageous than the others. Shaking her head, Aredhel had commented apparently it as in vogue even for the men to use perfumes. Lothíriel couldn't imagine a stranger contrast to the wind and sun and horses she would smell on Éomer, and if he came from sparring or a battle, she might detect a hint of chain-mail mixing with sweat.

The most prominent thing on this moment was not the air or the lights. Really, she felt like each and every pair of eyes in the hall were fixed on the two of them. She could very well understand the interest in Éomer; this was, after all, his first formal appearance since the southern campaign. One might have thought it would make him nervous, but when she stole a glance of his face, she could only see a calm expression on his face – regal, dignified, and utterly unmoved by the attention he was receiving. She tried to mimic it (and hoped she didn't look like she had just swallowed a pole).

Side by side they made way through the crowd, and somehow she felt like he lent his shine to her as well; moving with the gown became easier when she wasn't fussing about it so much, and she even felt queenly beside him.

But more than that, she felt worthy of him.

* * *

The feast was a busier event than he had even guessed. Éomer had expected he would be meeting a fair number of the noble guests, but the sheer volume of people was slightly bewildering.

What was not bewildering were their questions: most of them were essentially the same, and some went to matters so private that a more sensitive man might have been offended. Patience wasn't always his strongest suit, though becoming a king had certainly made it necessary, and at any rate he had known all along that being interrogated by the nobility in social events was inevitable.

He was not the only one being questioned, because when he glanced about the crowd in search for Lothíriel, he could see she too was surrounded by a group of young ladies. Apparently they had besieged her the moment he had left her side – he could only imagine what things they were inquiring her.

Éomer's attention was brought back to his own immediate surroundings by the arrival of yet another lord. He was named Torion if his memory served him right; he remembered the man mainly from his particularly vehement attempts of offering his daughter's hand in marriage. Éomer gathered it had not even occurred to Lord Torion his daughter had not actually fancied the idea of such a union, and though he had only met her very briefly after his betrothal, he had got the impression the young lady was quite thankful to Lothíriel.

"My lord of Rohan!" called Lord Torion now, smiling so widely Éomer did not entirely trust it. "I cannot express how glad I am to see you among the living! Yet I must say, I could hardly believe it when I first heard of your return, and even now I wonder if my eyes deceive me."

"I am quite alive still, much to the common amazement", Éomer commented smoothly.

"And no wonder the society is amazed, my lord King. I'm even tempted to demand you tell me everything about it. Perhaps I might even invite you and your lady Queen to a supper so that we can share this wondrous tale?" said the man hopefully. The Rohir was able to conjure something like a smile.

"I'm afraid my time here in the city is very limited and in high demand. I must decline your offer", he said curtly. A slight frown appeared on Lord Torion's face, but only very briefly.

"Still, my lord, we have heard so many wild tales here in Gondor that one has to wonder if even half of it is true. But I'm sure what we hear have little to do with what truly happened. For one, I find it hard to believe that Prince Imrahil's daughter could perform such deeds", said the man and sipped his wine. Now it was Éomer's turn to frown: this nobleman had the gall to tell _him _what had happened?

"I do not know what tales you have heard, but truth is she saved my life. Moreover during the Kin-strife she acted like a true queen, and she deserves all the praise she has received", he stated sternly. His words made Lord Torion lift up his eyebrows.

"Truly, my lord? You accept such behaviour from your consort?" he inquired. Éomer met his gaze, straight and sharp.

"I'm afraid your question makes little sense to me, because without her actions I would not stand here now. It is not difficult to me to acknowledge bravery when I see it. In fact I do not think anyone else, man or woman, would have been able to do what she did for me and for the Riddermark", he said, his voice cool now.

Lord Torion blinked and looked like he was trying to come up with something to say, but he never did get to it – a friendly, familiar voice interrupted the scene, much to Éomer's delight.

"Éomer, Lord Torion – I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" spoke Imrahil, smiling pleasantly at the two men. The King of the Mark hurried to answer before Torion had a chance to respond.

"You are welcome to join us, of course", he said calmly. To himself he thought if it was some special calling of the Amrothian House to save him from shows of temper. Even so, Imrahil was the picture of complaisance.

"I must apologise for barging in like so, but these days have been so busy, and I have barely had a chance to talk properly with my son-in-law the King", he remarked and gracefully toasted his glass with that of Éomer. There was only a slight shift on Lord Torion's face, but it was enough – the man was thoroughly displeased with Imrahil. Yet judging by the Prince's expression, he was blissfully unaware.

"And I have been thinking about inviting you to visit us in Edoras – if Aragorn can spare you, my friend. Family is always welcome in the Golden Hall", Éomer assented, as he had some idea of what his father-in-law was doing.

The Prince of Dol Amroth smiled and proceeded into a conversation about the trading relationship between his city and Rohan, but Éomer knew him well enough to realise he was not really talking business. However, Lord Torion did not seem as interested in the subject and quickly excused himself. Other enthusiastic noblemen hoping to catch the Rohirric king in a conversation seemed to be equally reluctant to engage King Elessar's friend and lieutenant in a battle for Éomer's attention.

"Thank you for interfering, my friend", said the younger man when Torion was gone. Imrahil let out a soft chuckle.

"You did look like you were praying for some kind of an intervention. I'm more than happy to oblige", he said lightly and tasted his wine – sweet Gondorian white Lothíriel was fond of.

"It would have been more bearable if everyone were not asking the variations of same questions. You can only answer them so many times before it becomes tedious", said Éomer and thought whether getting a refill was a good idea or not.

"Don't worry. They will move along to the next thing soon enough", Imrahil replied and emptied his glass. He looked at the younger man, "Now, pray tell me, how is that daughter of mine doing in the Mark? And how soon should I be expecting to become a grandfather to some golden-haired little riders?"

* * *

The February night was a chilly one in the garden of the Citadel, and though spring had yet to arrive and make the flowers bloom, Lothíriel thought it was still rather beautiful at this time: the dark blue and moon-silver of the late hour had always held a kind of magic in her eyes. She knew it was dear to Elves as well, and so wondered if it was Mithrellas' ancestry that also made the sight so fair in her eyes.

In her younger years, she had often thought of the Elven maiden who had given life to her line, and felt a kind of kinship that went beyond sharing her blood. But now as she quietly walked in the garden to catch a moment of peace from the feast, she realised she had not given any thought to her ancestress in some time. Quietly she wondered if it was because in her maiden days she had never felt like belonging, and so a figure like Mithrellas had captivated her... now, grown into womanhood, she had no doubt of where was her home.

She came to the terrace overlooking the city. Minas Tirith was in quiet and peace after another day; she briefly thought if she could go and visit the markets with Ceolwen, Aredhel and Éowyn some time, to see how the city was now with the wars at halt for once.

Quiet footsteps alerted her and she turned her head, only to see a familiar tall figure approaching her. Smile spread on her face as she reached a hand towards him, and then her fingers were enveloped in the steady warmth she knew well. Éomer pulled her into his embrace and she let out a soft sigh of contentment.

"I'm surprised they let you out of their sight", she said after a moment. Her words made him laugh quietly.

"Your father seems like an effective shield to curious society", he replied. Now was her turn to chuckle.

"He is more devious than he looks", Lothíriel said fondly and looked up at her husband. "I think we should be able to retire soon, if you want to."

"Hmm. I am not opposed to that idea", her beloved murmured and kissed her brow. Then he pulled back and looked at her, and a bit strange expression came to his face.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, resting hands on his waist.

"Do you remember another time and another night we were here?" Éomer asked, gently brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. The memory came to her without much effort; a slow smile spread on her face as she recalled a feast three years ago.

"This is where you asked me to marry you", she whispered in a trembling voice. The words he had spoken to her... _Future, fortune, fate... _she had not forgotten and she never would. In many ways, those words had already come to pass, and she knew they would hold much more for years to come.

Éomer smiled at the memory and kissed her, cradling her face between his hands. At the end of it, she melted yet another embrace and rested her head against his shoulder.

Very quietly he asked: "Have you ever regretted that you said yes in the end?"

She held him tighter, her heart full of how much she loved this man.

"No. And I know I never will."

* * *

In the dream, she was back in the south. She knew it from the heat of the sun, the dry brittle smell of dust that crept everywhere She was hot and tired from running, stumbling across a rocky plain, but she knew she must go on: up above her rose a hill and its sides were crawling with men. But she did not see their faces. In fact, there was only one she could clearly see in the middle of the fray, standing out like he was a flame blazing in the shadows.

He was dealing death blows to left and right, and each swing brought down one of his foes, but there were just too much enemies advancing. If she didn't get to him in time... Lothíriel tried to call out his name, to tell him to hold on, but her voice was raspy and raw and no matter how fast she ran, she did not seem to get much closer to him.

"Éomer! I'm coming!" she cried out, but he didn't hear her.

She never saw him fall. Even the men he had been fighting just seemed to dissolve, because at first the site was swarming and suddenly it was quiet and empty, except for the dead men and horses on the ground. She saw their torn green cloaks, the dented helmets, the blood dripping from leaf mail...

_He _lay there in the middle of them. He was on his back, but unlike his men he was without an armour. Multiple sword wounds had been his end, but whether it had been painful or if he had been scared, it didn't show on the blank features. His dark eyes, so vivid and keen in life, stared vacantly into nothingness.

_She had come too late. _

"No! Éomer!"

Her cries came as though shrieks of a wounded animal, and if Éomer had been alive, their sound would have sent him flying to her... but he moved not, not even when she cradled him to her and tried to kiss life back into him, as though her breath might waken him still.

_No please don't go not like this don't leave me... _

"Lothíriel! Lothíriel!"

Someone was calling her, but how could she care, how could she answer... now someone was shaking her and there was distress in that voice...

The first thing she realised was the darkness, the absence of the southern sun which had been forever engraved in her memory. In the room it was dark and moonlight streamed in... there was enough of it for her to see the concerned face hovering over her.

"Lothíriel? Are you all right?" he asked, his hands firm but gentle on her shoulders, which he had been shaking in an attempt to wake her up.

It was only then that she realised she was crying. A wrenching sob escaped her throat and she threw her arms about him, slightly violent and desperate. Éomer cradled her close and held her tight.

"Shh, my love. It was just a nightmare. It is not real", he murmured into her hair while she was still shaking with tears. He kept whispering quiet, comforting things in his own tongue, like he thought it might calm her down better than any other speech. But it wasn't really the words that he spoke rather than his voice which soothed the fright and terror of the nightmare. Still, even as tension left her muscles and she felt reassured in awakeness, she didn't let go of him.

"What did you dream of?" he asked at last, sensing she had calmed down enough to speak.

"I was... I dreamt of the south. I saw you fighting, but... I couldn't get to you before it was too late", Lothíriel mumbled. Her voice threatened to break down and she fought the terror of her dream. The grip of her hands became tighter again, "I can't lose you."

"And you won't. I promise", Éomer replied calmly. With gentle fingers he lifted up her chin and looked at her, "We made it home, beloved. All of it has passed."

"Yes", she agreed quietly. He gave a small kiss to her forehead and she let out a trembling breath. _It was just a dream. _

"Do you want something to drink? I could go and ask someone to bring us tea to help you calm down", he offered, but immediately she gripped him tighter again.

"No. Don't go", she mumbled, aware of how pathetic it sounded, but unable to fight it.

"Of course not. I'm not going anywhere", he reassured her.

Carefully he pulled he into laying down again, keeping both his arms about her. She sighed and moved as close as she could, fitting her face against his neck. There was his smell, his warm skin – comforting things in their familiarity. He hummed a soft little tune that made the muscles of his throat tremble. _He was alive. _

Not long after, sleep came again. This time, it was without dreams.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's a little something for Thursday! I thought to take us to Gondor for a little while, and I would imagine the next chapter will take place there as well.

Also it seems to me that Lothíriel too would have an occasional nightmare, though hers are of a bit different nature than those Éomer has sometimes.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**brandibuckeye - **The world always needs more Éomer/Lothíriel cuteness! :)

**Jo - **I'm sad to hear that! Hope you feel better soon.


	16. Chapter 16

On the morrow his wife was quieter than usual. Éomer deemed it best to not pry – she never asked much about his nightmares, though she had made it clear she would always listen if he wanted to talk. Yet it turned out he did not need to ask anything, because soon as they were both dressed for the day, she reached for his hand and looked at him, bearing a slightly troubled look on her face. Truth was it had alarmed him last night, waking up to the sound of her crying in her sleep... how vulnerable she had seemed although the dream had ended. But perhaps even lionesses had their weak moments.

"I'm sorry for last night. I don't know why I was so upset", she said, frowning as she spoke.

Gently he wrapped an arm about her shoulders.

"You needn't apologise, dear one. Nor do you have to explain anything. I know very well how powerful dreams can be", he reminded her. Indeed, he still had nightmares occasionally, though he usually rested more peacefully these days.

"I just... I didn't mean to startle you like that", she said softly and idly smoothed a tiny crease on his coat.

"It's fine. You've dealt with my nightmares – it is only right I deal with yours", he reminded her steadily and kissed her temple. "Do you know why you would have that dream now?"

"Maybe it's just this city. Being here brings back many memories... and all those people asking endless questions about what happened in the south. I think it made me remember how scared I was that I would not find you before it was too late", she said at length and looked up at him thoughtfully. "Don't worry about it, though. I'm fine now."

Indeed, it did look like no shadow of the nightmare lurked in her eyes. So Éomer gave his wife a smile and a kiss, and they left their chambers to join Aragorn and Arwen for breakfast. Even so, it was probably inevitable that he would have mixed feelings for the suggestion Amrothos made later that day when he came to see them in the Citadel: he wanted to invite his sister to join him, their two brothers and Faramir for a trip to Ithilien. She agreed to it right away of course, but Éomer had his doubts. After all, her absence still made him uneasy, and what if there were orcs and bandits in those woods?

Ceolwen, however, was helpful in keeping him in line.

"It will be good for her. It's not like she often gets to spend time with her brothers and cousin, and we both know she misses them", she said calmly. Then, seeing his expression, she scoffed and went on, "And if there is a bandit or an orc stupid enough to attack this company, I would be most surprised. Even if your wife weren't perfectly capable of looking after herself, do you seriously think her brothers or Faramir would ever let her get hurt?"

There wasn't much he could say to that, so Éomer just groaned and told her to shut up. Ceolwen, the damned woman, had the gall to laugh.

On the next morrow he saw the company on their way. Lothíriel seemed excited, though she insisted she would be back in a few days, and she kissed him many times before mounting her horse. Faramir received a similar treatment from Éowyn, who would be staying in Mundburg, and when he strode to his own steed, she came to stand at her brother's side.

Soon their loved ones were on the move, waving back at those staying behind, and Imrahil's sons were cheerfully bantering between themselves. Lothíriel grinned and sent Éomer a flying kiss – he hid his frown from her, wondering if this was how she felt every time he had to ride out. If so, he had never realised how much it demanded of her. The woman truly was made of some strong stuff.

He remained watching the company until they had passed. Then Éowyn touched gently his forearm.

"Now, don't be so grim, brother. They'll be back in a few days", she said and smiled. She linked her arm with his, "And seeing you're free for once, would you fancy a walk with your dear sister?"

"Of course I would. Lead the way", he replied and gave a slight smile to her.

As fetching a proper guard would have been too much of a fuss, and anyway staying in the Citadel guaranteed moderate peace, they did not venture from the Court of the Fountain. It offered some great views too, and they could observe the company of Faramir and Lothíriel as they made for the river.

"I'm slightly surprised you didn't insist to go along", Éomer remarked, which words made her hem softly.

"I see you too seldom these days, brother, so I would like to spend what time there is with you", she commented and patted his arm. "And anyway, Faramir would have thrown a fit had I tried to go with them."

He looked at her in bewilderment.

"Is he angry with you for something?" he wanted to know. As far as he knew, the relationship between his sister and the Steward was harmonious one; his temper threatened to rise when he thought Faramir had done something to hurt her feelings.

However, Éowyn let out a silvery laugh.

"Of course not. It's not like that, brother", she said calmly and shook her head. "Béma's beard, you never change, do you?"

"I might consider it if you occasionally spoke sense", he huffed. She laughed again.

"Faramir would have been opposed to me going because he's just like any man. They seem to think a pregnant woman might fall apart at the slightest disturbance", Éowyn said serenely and looked ahead. She glanced at her brother and smiled, "Yes, brother. You are going to become an uncle."

Éomer stopped. He stared at her, barely daring to believe what she had just told him. His little sister, pregnant!

"Really? You are not jesting?" he demanded in a weak, hoarse voice. Her smile was gentle and warm.

"Why would I jest in such a way?" she asked back.

He wasted no more words. Instead, he grabbed his sister and hugged her tight – well, at first it was tight, but then he thought he should be more careful with her. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her or the babe.

"I'm happy for you, sister. You will be a great mother", he said, his voice weak with emotion. When he pulled back he expected to see her smiling. Instead, there were tears in her eyes.

Concerned, he asked: "Is something wrong?"

"Brother... I just wish Uncle were here", she said softly, wiping a hand across her eyes. Gently he wrapped his arms about her once more and held her, knowing so very well the ache for the dear old man's presence.

"He would be so glad too, if he knew all the wonderful things you now have in your life", Éomer murmured in soft tones. His sister smiled through her tears and held tight his hand. He smiled then, "Though I must admit I'm afraid he would have set a far longer betrothal time for you and Faramir. You were very dear to him."

The words made her laugh again.

"You are probably right at that. In fact, I would not have been surprised if he had set some dragon's hoard as the condition of our marriage... but if there is a man on this Middle-earth who would achieve such a feat, it is my Faramir", she chuckled and blinked away her tears.

"That sounds like what Uncle would do", Éomer agreed and returned her smile. "Have you told anyone else yet?"

"No, I wanted to tell you first – outside Faramir, of course. Then again I think Arwen already knows, and Aragorn too. It doesn't seem like one can keep things from them", Éowyn replied, linking her arm with his again. She grinned, "I'm going to have a child. Can you imagine?"

When after a while they turned to make way to her and Faramir's house, Éomer could only smile. It was good to know their line would be renewed once more.

* * *

The first night of their trip they camped in a wood near the river Anduin. The day had gone by in a hurry as they had travelled through the sunny woodlands, and Amrothos had been enjoying himself thoroughly for this time away from the court. Lothíriel seemed to enjoy herself too: she'd banter with him and Faramir, gently tease Erchirion, and converse more seriously with Elphir. The oldest of Imrahil's children appeared at times slightly bewildered by their little sister, which Amrothos could understand: he had not yet got used to the change there had been in her. But whenever she'd fall quiet and ride alone for a while, Amrothos would notice a somber, thoughtful look on her face.

He did not approach her though, not before they had made camp that night and the sun had set. She had settled down already, but she was not sleeping; when Amrothos came to his sister's side, she was watching the stars.

"You have been quiet tonight", he observed, mostly to just start a conversation.

"I was just thinking of all the nights I've spent under the stars", she replied, glancing briefly at him. He smiled and settled down next to her.

"Oh, yes. I can't believe of the two of us you have travelled farer and wider than myself", he said, lowering his voice as though to accuse her. His sister recognised the jest and let out a small chuckle.

"It was not my plan, I assure you", she said as her chuckles faded. She turned her eyes heavenwards again and let out a soft sigh.

"Is everything all right, sister?" Amrothos asked, watching her closely. His question earned him a slight smile.

"Everything is fine", she said firmly. When she went on, her voice fell softer, "I've just been thinking, and I... Amrothos, do you believe in fate?"

Her words made him blink in surprise. He had no idea of where that question had come from and what had made her think about such things.

"Well, you remember what our old teacher Master Gobelon used to say? That the Númenóreans and the Edain of the First Age believed us mortals were given more power to shape our destinies?" he asked back, as he wasn't sure what he should say. Truth be told, he had never really thought about ideas like fate. His life had always been simpler than hers, and he had never struggled with the feeling of not belonging.

"You believe that?" she asked, frowning now. "I sometimes wonder if it was just something Númenóreans came up with. That they claimed their fathers in Beleriand believed so too. But maybe it was all about their pride. Maybe they just wanted to think they had power to choose their fates."

"What makes you think so?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

"I don't know. It's just... when I try to imagine where I would be now, had I not met Éomer... I can't do it, not even in the slightest. I wonder if it was fate – if it always was, for every twist and turn", she spoke at length. She was frowning too and her eyes were fixed on the stars.

"If fate is what it's about – is it a bad one, then?" he asked, turning to his side so that he could watch her.

"Of course not. Not only am I happily married, I'm also finding that I like being a queen. It is not easy always, but facing the challenges and seeing you can take it... it's fulfilling, realising you can and you do make a difference. That's what I mean, Amrothos. Without all this, what would I be? An old maid, idling my days away in Father's castle until one day I would realise my life was but a series of meaningless motions?" she said and her voice turned dark. He had to scoff at her words.

"I really don't see that happening to you – not with that temperament. You would have come up with something... became a pirate, or some such thing", he said wryly and a smile visited her face. He continued speaking then, but now his voice came softer and gentler, "Maybe I'm not smart enough to figure out a vague idea like fate, but one thing I do know. Not many people walk their paths as determinedly as you travel yours."

* * *

The designed day of their departure came with a proper storm from the north, sweeping over the White City with heavy hail and wind. Éomer was not pleased at this development but grudgingly he had to decree they would not be leaving that day.

"When I was a Marshal this would not have held me back", he said to Lothíriel and kissed her brow. He scoffed, "I must be going soft."

As an answer she winked.

"If you truly believe that, then just who was the man I got in bed with last night?" she asked him slyly in Rohirric, making him nearly choke with laughter. Lothíriel experienced something similar when the unsuspecting Faramir asked if they were all right.

After breakfast he was whisked away by Aragorn, Faramir and Father, and Lothíriel deemed they would be talking politics at least until lunch. She entertained the idea of joining, because she always appreciated an opportunity to learn more about ruling, but unfortunately Aredhel had other ideas. Before Lothíriel could come up with a way to join the menfolk, her sister-in-law already invited her and Ceolwen to Father's house.

It would have been rude to decline, and anyway before this trip she had not seen Aredhel in such a long time, even if they had been in correspondence since last spring. So Lothíriel kept thoughts of politics to herself and decided she would interrogate Éomer later on.

She knew her sister-in-law meant well, but the young queen had to hide her frustration when they had sat down in the solar and Aredhel produced an elaborate piece of embroidery she was working on, suggesting perhaps her companions too had brought along some needlework. She was surprised to see Ceolwen producing a piece of fabric from the purse on her belt, though her surprise was not because she hadn't seen the Shieldmaiden at such work before. As a matter of fact, Ceolwen considered needlework pleasant pastime, though she didn't often have time for it.

"It's relaxing and gives you time to think", her friend had simply said and shrugged. While she obviously handled the needle better than the young queen, her patterns had a tendency of being erratic.

Why she was surprised was that Ceolwen would carry such a piece with her. Aredhel seemed to think similarly, as she asked to see the piece of fabric, and the blonde woman spread it before her. It was too small to be anything else than a handkerchief.

"It's nice, but I don't really understand the pattern here", Aredhel commented carefully. Ceolwen gave her a wry smile.

"It's a joke. Don't ask me to explain, though – I'm afraid only Elfhelm would understand it", she said. Aredhel blinked and leant back again, but to her credit she did not make any comments. Though Elphir's wife was as close as it got to a proper Gondorian noblewoman, she treated exceptions to the norm with a kind of respect and sympathy many people could learn from.

Lothíriel's thoughts were interrupted when her sister-in-law spoke to her.

"I take it you have not made any attempts to practice needlework?" Aredhel asked gingerly.

"Not many", said the younger woman and felt slight despair when she thought of the shirt she had tried to make for Éomer. It looked like without Eadgyd's tutelage, she was a hopeless case.

"I still think you just need to practice. Your problem is your impatience", said her sister-in-law. "You don't have to be perfect right away... maybe he might like a night shirt?"

"Um. That would be a waste of time and effort", Lothíriel muttered awkwardly.

"Of course not. I'm sure he'd love it, considering it was made by you", Aredhel said dismissively.

"No doubt he would, but he wouldn't wear it", the younger woman said, trying not to cringe but failing. She could already see where this conversation was headed but could not come up with a way to alter its way.

"Surely your handiwork isn't that bad?" Elphir's wife asked doubtfully and tilted her head, looking at Lothíriel inquisitively.

"It's not because of my handiwork."

"Then why on earth wouldn't he wear a night shirt you had made?" Aredhel wanted to know.

The young queen sighed. _Oh, damn it. _

"Because he sleeps naked."

Her sister-in-law's eyes widened. Then came the blush she had known to expect. She could be an outrage when it came to being a proper noblewoman, but even Lothíriel knew naked husbands were not a topic for light small talk between ladies – and least of all for kinswomen. Would that she were with the menfolk, talking about politics! At least she thought they were unlikely to discuss sleeping arrangements.

She couldn't decide if it was surprising or not that Ceolwen saved the scene. Or, at least she made it a bit more bearable.

"Elfhelm does too. I wouldn't mind if he didn't always try to steal the blankets in his sleep", said the Shieldmaiden matter-of-factly, needling away like she were Míriel Serindë herself. Then she smiled, half to herself, "There is something about sleeping next to a big hairy man."

"I know", Lothíriel said, carefully controlling her voice as to not fall into a furious bout of giggles.

"Sweet Elbereth", Aredhel muttered, her face that of a woman resigning herself to her fate, "if I will ever be able to look straight into the eyes of your husbands again, it will not be thanks to _you." _

* * *

**A/N: **Don't ask me what this is. I guess I was on some weird caffeine high when I wrote that last part? :D Either way, here's something happy, something sombre, and something silly. Hope you liked it!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo **\- Hopefully you are getting better at least. Being sick can be really annoying. And yes, I also think Lothíriel would occasionally have some restless dreams. She too went through some things that can and will come back to haunt her.

**brandibuckeye - **Something Gondorian seemed to be in order! :) Glad you liked it.

**Thalia - **Thanks! Here comes some more. :)


	17. Chapter 17

_March 2, Edoras_

Ceolwen found him in the royal stables, brushing Silfren's coat after a long hard ride to the plains. A soft nicker from the stallion alerted him to her arrival. Éomer looked up and saw his captain; she stood regarding him quietly, half in sunlight and half in the gentle warm shadow of the stables. On her face there was an uncharacteristic uncertain expression.

"Is something amiss, my friend?" he asked calmly and continued with his task. While in Gondor, stablehands had wondered at a king who would care for his own steed, but to Éomer it seemed that Silfren did not suffer a southerner's hand as well as that of an Eorling.

"No, of course not", she said and approached him slowly. "There is just something I would tell you."

"What is it?" he asked and gave her another glance. Now it looked like her uncertainty lessened and instead, a slight smile, somehow disbelieving, made way to her features.

"You remember our deal? That I would serve you for a while, but not indefinitely?" she inquired softly and stopped by Silfren's stall.

"I haven't forgotten", Éomer replied, his hands stopping to rest on the stallion's side. Solemnly he looked at his captain and saw the confirmation on her face. He spoke, his voice soft now, "The time has come, then?"

"Aye. It has come", she said gently. Her smile widened, "I am with child."

Without a word Éomer put aside the brush and closed the distance there remained between himself and the Shieldmaiden. He lay his hand on her shoulder, strong and unyielding, and looked straight at her.

"I am happy for you, Ceolwen, and for Elfhelm. It is a lucky child, to have you two for parents", he said solemnly.

She searched his face carefully, "You are not displeased that I will be resigning?"

Éomer gave his friend a crooked little smile.

"Of course I am displeased to lose such a great captain, but why would I ever try to prevent you from living your life? Or, would I dare?" he inquired, making her smile too. He considered her soberly then, "Do you think Edelric is ready to take up your mantle?"

"Aye, I do believe he is. He will serve you well", Ceolwen stated.

"I expect nothing less after being mentored you and Éothain", Éomer said. He smiled at her, "I would thank you for this past year. It will be strange without you as my captain."

She returned his smile. If there had been uncertainty on her before, now it was gone completely.

"And it will be stranger still to move on. You take care of yourself, my friend – if you get yourself killed when I'm not guarding you, I shall be most disappointed."

* * *

After a week's time, Ceolwen and Elfhelm were set to leave for Astdun. The Marshal was even more energetic and cheerful than usual, brimming with the pride and happiness of a man expecting the birth of his first child ("If he keeps this up for next eight months, I may go mad", Ceolwen had snorted). Though she wasn't quite as vocal, the smile on her face spoke of her own gladness.

When Lothíriel asked if the Shieldmaiden would return to being the King's Captain after the child had been born, her friend shook her head.

"Of course I'm sad to leave my position as captain, and perhaps I could even carry on doing it after the child is born, but... I feel that resigning completely is the only right decision I can make as the King's second in command. For as a captain one may have to risk one's life for the King and the Queen, and one can't let others distract you. I am afraid that as a mother I will not be able to shut out myself in a way captain has to", she explained, and there wasn't really much Lothíriel could say to that. She knew Ceolwen had to live her own life.

Still, as they stood saying their goodbyes, Lothíriel hugged Ceolwen for a long while.

"I'm going to miss you so much", she mumbled, her voice heavy with tears. Her friend smiled when she pulled back.

"Don't be so sad, Lothíriel. We will visit you as often as we can", she insisted. The young queen would have liked to believe Ceolwen and Elfhelm could indeed travel frequently, but the truth remained it was nearly three days from Edoras to Astdun, and once the baby was born, the new parents would have their hands full with their growing family. With Ceolwen relieved of her duties as the King's Captain and residing again in their home, Elfhelm too would not have a reason to come to the capital as often. There would be letters of course, but those were not the same thing as the presence of these two Lothíriel had come to regard her friends.

"I look forward to it already", she said anyway and smiled at the Shieldmaiden and the Marshal. The latter hugged her as well and strangely it felt a bit like when one of her brothers would wrap their arms about her, though Elfhelm was broader and consisting of more hair than any of the three princes.

"So, I'm assuming here I can count on you to look after our king, can't I? Keep things up and running here?" he asked pleasantly as he pulled back, making Éomer snort. Lothíriel smiled as a response.

"Of course. I will do my best", she promised and the Marshal gave her a light-hearted grin.

"Your best is more than enough", he said and patted her shoulder. He turned to exchange few more words with his liege-lord and with Éothain, who was present as well.

After one last hug with Ceolwen, Lothíriel knew she had to let go now or never – the two and their company had a long road before them and would rather get to it already. So the goodbyes were exchanged and the Marshal and the Shieldmaiden mounted their horses.

Quietly Éomer wrapped an arm about Lothíriel's waist. She moved closer to him and covered his hand with her own.

"I never really had friends", she said at length. "Not before Rohan. It's not easy to let go of something when you have only discovered its worth."

"They will be back as soon as they can. I am certain you will find the friendship between yourself and Ceolwen will endure distance", said her husband gently and gave a small kiss to her temple. "After all they have done for us, they have earned to live for themselves."

"I know", she murmured and leant her head against his shoulder.

"Still, I must say I am slightly surprised by all this. I never thought Elfhelm would be one to raise a family, and least of all before me", Éomer commented. In his voice there was a light tone, but his words troubled her. He went on, as though half to himself now, "I wonder what it will feel like."

There was a wrenching feeling inside her, twisting and turning as though into knots. She tried to swallow but the lump in her throat refused to dissolve. Suddenly she was scared... not of his reaction, but something else entirely.

When she spoke, her voice was weak and hoarse, and from his expression she saw that he had sensed the sudden shift of her mood.

"Beloved, there is something I need to tell you."

* * *

"Now, what is it you want to say?" Éomer asked when he had closed the door of their bedchamber, ensuring the privacy this topic very much demanded.

Lothíriel had already sat down on the edge of the bed, fidgeting her hands restlessly. Why hadn't she got around to talking about this earlier?

He picked up the signs quickly. She just about had time to see his brow furrowing before she lowered her eyes on her hands again; he came to sit next to her and covered her fingers with his own.

"You know you can tell me anything", said her husband gently.

She grasped his hand between her own two and took in breath. Then she started to speak in quiet tones.

While she described the conversation between Eadgyd and herself, clear in her mind as it had been on the day almost a year and a half ago now, Éomer listened to her quietly. He made no comments while she spoke, nor did he make a move to free his hand from hers. But when she finished he did not speak right away. So she awaited nervously, thinking of all the worst outcomes.

Yet when he carefully turned her chin so that he could see her eyes, she saw nothing on his face that would alarm her.

"Dear heart, why didn't you speak with me of this before?" he asked.

"I... I'm not sure. First I thought you needed to concentrate on going back and being a king again... and then there was that nonsense with Feran. And these past months you've been so busy all the time. I don't know – I somehow thought the right moment never came. I was hoping the matter might solve itself", she explained, though it sounded foolish even to her own ears.

He made a coarse sound at the back of his throat and moved his hand, but only so that he could wrap his arm about her shoulders.

"I love you more than anything in this world, but you can be so daft sometimes", he muttered; as an answer, she let out a sound between a laugh and a sob.

"So I take it you're not angry with me?" Lothíriel felt obliged to ask.

"Of course not. Just promise me you won't keep things like this from me again", Éomer said steadily.

"I promise", she insisted and reached to kiss him. When she pulled back, she let out an awkward little laugh. "I feel so stupid. One has to wonder why and how do you even deal with me."

He chortled as an answer.

"There are plenty of reasons to that", he told her and kissed her again. Then a quizzical look came to his features, and he asked: "Have you spoken with a midwife about this?"

"Yes. She told me about the same thing... she advised me to talk with a healer and ask for potions to help me", Lothíriel replied. She hadn't got around to it, not before they had returned from their trip to Minas Tirith. For obvious reasons, childbearing had been on the surface of her mind for a good part of the travel.

"Then we shall wait and hope for the best", he stated and brushed his fingers across her cheek. "It is what you want? I haven't made the wrong assumptions?"

"Yes, it is what I want too. Not only because the realm needs an heir", said the young queen, fingering his knee absent-mindedly. "I suppose it was always obvious to me we would start a family one day. First it was because I thought it would be expected of me as your wife, but then the south happened, and I... if I was to give birth to your child, then no matter what happens life would go on – even if you or I were gone. Our child would be the meaning. Does that make any sense to you?"

Éomer considered her words silently for a while. His expression was serious when he looked at her again.

"I think I understand", he said at length. "That is the difference between Eorlingas and Gondorians... where the men of Stoningland carve their memories in stone and letter, for us the true immortality is our children and children's children."

* * *

_Early April 2, Edoras_

After another long day Éomer closed the door of the royal chambers behind himself and let out a heavy sigh. He was glad to have come to the end of the day and to be able to put aside the concerns of the realm.

Looking about himself he expected to see Lothíriel, but though there was her shawl in the chair by the fireplace, along with a scroll letter she must have been reading, the woman herself was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she had gone to the bedchamber to fetch something?

"Beloved? Are you there?" he called to her as he sat down to undo the lacings of his boots.

She did not answer right away, making him tense up on his seat – the choking, panicky feeling was familiar to him, though it did not occur so often these days – and he nearly leapt up to frantically search the royal chambers.

"I'm here", came her answer from the bedchamber and he relaxed. But even then he noticed the strange tone of her voice.

She emerged then and Éomer took note of the frown on her face.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, trying not to sound too concerned. He knew she thought he worried too much.

Lothíriel opened her hand. He saw the piece of fabric; its paleness was in contrast against the blood stain on it. Even before she spoke he knew what it meant.

"Not this time."

* * *

Sometimes one just had to wonder about the nerve of certain Eorling ladies. Éomer could never really tell if it was because they had some kind of a secret agreement, or if they had just been born defiant. Either way, when he meant to join his wife on that night of April, he was informed by Scýne that the Queen was busy with her and Osythe.

He was not given a chance to ask what it was about: the women showed him out and told him to go and have a drink with Éothain. So, after a moment of reprehension he decided to just comply. Perhaps his friend knew what this was about.

Apparently Éothain was a knowing part of the scheme, seeing how unsurprised he was when Éomer appeared at his door on that evening. As was fitting for the former captain of the King and the member of his council, Éothain and his family lived not far from the Golden Hall. Balancing his son Getrúwian against his shoulder and Elva trailing him, Éothain invited the King of the Mark inside. Elva greeted him as well, giving his leg a hug; the girl was completely natural around the tall riders her father was friends with.

"Hello, my friend. Scýne said you might be coming over", said Éothain, leading the younger man in.

"Strangely enough she did not think to inform me before", Éomer said wryly, making his friend chuckle. The former captain gestured him to sit down by the hearth and handed him the little boy, to hold the child while Éothain poured them some ale.

There was a strange twist inside his heart when he received the child, though he was already starting to recognise it. Getrúwian's weight was not much for him to carry and the little boy looked at him with the sleepy, trustful eyes. Elva sat down on the floor next to her father's chair, carrying several wooden horses in her small arms.

Fast he looked away and fixed his gaze on Éothain as the man limped back with the mugs of ale.

"Did she tell you what they were planning?" he asked as his friend offered him the drink.

"I'm not completely sure, but I believe infants were mentioned", Éothain replied and carefully received his son in his lap again.

"Oh", was all Éomer could say. He looked down into his mug, as though it held some kind of an answer to all things that had ever troubled him.

Then, lest he could fall into some morose mood, he took a long sip and glanced at Éothain, "What does it feel like? Being a father?"

A slight smile appeared on his friend's face as he sat back in his chair and straightened his bad leg on a foot stool. Apparently it was not bothering him so much now, and one could have argued it was not holding him back either – as a member of council he was ever energetic. Éomer wondered if the young riders he was training ever rued that endless energy.

"There is not one simple way to describe it, because every day I'm learning and discovering more. Fatherhood is work that never ends, and it can be challenging, but perhaps that is why it is so fulfilling... seeing them grow and learn is a great joy to me. To have the trust and love of an innocent, like a child – such a thing cannot be explained in words", Éothain said at length, considering his daughter who was apparently playing a horse race with her wooden steeds.

The former captain went on, his voice softer now, "Scýne and children... they are the best thing that ever happened to me. Thinking of them kept me going even when the traitor held me prisoner and my hope that you would come home was failing."

Éomer considered his friend's words in silence. He didn't know what he should say, and at any rate he wasn't sure if his voice would have even obeyed. Perhaps Éothain knew how he was feeling, so the man didn't say anything for a little while. But eventually he asked, his voice gentle: "Are you and Lothíriel planning to have children?"

"Aye. We are trying", said the younger man, and hoping to avert this particular angle he went on, "To be honest, raising a family didn't seem so important before. It was just a duty I thought I would have to fulfil eventually. Now it's different. Lothíriel is... I don't know what it is about her, but she makes it seem so much more than a duty."

Éothain smiled and nodded.

"I know. My own feelings were similar before Scýne agreed to marry me... I suppose it is what they do – the women in our lives, that is. They open your eyes to a world of possibilities, and they make it worth pursuing", Éothain deemed. The younger man made a affirmative sound at the back of his throat and took a mouthful of his ale, trying not to think of _what if not. _

"It should be good for you both, too. Nothing makes you move on like having a child", Éothain said softly, and Éomer knew he only spoke those words because of the long friendship between them, and because his former captain was one of the very few who knew the full tale of the south.

"That is what Aragorn said to me as well when we visited Mundburg", said the King of the Mark and let out a small sigh.

Quietly Éothain reached to pat his arm and to give him a sympathetic smile.

"Don't worry, my friend. It will be all right – I'm sure of it."

* * *

**A/N: **Here is a new chapter! I know this is pretty heavy on the matter of having children, and I don't mean to preach everyone should have kids - I know not it's not everyone's dream. However, I think in the culture these characters live in raising a family is an important thing. Like Éomer says, Eorlingas see their own life continued in those of their children. Moreover, for him and Lothíriel it is also essential, because they are expected to produce heirs for the realm. I would say they have both set their hope/attempt of moving on and fully leaving their past struggles behind in the idea of family.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **Yes, I imagine there were some barely suppressed laughs and awkward situations. :D

**brandibuckeye - **Glad you liked it! :)

**Miss Pixie M **\- And it was fun to write! Light moments are indeed needed after darker ones. :)


	18. Chapter 18

_May 2, Harrow_

The crowd in Déor's Hall did not seem to grow any smaller during the two days Éomer King and Lothíriel Queen held court there. It was their last stop on their tour of the Riddermark, when they would meet with the common folk and hear their appeals. Usually, such gatherings were held in Edoras, but according to Éomer, it had long been a tradition that every once in a while the King and Queen would tour the land to see the people and give a chance of meeting the royal couple to those who could not make it to the capital for one reason or other. Well, it had been a tradition, but for obvious reasons such a thing had not taken place in many years. The occasion was formal enough to warrant the presence of at least one of the King's Marshals, which task Elfhelm had accepted. It seemed he was torn between enthusiasm and regret; enthusiasm, because he took his duties quite seriously, but regret because he did not like being away from his pregnant wife.

Be it as may, for a better part of the month they had been riding up and down the land, seeing folk high and small. Though it had been an exhausting month, it had been very informative. Lothíriel felt like she had seen entirely new sides of the realm and people, and she was already brimming with suggestions to make to her husband and his council.

The matters brought to the attention of the King were of the every day sort, and quietly Lothíriel observed the people of the Mark had recovered well from the Kin-strife; they seemed to be moving on. Altogether the tour had left her with a hopeful mood and so she never expected the scene that took place in Déor's Hall.

For as her husband was about to bring the gathering to a recess, there was suddenly a bright voice in the crowd: "My lord! My lord, please hear my request!"

The voice was a familiar one, and from the corner of her eye she could see Éomer thought the same, for he sat up straighter on his seat and searched the throng of people with narrowed eyes. He did not have to search for long, because the girl made her appearance, emerging from the multitude.

She was the same as Lothíriel had last seen her, yet it was not so. For the last time she had knelt before the King of the Mark she had been lithe and aglow in her fresh youthful beauty – now she was large with child and on her cheeks there was a deep red flush. The young queen deemed Hlísa had to be at least into seven months of pregnancy. It came as a surprise, though that was not to say Lothíriel had much thought of the girl since the feast Déor had arranged.

Lothíriel didn't know what she should have felt, and no expression moved on Éomer's face either. Then again, he very rarely showed his true feelings when he was in the middle of holding court. Her king leant back on his seat again and considered the pregnant girl before him.

"What is your request, Hlísa?" he asked steadily.

Wringing her hands, the girl spoke: "My lord, I only ask you to acknowledge the child you sired."

A gasp rose in the crowd; Lothíriel herself stared at the lass unsure whether this was some kind of a joke, or if she had understood something wrong due to not being a native speaker of the Rohirric language. However, the reaction among the people did suggest that she had got the words exactly right.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Éomer, his voice absolutely colourless. A person who did not know him might have taken it for a sign of total indifference, but Lothíriel knew him better than that. Only due to an effort of willpower he was keeping his temper in check.

She could see the slight tremble on Hlísa's face, thus revealing the distress she must be feeling – it could not be easy to stand there before Éomer while his dark, stern eyes pierced her. As such, Lothíriel had to wonder what could possibly make the girl spew such a lie.

"The... the child you gave me, my lord. Wouldn't you provide for your son?" Hlísa squeaked – she looked like she was starting to realise just what kind of an insult she had made. Not a single noise could be heard in the Hall, and it felt like the entire gathering were holding their breaths as to not miss the barest instance of this scene.

"I would, if I knew for truth that a woman was carrying my child. However this nonsensical claim, that my fidelity is such a fickle thing I would even break my oaths, bears no resemblance to the truth", Éomer replied, his voice cool and sharp.

"But my lord, you are -" Hlísa attempted, but the girl never got to finish her sentence. In one swift moment he was on his feet, and his anger made him grow even taller than he was.

"Enough!_" _he snapped dangerously, glaring at the young woman before himself. "Your lies are an insult both to me and my queen. Remove yourself from my sight while you still can."

The girl cowered and stumbled back, her arms about her swollen belly as though she believed her babe was in danger. But Éomer remained where he stood, effectively driving her out with his gaze.

Once Hlísa was gone, he spoke once more. His voice was collected again, though Lothíriel did not miss the ice in it.

"We will continue in hour's time", he announced, reaching his hand towards her. She stood up and placed her hand on his. She was still bewildered, but hoped none of it showed on her face as they made through the crowd. The silence had broken at last and there was a rise of chatter. She didn't know what to feel or think, or if this was a proper scandal in the eyes of Eorlingas, like it would have been in Gondor.

As a result, getting to the peace of their assigned chambers was a relief, especially because she really needed the council of her husband as to how she should react once they met the crowd again. However, Éomer did not seem like he was on counselling mood, because soon as they had entered, he threw aside his cloak and strode to the washing basin. His movements were sharp and somehow rough as he poured water and leant down to wash his face. The air about him was practically bristling. Lothíriel didn't know if anything she could say would be helpful at all, or if she just needed to let him have a moment to collect his thoughts. So she chose the latter and sat quietly down to consider what had just happened.

But soon as Éomer had washed his face and poured himself some ale, he strode again to the door. He opened it and spoke, "Elfhelm? Get in. I need to talk with you."

The Marshal had followed them from the Hall and remained behind the door of the chamber, perhaps knowing his king would want to talk once he had calmed down a bit. The man came in and for once his face did not bear any sign of his usual good cheer. Still, he nodded at Lothíriel and closed the door behind himself.

"Has Ceolwen spoken to you about this place?" Éomer asked at last and sat down, suddenly looking quite tired.

"She did tell me about that old man Banstan and his granddaughter who, hmm, seemed to have taken a liking to you", Elfhelm affirmed. Lothíriel's husband scoffed and took a long sip of ale.

"What did you make of that scene just now?" she asked for her part, sensing it was what Éomer was expecting to hear as well.

"It was quite the surprise. She is a better liar than I would have thought... but not really very convincing to anyone who takes one moment to actually look at the two of you together", Elfhelm stated, stroking his chin pensively.

"Hmph. I can't remember the last time I heard something so ridiculous. What in the name of Béma makes her think that such a lie would help with her obsession?" Éomer muttered grimly. Lothíriel had to nod in agreement.

Elfhelm had a different idea, though.

"I was thinking... maybe this all goes deeper than just a girl's obsession. I was watching that Banstan while she made her display, and it seemed to me he was smiling. If you ask me, he encouraged her to claim the babe is yours", he said at length, moving his eyes from Éomer to Lothíriel and then back again.

"Why would he do such a thing? What does he have to benefit from it?" Éomer wanted to know and tilted his head. Lothíriel leant forward in curiosity as well: Éomer had, of course, told her everything he knew of Banstan and what Ceolwen had said about the man.

The question made Elfhelm shrug.

"Who knows? I suppose he is the only one who could properly answer, and I'm fairly sure just asking nicely wouldn't make him talk. Maybe he's trying to unsettle your support by giving the impression you sleep with young girls and then abandon them... maybe he thinks the position of your queen could be weakened and she could be replaced by one of his own kin... or maybe he's trying to distract you from something else", said the Marshal and moved over to pour himself some ale as well.

Having listened to Elfhelm's reasoning and watching how Éomer's expression turned darker, the young queen realised that unknowingly, Hlísa had touched – or perhaps it was more accurate to say the girl had hammered on – some tender nerves, the kind that did not bear such exposure. Well, it had touched _her _nerve too, but she was much more in control of her storm than Éomer was. Be it as may, his fear of losing his queen and of the possibility their yearning for a family would never be fulfilled were some things a foolish young girl should not play with.

After considering his Marshal's explanation, Éomer spoke again.

"Those are some very good points. I didn't realise he'd go to such lengths... though I would to know for sure what is his motive", he said, leaning his cheek into the palm of his hand. "Be it as may, it really is not like I can do anything about it. He or his granddaughter for that matter have not committed a crime, insulting as their lie may be. I was hoping Edelric would have more success with Déor."

"And I gather they are in very good terms, but Déor trusts Banstan. Why shouldn't he, anyway? In all things that matter the old man has served him well", Elfhelm stated, rocking on the heels of his feet. He glanced at his king, "I suppose the lad can't be dismissed either."

"Absolutely not. The seat has been in his line since the times of Eorl and Déor has done nothing wrong. From his point of view, Banstan has only been useful. I'm not a king who will punish one man for the deeds of another... not to mention Erkenbrand would be very displeased with me if I treated his nephew in such an abysmal way", Éomer sighed and scratched at his chin.

"Then what do you suggest should be done? If this Banstan is behind the whole affair, who knows what else he might come up with?" asked his Marshal.

It was Lothíriel who answered his question.

"I could go and talk with Hlísa – find out why she said such a thing, and who is the real father of her child", she suggested. Both men looked sharply at her.

"You are not angered by what she said?" asked her husband curiously.

"To be honest, more than anything I pity her", she said slowly, tapping the tip of her chin with her index finger. "I don't know if her grandfather really did tell her to tell such a lie, but can you imagine what it would feel like if someone close to you, someone you trust, used you to their own ends? But we must consider he had nothing to do with it. I don't approve of her trying to solve her situation by lying, but she must be desperate to provide for her child. In Gondor, bearing a child out of wedlock would be a scandal – she would be disgraced and it could ruin the rest of her life."

The two men were silent for a while. They glanced at each other, and Elfhelm grinned sheepishly.

"Do you think we are a bit thick-headed, talking away like so and ignoring the obvious woman's point of view, even though it was sitting right in the front of us?" he asked his king. Éomer made a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a chuckle.

"A bit thick-headed? Théoden deemed us long ago a pair of mules", he muttered wryly, laying aside his mug. "In any case Lothíriel is right. The girl's position is not one for envying... perhaps I was too harsh with her."

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, "Do you think you can get her to talk?"

"Well, it doesn't hurt to try, does it?"

* * *

Lothíriel had decided the formal way was not the one about it. Appearing in full regalia and having a herald announce herself would have attracted too much attention, and anyway it would have been too much of a hassle. So she arrived on Banstan's door with only two guards with her, bracing herself for the conversation ahead.

The door was opened by a small woman who had same eyes as Banstan, and Lothíriel guessed she had to be kin to the old man. The arrival of the Queen herself had those eyes widening in surprise.

"My lady!" the woman exclaimed and fell into a clumsy bow. "What brings you to our door?"

Lothíriel was fairly sure she knew very well what had happened in Déor's Hall – all the more reason for her to be surprised at the arrival of the Queen.

"I would like to talk with Hlísa, if she is at home", Lothíriel replied calmly.

"Of course – please do come in!" said the woman and gestured the young queen to follow her inside. The guards stayed behind as Lothíriel stepped inside and took a brief note of the surroundings. Banstan's home was much like any Eorling house, cleanly kept and orderly.

"Please sit down, my Queen, while I fetch that silly girl", fussed the woman who had let her in. She clumsily pointed at the long bench in the spacious all-purpose chamber. It seemed to serve both as a kitchen and a dining room.

The woman disappeared into another chamber, leaving Lothíriel alone. She took seat as she had been offered, paying no particular attention to the voices in the next room, except to notice the alarm in Hlísa's voice. For a moment it sounded a bit like they were arguing, but at last the girl emerged, trailed by her kinswoman.

"I shall leave you to speak alone in peace, my lady", she said, curtsied again clumsily, and hurried outside. Hlísa herself stood quietly as long as the older woman remained in the chamber, looking at Lothíriel with wide, frightened eyes. However, the moment they were alone, Hlísa fell on her knees before Lothíriel.

"I am so sorry, my lady! Please, don't be angry with me!" the girl wailed.

"Please get up. I don't want you to get hurt", said the young queen, keeping her voice calm but firm. Hlísa dared a glance up at her and blinked.

"You haven't come to kill me?" she squeaked. Her question surprised Lothíriel and she lifted her eyebrows. She had to wonder what really was her reputation in the Mark, and if people commonly thought of her so ferocious that she'd not hesitate to kill those who crossed her.

"Of course not. I just want to talk with you", she replied calmly. Hlísa blushed and stumbled clumsily back on her feet.

"Have a seat", Lothíriel offered, gesturing at the stool opposite her, as there were not other seats in the room. The girl complied hastily, but she was still eyeing the Queen like she didn't know what to make of this – or if it would mean trouble.

"Are you very angry with me, my lady?" Hlísa asked gingerly. Lothíriel suppressed a smile and folded her hands in her lap.

"Not quite as angry as my lord husband was", she replied wryly and the girl cringed. Then with a slight frown, she spoke again; "though that is not to say I appreciate what you did."

Her words made the girl blush and look away.

"Hlísa", Lothíriel spoke the girl's name gently, "Did someone tell you to do it? Or was it your own idea to lie about your baby?"

Hlísa kept her eyes away still, but the young queen could see how troubled she looked like.

"I... it's my own fault", the girl mumbled. Lothíriel could not really tell if that was another lie or not, and if Hlísa was protecting someone. What she did gather was the pregnant girl would not spill out anything – not without pressure at least.

"Can you tell me why you lied in such a way, then?" she inquired patiently.

"I just wanted to make sure my baby would be provided for, my lady", Hlísa said miserably. "And the King's son would never want for anything."

"The love you already have for your child compliments you, but spewing lies about his father could hurt a lot of people. Including yourself and the babe, and the King's trueborn children once they come", Lothíriel pointed out firmly. "It is not good to spin such tales, unless you mean ill. Or do you wish to reawaken the Kin-strife?"

Now Hlísa's blush faded away, for her face paled in shock.

"Of course not! It was a horrible time – I would never want to see anything like that again!" she said quickly. "I'm sorry, my lady. I didn't realise it would be so serious."

"Would you like to tell me who is the child's real father?" Lothíriel inquired then.

"It is Lord Déor, my lady. On the night of that feast last year, we... we shared a bed. And there has not been anyone else, I swear", the girl said emphatically. The young queen regarded her closely.

"Why didn't you tell him it is his child? Did he hurt your feelings somehow?" she asked, keeping gentle her tone.

"Of course not! He was very sweet", Hlísa replied hurriedly. Another blush had crept to her face, but this time it had nothing to do with shame. But then she frowned again, "I just thought he might be angry... maybe he wouldn't agree to take care of the child."

"Hlísa, do you like Lord Déor?" Lothíriel asked now. An idea was already forming in her mind.

The girl before her nodded, young features bearing a very serious expression.

"I do, my lady. Like I said, he was very sweet and nice, and he said that he loved me", she said and even smiled slightly.

"Then would you like me or the King to talk with him? Myself or him could find out if Déor would fancy giving you the cloak and wedding you – with our support and blessing, of course", Lothíriel suggested. Her words had an instant effect: Hlísa's eyes widened and she sat up straighter on the stool, staring at the Queen like she had only just dropped from the ceiling. She truly seemed like she just ran from one emotion to the next.

"My lady! That would be wonderful!" she said enthusiastically and reached to grab Lothíriel's hand. "Would you really do that?"

"I would, if you promise me something."

"Anything, my lady Queen!" Hlísa insisted, holding the Queen's hand with both of her own.

Lothíriel smiled.

"No more lies, Hlísa. You will live in honesty and truth, and you will teach these to your child as well. Moreover, if there is anything you need to confess to Déor about what happened today, you will do it. You cannot let any uncertainty rest on the identity of the man who sired your babe. And when you build your relationship and marriage on sincerity and trust, you will know true love."

* * *

_Two weeks later_

Lothíriel had only just returned from the training grounds, where she had been practising her archery as to not lose her skill, when a pair of strong arms wrapped about her. Then she was lifted from the ground and a bearded face sought hers for a kiss. As usual, it did not bother him to have an audience of the entire courtyard of Meduseld.

She let out a laugh before succumbing into that kiss, winding her own arms about the neck of her husband. But even as the kiss ended, he didn't let go of her; in his eyes, she could see a warm glimmer.

"Have I told you lately that I absolutely adore you, my Queen?" he asked in a soft, low voice.

"I don't think you have. What have I done now that warrants this?" she inquired lightly.

"A messenger just came from Harrow. Not only has Lord Déor taken Hlísa to wife, but he has also dismissed that old schemer Banstan. I do not suppose I'm wrong to assume this all came from your idea to have them marry?" Éomer asked.

Indeed, like she had sought Hlísa, Éomer had spoken with Déor and made it clear he had nothing to do with the girl – he had also also explained how the girl's deed had come from fear and despair that her child's true father would not acknowledge it. Though the young lord had been understandably upset by the scene in his Hall, Éomer had been able to convince him. Apparently it had been very helpful that Lothíriel had told him how Hlísa had called Déor sweet.

"Well, I did my best, but why would anything I said influence Déor to dismiss that old man?" Lothíriel asked. Her husband lowered her on the ground again, but kept his arms about her still.

"Apparently Hlísa told Déor that her grandfather had encouraged her to claim the babe was mine. The lad was not pleased, as you can imagine", he explained. Lothíriel lifted her eyebrows; it seemed that the girl had truly taken to her heart the suggestion about confessing everything to Déor.

Éomer kissed her again, briefly this time. Then he continued, "I had worried about what Banstan might come up with – and if he would stir the waters even more. But it seems that you have taken care of the matter for me."

She smiled up at him.

"A queen supports her king, does she not?" Lothíriel asked and gently ran her fingers across the back of his neck.

"Hmm. And no matter what Elven jewels he has in his hoard, she is still his greatest treasure."

* * *

**A/N: **I hadn't said the last word about the matter of Déor, Hlísa and Banstan! But maybe they can now go their merry ways (well, maybe not Banstan). ;) Éomer's angry reaction comes of course, like Lothíriel observes, from this deeply felt fear and doubt. Not only does he dread losing her, there is also this growing fear that one of his deepest desires will not be fulfilled.

Hope you all have a great week, and thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. :)

I do believe Lothíriel's pregnancies, especially the first one, will be explored in more detail than in _ALTE_. But all in good time!

**Anonymous - **I'm afraid it must get worse before it can get better. ;)

**Thalia - **I guess their atmosphere is troubled, but I must confess I wanted to (and still do) explore this period of their lives too. Perhaps the scenes won't always be light, but I will try to add some more cheerful instances. Just bear with me!


	19. Chapter 19

_July 2, Meduseld_

Returning from a ride and meaning to get changed, Éomer came to the royal chambers of the Golden Hall. A sudden summer rain had taken them unawares – a short, rough shower of rain that had left him dripping wet. Still, he didn't mind.

All thoughts of changing clothes left his mind when he spotted his wife. There she sat on the edge of the bed, shaking quietly with what could only be tears. It was not often that she cried and it always scared him when she did, though he was determined not to show it. Dropping his wet tunic on the floor, Éomer flew to her side and pulled her close, his heart twisting with concern.

"What is it? Are you hurt?" he asked, trying for gentle instead of frantic.

"It's not working", she stuttered, her voice agonised. "The medicines – it's not helping. My cycle..."

"Shh. Come here", he whispered and pulled her closer still, and she buried her face against his neck. For a while she kept shaking and sniffling there, but he held her and muttered gentle and comforting things. She had been drinking these potions for months now, wrinkling her face in distaste every time she downed a drink which ingredients he couldn't even guess. The potions had yet to show their worth.

"You know", Éomer said at length, when she had calmed down somewhat, "It could be because of me as well. Perhaps I can't have children."

Lothíriel looked up at him, blinking tears from her eyes. He sighed and wanted to look away but did not. Before their marriage he had not thought about it very seriously; in his youth he had always made a point of being careful whenever he was with a woman. This had also continued when the relationship between him and Lothíriel had become physical. It was not because he felt aversion towards having children. Rather, he had wanted his sons and daughters to come trueborn – carried and birthed by the woman he called his wife, have a full share of their inheritance and of his legacy. Even more important it was now.

"But we can't know for sure. Perhaps... if you had another woman..." she stammered, revealing just how upset she was. Lothíriel in her right mind would never suggest such a thing.

"Don't you say that! It is complete nonsense, you foolish thing", he said sternly. "It would only drive you mad, just as I would lose my mind if I ever had to share you with anyone else. And there is only one woman in this Arda whose children I want to have. That woman is you."

"It's not as simple as that. You need an heir. The realm needs a prince", she said quietly.

"We'll think of something. The Mark won't be left without an heir", he murmured quietly and held her tighter, though the words tore at his heart as well. "Éowyn is already with child, and maybe she will bear more. Perhaps her son could become a king after me."

She made a non-committal sound and rested her head against his shoulder once more.

"I just want to have this with you", she mumbled, her voice weak and sad.

"I know, beloved. I know", he sighed and closed his eyes.

* * *

The day was as any other day in Edoras. There were comings and goings of the common folk, and messengers riding from the different parts of the realm with news and letters and reports to the King. The Lord of the Mark himself had been seen on the training grounds this very morning, proving for the umpteenth time that the aftermath of the southern campaign and the Kin-strife had not softened him one bit – as a matter of fact, the man was more ferocious than ever. As for the Queen, she had been seen talking extensively with the healers of the capital. The talk was she had suggested expanding the House of Healing in Edoras, and to send the apprentices in training to receive some schooling in Mundburg.

Altogether all things were as they should be, though for a Doorward it would mean little action, as Ceorl thought to himself on his post by the twin doors of the Golden Hall. Not that he hoped for action: like anyone, he was thankful for the peace that was now in the kingdom.

That peace was unexpectedly interrupted before the day had a chance of turning into afternoon, though. For even as Ceorl sat close to the doors, his sword bared on his knees like was the custom, there was a sudden rise of noise inside the Hall, nearly startling him down from the bench: _"What did you say?!"_

One could not mistake the King's booming voice, especially when the man lifted it – even his normal speaking voice was the kind to draw one's attention.

"_Who told you that? Are people seriously saying this kind of horsesh-" _

Ceorl blinked. If the King was swearing, he had to be quite angry. The Doorward had a sudden urge to slightly open the doors and peek in – though only to peek, as he didn't want to get caught in the middle of the storm that had risen in the Hall.

"_What is wrong with these idiots? Have they already forgotten what she did for this realm?"_

Now the other Doorwards were listening too, looking like they were holding their breaths as to not make any noise. Bemused looks were exchanged between the guards of the doors of Meduseld, though none of them were really surprised there was such fire in their king.

"_No! I will not calm down! Anyone who has the nerve to insult the Queen __**and **__the stupidity to suggest I should disgrace her so may very well go and -"_

There was a rather obscene description of what said people should go and do, which was then followed by some frantic noises, but Ceorl couldn't make out what was said. He considered if he should just press his ear against the door, though he was starting to think that an outburst of this scale would earn a full report among the household members later on.

"_Shut up, Éothain! I am not interested in what you – oh, hello, dear wife..." _

The noise inside quieted down. As though in unison, the Doorwards let out a breath they had not noticed holding.

"Béma's beard, he really does love his lady", Ceorl commented at last, which earned some affirmative mutters among his peers. Another guard, a grey-bearded fellow named Stándenu, shrugged.

"Wouldn't you adore a woman who fights pirates and traitors and all kinds of villains to get you back?"

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update for Thursday! I have a feeling both our favourite horselord and his lady have some tight nerves here. We'll see how that goes in the next chapter. At any rate I do think it would oppress their minds, as was discussed in the next to last chapter of _ALTE. _

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**brandibuckeye - **It was quite the scene indeed! :)

**Jo - **I'm glad you're enjoying the story so much! :) It's very entertaining to write as well.


	20. Chapter 20

_August 2, Meduseld_

The letters on the parchment before her made very little sense to Lothíriel. She kept staring at the firmly drawn figures, but their meaning hardly entered her mind; by the time she was reaching the end of the paragraph, she had already forgotten what she had been reading.

"Damn it", she muttered to herself and rubbed her temples, hoping she could somehow just push away the thought that kept nattering in her mind. It was no wonder that it pestered her constantly: the matter of her pregnancy – or the lack of it – seemed to be on everyone's lips. Well, perhaps not on their lips anymore, not after Éomer's impressive outburst, but she could see it in their eyes. Could their heroic queen be barren?

In frustration she got up on her feet and made for a stand, to pour herself some water, but her hands were shaking and in a sudden burst of helplessness and anger she gripped the edges of the stand, wishing back the tears. Why they were burning her eyes she couldn't say for sure – perhaps it was the knowledge this was something all her will and all her skill in arms, even her love, would not conquer.

Lothíriel was still fighting back the emotions that were haunting her mind every waking hour, when there was a voice behind the door: "My lady? My lady, I'm sorry to disturb you, but Prince Legolas has returned, and he asks to see both you and the King."

Her head shot up at hearing those words. Legolas had been in Edoras less than two weeks ago, and she had assumed he had carried on his journey to Aglarond. Surely he was not meaning to return to Ithilien yet?

"Just a minute", she replied and cleared her throat. She wiped dry her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths: she was a queen and she would not be defeated.

When Lothíriel emerged from the royal chambers she was calm and collected again. She smiled to the servant who had called to her, and hearing that Legolas was already with Éomer in the royal study, she also headed there.

A smile immediately dawned on the Elf's face when she entered. Quietly to herself she thought if one ever got used to how the Elves never changed, and how Legolas, just returned from the road, did not sport one speck of dust.

"Lothíriel. It is good to see you again", he greeted her in Sindarin – a native tongue for them both.

"Likewise, Legolas. I did not think you would be returning from Aglarond so soon", she said with a smile.

"As a matter of fact, I did not visit Gimli yet", Legolas replied, switching to the Common Tongue so that Éomer could follow; while her husband did know a bit of Sindarin, he claimed his grasp of it was very feeble.

Legolas' answer had the royal couple exchanging a bemused look. But before either of them could speak, the Elf spoke again.

"The reason I did not yet head to Aglarond is because of the errand I took to myself when I saw the unhappiness brewing here among yourselves and your people. I rode north to the land of Lórien and met there Lord Celeborn, who yet lingers on hither shore. Now I have returned with a message from him, addressed to the King and Queen of the Mark", Legolas explained. With every word he uttered, she felt more astonished, and when he fell silent she did not know what to say. Her husband looked just as taken aback, until he blinked and cleared his throat.

"That is... well, I am very surprised. And I have a feeling I should be thankful as well", he just about managed. Legolas offered them one of his mysterious little smiles.

"Thank me later, my friends. Now, if you will, I shall take my leave for the moment... I imagine you are anxious to read Lord Celeborn's message", he said and laid on the table a sealed scroll. He made a smooth bow that would have made even the most graceful courtier envious. Then he exited before the two could even say anything.

Lothíriel and Éomer exchanged a silent look of agreement. He then reached for the scroll, broke the seal, and opened it so that they could both read it. Lord Celeborn had written it in Westron:

_To King Éomer and Queen Lothíriel -_

_Perhaps it comes as a surprise to you that I should contact you at this time, as the communications between our two realms have been sparse – even though we spoke words of friendship in Minas Tirith in that blessed summer after the War of the Ring had ended. I have now, with the bidding of Prince Legolas our friend, thought to break the silence between us and hopefully put the words into actions. Many mortal years have passed since Eorl brought his people to live on the green plains you call your home, and it is high time we offer our hospitality to the Lord and Lady of the Mark. _

_It would greatly please me if you travelled north and entered the land of Lórien, to stay as my guests for a while. Though the beauty of our home has faded with the departure of my lady wife, there is still peace and rest here which, I imagine, would bring healing to the griefs you have endured on your paths. _

_May Elbereth's stars shine upon your roads, my Lord and Lady of Rohan, and hopefully those will bring you here for a little while._

_With best regards,_

_Lord Celeborn_

A long moment passed while neither of them spoke, as they were both quite stunned by the contents of the letter. But then, soon as she had somewhat recovered, Lothíriel moved to sit on the edge of the desk and faced her husband. A sense of certainty had fallen on her though her surprise had yet to fade.

"We should go", she simply stated, watching him closely. Éomer did not speak at first – he was staring at the letter in his hands. But at last he looked up.

"... aye. We should", he agreed. To her it looked like there was a wild hope dawning in his dark eyes. Seeing his mood uplifted her own heart did so as well, because even though neither Legolas or Lord Celeborn had addressed to it directly, she knew the meaning behind their words. Elven medicines were legendary in the tales Aunt Ivriniel had told her when she was but a child...

Lothíriel let out a small, trembling breath. Éomer held her gaze quietly, looking a bit like a man who was not certain if he was dreaming or not. Then, for the expression on his face and for the joy of hope, she let out a squeal and covered his face in kisses.

* * *

The day dawned as a misty one: as Ceolwen breathed in the morning's air, there was the heaviness of late summer in it along with the first slight bite of coming autumn. She didn't know if she just imagined it, or if pregnancy had somehow sharpened her sense of smell.

With a gentle shake and a kiss she was able to wake up Elfhelm as well, though the man grumbled into his pillow; she was able to make out a question as to why they should be up so early.

"To send our friends on the way, of course. Or did you forget they are set to leave for Lórien today?" Ceolwen asked and hauled herself up on her feet. She and her husband had come to stay in Edoras for the time of the King and Queen's absence – Éomer wanted them to keep an eye on things while he was gone. She didn't truly believe anything should happen, but Ceolwen could understand very well where his concern came from.

Her husband sat up, smiling blearily at her. His thick golden hair was puffy on the one side and on the other, it was pressed against his cheek. A sense of fondness filled her heart as she looked at him. There was something overwhelmingly adorable about the man, though she'd never have told him that.

"And how is my Shieldmaiden today?" he asked, stretching his arms as he spoke.

"I'm perfectly well, thank you. If only your son stopped kicking at night", she said with a slight smile. Elfhelm grinned.

"We're vigorous men, the people of my line", he said smugly. Ceolwen could only laugh.

They joined the royal couple for breakfast, and both looked like they had already been up and about for hours. They were anxious for the departure; this too was not a wonder to the Shieldmaiden.

Elfhelm too sensed their anxiety, and eventually he groaned and waved his hand: "Damn, you two, just get going already! You've got a long journey ahead of you."

"You'd better keep the realm in one piece while I'm gone", Éomer said ominously as he got up.

"I promise you will find everything in pristine condition once you return", Ceolwen promised serenely and ushered Lothíriel away to help with last minute preparations.

Not half an hour later they were outside: the King's Company ready for departure, and Silfren stood waiting for his Rider. Ceolwen hugged the young queen – like Elfhelm, Lothíriel answered the hug awkwardly from the side of her belly – and bid her a good journey.

"Try and relax while you're there. Don't worry about anything that goes here – Osythe will keep the household up and running", Ceolwen reassured her.

"We hope you will have a good time", Scýne added and hugged Lothíriel as well. She smiled, "And we expect to hear all the stories once you get back."

Their friend let out a soft little laugh. Her eyes glimmered and she looked hopeful, which assuaged Ceolwen. It was good to see such an optimistic look on the young queen's face, especially after past few months.

"I will miss you both", she said and smiled, "Be well while I'm gone."

Her husband came then, having said his goodbyes to his lieutenants, and together they made down the steps of the Hall. Silfren tossed his head, eager for the journey, and the royal couple mounted their steeds. Both looked not back, but ahead... full of hope in a way Ceolwen had not seen them in a while.

Elfhelm wrapped an arm about her shoulders and she leant closer towards him. As they stood on the terrace of the Golden Hall, the King's Company began to move. Wind caught in the green folds of the royal standard and the White Horse seemed to leap ahead. The riders passed from the courtyard and made downhill. They would pass beyond the gates and head northward, to the land of Lórien.

_Béma keep you on your journey... and bless your life with the happiness you deserve. _

* * *

The closer they got to the heart of Lórien, Lothíriel thought, the more it felt like leaving behind the every day world she knew. Hope had grown in her mind as they had travelled from Edoras to the Elven land, over the plains and then through the forest; her heart had become lighter as well, and when she looked at Éomer he seemed to be feeling same. Their journey had been an anxious one, as the both of them were yearning to reach their destination. So they had travelled as fast and light as they were able. At the edge of the wood they had met with four Elves, led by one called Haldir; whether they had come there by the wisdom of some Elven foresight, or if Lord Celeborn had known his invitation would be answered, Lothíriel could not say.

Half of the Riders had stayed behind to watch over the horses, but some had come along with the King and Queen of the Mark. As they travelled deeper into the wood, Lothíriel noticed how quiet they were. She had grown to know Eorlingas as a loud, laughing and singing people. Here, however, they spoke little and laughed even less, all making the journey in silent reverie and wonder. But she and Éomer did not speak much either, and it seemed to her words were not needed... not yet.

Then at last, as the sun westered on the day after they had passed into the wood, they beheld a hill rising in the middle of the forest. Even from afar Lothíriel saw light glimmer on it that could only be caused by the sun's rays hitting the golden leaves of great _mallorn _trees – one of the many things she looked forward to seeing once they would arrive. The company had come to a halt as the mortal guests watched and wondered at this place very few of Race of Men had ever seen.

"And there is Caras Galadhon, the dwelling of the Lord of the Wood and those of our people who still linger here. Some have sought the havens, and others have gone north to Thranduil's kingdom, for among our people his realm shall endure the longest. Yet some still remain in Lórien, like Lord Celeborn, for this place is still dear to them. But when he leaves he shall never return", said Haldir, gazing to the island of great trees. "It is not as it used to be when the Lady Galadriel's power remained here, but it is fair still. For Elves have lived in this land for long ages, and long ages must pass before the earth and the air forget the touch of our hands and our singing voices."

There was incredible sadness in the Elf's words and suddenly Lothíriel felt intensely grateful for the glimpse she and her husband would be given of this place that would fade away as certainly as years would pass. She shared a quiet glance with Éomer and thought he had a similar impression of this privilege they had been given.

Haldir gestured them to move on again and so they went on. The green hill disappeared from sight as they descended into the vale below, but in her chest Lothíriel felt her hear beating at an uneven pace. A part of her would have liked to spring forth, as though the city before them was a vision that might disappear any moment.

The hill began to rise, evenly at first and then steeper. She didn't know if she only imagined it, but she felt like with each step, the sights and sounds about her became more _Elvish. _On the ground about her feet she could see flowers unlike any she knew: star-shaped golden and small white, filling the evening with their sweet fragrances. Somewhere afar, she thought she could hear singing voices, but the words of their song came to her as if through a dream.

So they passed through the gates of Caras Galadhon, and about them rose great _mallorn _trees that did not grow in any other place in Middle-earth, their bark silver-grey, and their trunks growing to such heights that even the pillars of Merethrond in Minas Tirith paled in comparison. About the trunks Elves had built their homes high and low. The houses were built in a style unlike anything she had ever seen before: their very structure seemed so light that they might have just floated in the air even without trees. Soft, gentle lights glimmered in their windows and in their lamps, somehow merging into the evening's waxing shadows. Altogether Lothíriel felt like there was simply too much for her eyes to see and she hardly knew where to rest her gaze, lest she missed something.

It appeared she was not the only one to think so, because behind herself she could hear one of the Riders whispering: "My Gytha is never going to believe any of this!"

As for Éomer, he strode beside her silent, but his eyes were keen and deeply concentrated. She reached for his hand and felt slightly breathless: that she'd get to experience something like this, and with him!

They were lead to the very top of the hill, where stood a tree taller than all the rest. There Haldir took his leave: "I must return now, for though we live in peace, my place is yet in the woods. Be welcome in our realm!"

Before the Elf left, he urged the royal couple to move on: Lord Celeborn would meet them in his house, built in the great _mallorn_ tree. In quiet tones, Éomer thanked him for guiding them here, and Haldir smiled; then he was gone, as light and soundless as a shadow on grass. The moment before she and her horselord began their ascent to their host's house, Lothíriel had time to take note of the bewildered, disbelieving looks on the faces of the Riders accompanying them. The tall, long-haired Rohirrim seemed oddly misplaced in this Elven-home.

They would stay behind while Éomer and Lothíriel would meet with the Lord of Lórien, and together with her king she began to climb the circling stairway. Up it lead, to the very sky where the first stars were igniting, until at last they came to a hall of silver. There stood a tall Elf – one of the few people whose eyes Éomer could meet without having to look down. His long, straight hair shone even brighter than the room about him, and though his face was neither young or old, his eyes were wells of wisdom and time. About his gaze there was something different than for example in that of Legolas, and Lothíriel did not have to wonder what that something was. Though the Prince of the Woodland Realm had lived for over two thousand years, Lord Celeborn had wandered in the lost realm of Doriath and seen the twilight before the Sun first rose in the sky.

Yet somehow he did not seem the same as she remembered him from when he had travelled to Minas Tirith and then back for Théoden King's funeral. It was not because he had physically changed, and quickly Lothíriel realised what was gone: the silent, inexplicable shine of Lady Galadriel. She had sailed West and taken something essential with her. Lord Celeborn seemed like a great statue that had lost one of his limbs, yet still stood like a wondrous memory of yore.

Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel counted their marriage in Ages rather than in years, and Lothíriel knew her own life was but one breath in comparison. And still in the quiet of her thoughts she had to consider if this was how she would appear, or Éomer, if one of them were gone forever... living but somehow diminished, forever lacking in a way that could not be explained.

As his guests came to a halt and regarded him in quiet respect and wonder, a slight smile came to the Elf's face.

"I bid you welcome in the land of Lórien, my Lord and Lady of the Mark. I am glad to receive you, though my heart grieves as well – it tells me that you are the last guests I shall house while my time lasts in this realm. But perhaps your presence is thus all the dearer", said Celeborn, his voice deeper than the shadows of the forest.

"We thank you, Lord. It is an honour and a privilege to be here as your guests. I only wish I knew a way to pay back your hospitality", Éomer spoke, bowing his head in respect to their host.

Lord Celeborn smiled – a distinctly mysterious, _Elven _sort – and slightly moved his hand.

"Take it as my gift to you", he simply said. Then he stepped forward and spread his arms, "You must be tired and hungry after your journey. I would invite you to join me for supper."

The meal was set down on the ground level and under the stars, while lamps gave soft light to the scene. Food was plentiful and delicious, and wine rolled over Lothíriel's tongue sweet and rich. She did not know if it was the drink or the general atmosphere of the wood, but she felt like her very spirit and mind were awakened here in a way she had not felt before. When Lord Celeborn shared some ancient tales, it was like she could almost see the events he spoke of before her eyes. Being here was also a bit like seeking her own origins, for this was the realm of Mithrellas' birth. The ancestress of Amrothian line had walked in the Wood and called it home long ago before she had sought the sea and found Imrazôr.

After the supper, Lord Celeborn bid them good night. An Elf of the Wood led them to one of the houses in great trees; Lothíriel couldn't say if guests were always given such lodgings, or if it was because many of the houses were now empty, for their previous dwellers had either gone over the sea or travelled north to live in the realm of Thranduil. Be it as may, the house built in _mallorn _tree had all such things they might need, though furniture was sparse. But neither Lothíriel or Éomer paid much attention to else than the inviting soft cushions and blankets on the bed, and soon as they were undressed they crawled there. Then, having settled comfortably in each other's arms, both of them drifted into sweet dreams, gentle as shadows on silver pools, and in the night echoed an Elven song.

* * *

**A/N: **Happy Sunday, folks! I hope you've had a great weekend. :)

I've been waiting to get to write a bit about the visit to Lórien, so here at last comes something to hopefully clear out the troubled mood of last few chapters. I think this should be a hopeful time for both Éomer and Lothíriel. They have deserved it at least!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **Yes, his yelling made it pretty difficult for people not to hear! :D I think Lothíriel's reaction was a calmer one, though in privacy it would trouble her to know how this matter is a subject for common gossip. Anyway, the invitation to Lórien does cheer her up.

**brandibuckeye – **It is very difficult to her indeed. I would imagine the knowledge everyone is expecting her to give birth to an heir is only adding to her mood. As for Éomer, it does bother him too, but I would say his calmness in that first scene comes from this understanding that he can't fall apart when she needs him. So he pushes aside his own feelings in order to be strong for her and comfort her. But like his outburst shows, he can't always keep all that in.


	21. Chapter 21

The King had said he didn't exactly know how long he and the Queen would be staying as guests to the Lord Celeborn, and so the company of the riders at the edge of the wood were left waiting. The second day after the Lord and Lady of the Mark had passed into the wood, a group of Elves brought them supplies to last for a while, along with tents, so the riders would be well off during the absence of their king.

There wasn't much to do while waiting, except to look after the horses, occasional battle training and daily rides to the plains; the men did not wish to venture far into the woods as to not get lost in the unfamiliar forest. The horses were well off as well, grazing freely near the camp-site. The King's _mearh _stallion was the only one to occasionally leave, but Éomer had instructed to let him wander as he pleased – not that any man in the company would have hindered the animal in the first place. Every other morning they might find the stallion gone, and a couple of days might pass by without them seeing a glimpse of him, but he returned every time.

The edge of the wood was as any wood in the world, and it did not give a particularly Elvish impression to the riders who had stayed behind. But who knew what one would find, should he venture into the heart of the forest?

"What do you think it's like in that wood?" Alger asked one of the older riders named Folcred one morning as they sat by a camp fire eating some breakfast. His friend had been riding with the King ever since Kin-strife, just like Alger himself.

The other man shrugged as an answer.

"I can't even imagine. I suppose it's very _Elvish", _Folcred commented.

"They're strange people. Not at all like I thought they would be", Alger said pensively and took a bite of a loaf of bread. It had been provided by the Elves as well.

"Aye. I get the feeling they don't much care for us", said his friend. The words made the younger rider frown – it didn't seem to make much sense.

"Why do you think that is?" he asked curiously.

"They say Elves are leaving the mortal lands. If that's true, what could they possibly want with us?" Folcred asked back. Alger had no answer, and the conversation effectively ended there.

The time they spent at the edge of the wood went by quietly, but there was one incident to disturb the peace. One misty morning, after Alger had woken up and made it to check on the horses, he found the dead carcass of a single stray orc. One could but wonder where it had come from, though Alger wasn't surprised: many of these nasty creatures still lived in hiding. A flock of horses must have seemed like an irresistible prize for a famished orc.

Shouting for other riders brought several of them to the site, and all of them looked at the dead creature in slight confusion.

"You think it was alone? Where did it come from?" Alger asked, though he knew no one had a better guess than he would have.

"Who knows? Maybe it was driven out by its peers – they say orcs have gone to the mountains. I'm more interested as to why horses didn't make a sound", commented Folcred. His question was a very good one, for these were warhorses, taught to be suspicious towards strangers and especially orcs. By all means they should have alarmed their riders.

Upon closer inspection Alger noticed the bloody wounds on the orc's head. He couldn't say what had made the injuries, and chances were the matter would have remained a mystery. However, when after a while it was deemed nothing more could be said by the carcass, and Alger proceeded to care for the horses, he got his answer. For as he carefully checked on Silfren's legs, he noticed the bloodstains on the stallion's front hooves. Those were dried now, but he could very well imagine where they had come from. It didn't take him long to put together two and two, and realise why no one had been able to tell the origin of the wounds.

Feeling slightly shaken he sought to speak with Folcred again. The man had been left in charge while the King and his Captain were absent, making Folcred the one to receive reports.

"I think I know what killed that orc", Alger said in a low voice. His words made the older man lift up his eyebrows in curiosity.

"What is it, then?" asked Folcred.

"I believe it was the King's stallion. I found some bloodstains on his hooves... I think the wound looked like it could have been left by those", said the younger rider. Folcred's eyes widened slightly – though they both knew warhorses would even kill to defend their masters, they did not attack unless their rider was in fact in danger. Moreover, if a warhorse attacked, the animal was likely to trample his foe... but then, Silfren was no ordinary horse.

"It would explain why the other horses did not make a sound. _He _is their leader and he made sure the orc was not a problem", Folcred said in a faint voice.

They both looked at where the silver stallion was grazing, completely at ease now. But neither of the two men let it fool them. After all they had seen and heard, they knew better.

"I never thought I'd say something like this, but that is one frightening horse."

* * *

There was song in the air, gentle and soft, when Lothíriel woke up. It held a kind of sweetness and sorrow, born of long ages and fading, that she could not imagine a mortal composing such music. But even though the colour of it was sadness, it did not dampen her mind. Rather, she felt deeply peaceful. Here she was, in the land of Lórien, resting beside her husband and about them were the sweet fragrances of the forest and voices of Elves singing...

For some time, she lay motionless, just listening to the sounds outside. It was difficult to say if the day was early or late, because in the shade of _mellyrn _light was different than the brightness on the plains of the Mark. Be it as may, she knew it didn't really matter what time of the day it was. There were no every day labours and chores waiting for them, no council meetings, no one to demand their time. It was a strange thing to realise, because ordinary life did not usually provide her or Éomer with such leisure.

She heard him sighing deeply, and then he turned towards her. As his arms snaked their way about her, he sleepily sought her lips with his own. Happily she answered the kiss, melting against him. Warmth and light swelled in her heart; even now there were still moments when a kind of gratefulness would come to her, knowing how close it had been she'd have lost _this. _

"Good morning", he murmured when he had pulled back (though only just slightly). She smiled at him, entangling her fingers in his long mane.

"Good morning", she replied and reached to kiss his lower lip. The hold of his arms about her became tighter.

"Do you want to get up yet?" asked her husband, so close that their breaths mingled. The rough texture of his voice and the heat of his skin against hers instantly gave her several better ideas than leaving the bed. So, as an answer she just kissed him... and he needed no other response.

It was over an hour later that they joined the Riders for a very late breakfast. Like last night, the meal was served outside, and even the pickier members of the Guard heartily helped themselves with Elven food. If she and Éomer were on a light mood, so were they, laughing and jesting like there was no care in the world.

Lothíriel had just finished her breakfast when on her side appeared an Elven woman. She was fair and lithe, as one would expect of the Immortal, clad in silver-grey and her long shadowy hair flowing freely on her shoulders. Her arrival earned curious glances from the Riders, even some starry-eyed looks. When she spoke, it was in Sindarin.

"My lady of Rohan. Lord Celeborn bids you and your lord husband good day and hopes you have rested well after your long journey. He also asked me to bring you this", she said, offering Lothíriel a delicately made goblet. It held a drink of pale liquid with slight golden tint.

"Thank you, but may I ask what is it?" Lothíriel asked as she received the vessel. A strange little smile touched the face of the Elven woman.

"My lord Celeborn hopes it will help with the matter that has troubled you, if you drink it every day as long as you stay as his guest", she merely said and bowed her head. Then, before the young queen had time to react from her surprised stupor, the woman had already curtsied and turned away.

Éomer looked at his queen and the unspoken question was in his eyes. She touched his arm and spoke softly, "I will explain later."

Then she lifted the cup to her lips and drank. She couldn't really describe the taste, but it wasn't bad – if anything, it was very fresh and light, and there was something flowery about the after-taste. She had no idea if it would help... only time would show, really.

* * *

In the land of Lórien time did not seem to have meaning. It was almost as though the Elven atmosphere somehow affected its passage, creating a world entirely different and separate from that of mortal Men. For the first time since their return to Rohan – and before that, even – Lothíriel felt like there was nothing really concerning her mind. The matters of the realm, duties of the Queen, battles and traitors and the very survival itself... as Lord Celeborn had promised, there was indeed rest and healing in this Elven realm.

Looking at Éomer, she saw him like he had not been ever since the south. She wouldn't notice anything tense about his posture or his expression, and no shadow in his gaze would speak of troubled thoughts. He was smiling and laughing and jesting with his Riders, often challenging her into light and loving banter, and not on a single night did she wake up to see him in the middle of a nightmare. Often she would find him humming to himself a Rohirric tune or even trying one of Elven songs they heard in Lórien. In his eyes and face she saw the young king she had fallen in love with.

Hand in hand they would wander the city of Caras Galadhon, exploring its paths and glades and shadowy ponds. She would walk bare-footed, with _elanor _and _niphredil _in her hair, as though a carefree Elf-child. Often they would stay up late listening to the songs of the Elves as they lifted up their voices in reverence of Elbereth the Queen of Stars, and watch heaven's lights in those night hours. Each evening their host would meet them over supper and they would talk of great many things; but best of all were the times Lord Celeborn would share tales of distant years. When he spoke of the shadows of Doriath, the first sunrise, the devastating wars, and of Elven kingdoms long gone, Lothíriel felt like she had been there with him to see those wondrous things. There was so much wonder and beauty in this land even now, she couldn't even imagine how it must have been like in the days of Lady Galadriel. Even so, she could not wait to tell Ceolwen and Scýne all about this place of enchantment. She felt like she was only starting to understand the words _"more fair than mortal tongues can tell"._

One day Lord Celeborn himself asked Éomer to join him for a sparring session, which invitation he gladly accepted. As though enchanted Lothíriel watched them, thinking to herself she had never seen such sophisticated fighting before. Afterwards, her husband seemed a bit like a man who has long wandered in darkness, and suddenly found light amid shadows – once he returned to the training grounds of Edoras, his sparring partners would be in for quite a lesson. As for herself, she got to practise her archery with some of the Elves of the Wood. Lothíriel was fairly sure her own expression was similar to Éomer's once the session was ended.

On some idle moments, she would teach him Sindarin. It was useful at any rate, because not all the Elves of Lórien knew any Westron. He appeared to adapt it very quickly, and she wondered if the atmosphere of the Elven land somehow boosted learning the language.

Once, he commented on her command of the tongue: "How come you speak Sindarin like one of the Elves? Is that another proof you are an Elven changeling after all?"

She laughed at that, especially because Éomer managed to make it sound like he genuinely believed it.

"It was used in my family just as much as Westron, if not more. My late grandfather believed that being able to speak Sindarin is a requirement for any civilised person. It remained our family's language even after he was gone", she explained. Her husband scoffed softly.

"I imagine he would have been delighted to know his granddaughter married a man who can barely introduce himself in Sindarin", he commented wryly.

"Your Sindarin isn't that bad", she informed him. "But to be honest, I think he would have expected me to marry someone of Númenórean descent. He would have been shocked to witness my choice."

She saw his expression and patted his arm, "Don't worry. I would have told him to mind his own business."

"I do not doubt that one bit", Éomer said and smiled.

Time did seem irrelevant indeed and the thought of leaving and going home was somehow faraway, but even then Lothíriel could quickly say for sure it had been a good decision to travel to Lórien. It offered them some sorely needed time away from the burdens of ruling, and especially of the ever-present matter of how the realm still had no heir. For though she was brought that same drink of pale gold every day, and though whether it worked would not be revealed right away, Lothíriel did not feel so troubled anymore. Rather, the gnawing fear and doubt were replaced with a hopeful feeling.

"It is curious, I have to say – I used to believe this an evil dark place, full of witchcraft", Éomer commented on a morrow week after their arrival. They had yet to find it in themselves to leave the bed: he rested against some pillows and she lay on her stomach watching him.

He went on speaking, "Now each day seems to prove a little more how wrong I was."

Lothíriel scratched her chin absent-mindedly. She asked: "Why were Rohirrim so suspicious of this place?"

Éomer shrugged.

"I doubt there was any logical reason to it... just old stories and superstitions. And you have seen the Elves yourself... how overwhelming they can be sometimes."

"Hmm. That is true", she agreed and her brow furrowed slightly as she thought back to the days in Minas Tirith... the wedding of Aragorn and Arwen and all the great Elven guests. She looked at her husband then, "Did you ever speak with the Lady Galadriel?"

"Not in depth, really", he answered and leant back his head. "Those were some busy days, I didn't have much time for socialising. And what can one say to someone like her? I do not know why that is, but Lord Celeborn always seemed – still does – more approachable."

"Hmm. You are right", she said and rolled on her side. Thoughtfully she spoke again, "She always had this smile on her face when she looked at me. It felt like she knew every little thing about me. Maybe she even knew what would happen... Elves have foresight, don't they?"

"The Lady did at least make one feel like she does", he said wryly. Then his expression became thoughtful, "Still... sometimes I wonder how he could bear to let her go alone, and how he could stay behind when she left. It seems like... it makes me think of how it felt like in the captivity and I didn't know if I'd ever see you again."

She rolled over next to him and his arm closed about her as she sought a place for her head against his shoulder.

"He knows how to find her. They are Immortal – they know they will see each other again... even if it's centuries", she said at length, running her fingers across his skin. She glanced up at him, "But I know what you mean. I haven't... I don't know if I'll ever forget how it felt like when Amrothos came to Pelargir and said you were presumed dead. I couldn't believe it... and yet it still seemed that in a single moment, you were removed from me to the very end of the world."

He brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek and lay his hand against her neck.

"I am glad you didn't let that stop you", Éomer murmured and pulled her into a kiss.

Lord Celeborn was the one inhabitant of the Wood they met most often, and wandering the paths of Lórien one would indeed notice that the population of the realm was not what it probably had been. It was a fading kingdom like Haldir had said, and the sorrow of that fading was on many faces. This had been a home to these Elves for longer than she could imagine and it was bitter for them to let go of it. Perhaps the knowledge of letting go was also why most of the Elves did not often approach the mortal guests, but among the younger of their kind there were some who were more curious and interested. These would provide the King's Riders with many sparring sessions, or seek them to exchange war stories, or even try and teach some Sindarin to the bearded mortals. Edelric seemed quite apt in learning it and he was soon having short conversations with those who would seek the company of the Riders.

The fair-faced Elven males also roused a banter between the royal couple at one occasion.

"Should I be worried you are considering running off with some Elven lord?" Éomer asked, trying to hide his smile but not quite succeeding. "Your father does call you a fay's child."

Lothíriel chuckled at his words.

"No, I'm not planning to run off. Mostly because there is this certain fellow, and I'm very fond of him – I wouldn't bear to leave him. Not to mention I couldn't possibly elope with anyone who doesn't have a beard", she told him. Her words made him laugh, and then he gave her a long, bearded kiss.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's a little more of Lórien! I hope you are enjoying this interlude as much as I am. :) I think Éomer and Lothíriel really needed this little vacation and they both are certainly enjoying it to the fullest.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Thalia - **Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. :)

**Jo - **Thanks! And it was entertaining to write about Lórien - still is, in fact!

**Miss Pixie M - **Even so, I'm happy to see you're still following the story. :) I love to hear from my readers. And yes, Lothíriel is definitely feeling much better now. :)

**brandibuckeye - **I thought so too. Lórien is not an environment you usually see them in.

**Wondereye - **As am I! :)


	22. Chapter 22

On a night close to the time when they would depart and head home, Lord Celeborn had a proper feast for the entire Rohirric company. Long they sat under the stars, drinking Elven wine and talking about many things. Even more songs were sung: words of Rohirric and Sindarin echoed in the night and rose up towards the stars. Lothíriel laughed so much her stomach hurt – to herself, she thought she had last been so happy on the night they had returned to Edoras.

By her side, Éomer laughed as well, but less often than her. It did not seem to be because he was not happy, though. At some point, she saw the thoughtful look in his eyes and wondered what was on his mind. She made a mental note of having to ask later on when they were alone.

Still, she didn't exactly want the feast to end, but eventually their host stood up and bid them good night. The company dissolved and most of them went to seek their beds, though some bore faces they might just wander the night and admire the beauty of starlit wood.

This was what Éomer apparently had in mind. For he offered her his hand, and softly he asked: "Would you walk with me for a bit?"

Lothíriel smiled as she put her hand in his.

"Gladly, dear heart", she replied. He smiled and his fingers curled about hers. Then in silence they made their way into the gentle shadows beyond the lamps.

For a while they walked unspeaking. His strong, warm hand was about hers – the calloused feel of it was the feeling of security and reassurance. Words were not needed: with him, quiet was not empty.

The night was fair and the flowers in her hair spread their sweet fragrance about them. Once in a while Éomer would glance at her. She responded with a smile and squeezing his fingers.

At last they came to a small glade, upon which the starry sky twinkled and shined. They had been there before watching the heaven's lights, and at daytime they had shared a picnic there. The place was empty and a soft wind moved in the trees high above, sighing ever so gently and rustling the golden leaves with its music.

"There is something I have been thinking of", Éomer spoke at last, reaching to brush his fingers across her cheek and down her neck. The warm, soft look in his eyes reassured her and she placed her hands on his waist.

"What is it?" she asked, searching his eyes. Usually, she could sense his moods easily or see if he was pondering something very deeply. But now... now she hadn't really noticed anything.

"I know this past year has not been easy for you. It is not how I imagined our life... I always wanted to make you happy. And I don't mean to say you have been just miserable – you are so good at being a queen and I know it gives you satisfaction. What I mean is... I haven't been easy to deal with... all those moods and nightmares and whatnot", he spoke slowly, idly stroking the side of her neck. "Lothíriel, I owe you so much – my life, and some days my sanity. It is a wonder that you have stayed with me through everything. I don't forget that for a single day. You are strong enough to take anything, but you deserve so much more. And I think I can finally give you that."

She dared not breathe, nor speak, for she felt he was in the middle of something she should not interrupt. He needed to get this out to whatever end... and perhaps she needed to hear it. When he spoke again, his voice became even softer.

"It's a passing thing in the end – all sorrow and pain, that is. So it is for us mortals. Scars and memories of agony fade even as we are living. It is more than that, Lothíriel, because we're not bound to this world... we may see what is beyond, and when we go, we don't have to take our scars with us. But elves? I do not think it ever really ends for them. They are captives of their sorrows and griefs in a way we will never be. I've never realised it, not before I heard their songs in this land", her husband and king explained and lifted up his eyes to meet hers. Now she let out a pregnant breath, because this... all of this...

He was a man of a land of many songs, so it made sense it was the music of the elves that spoke to him so. That he should find his peace of mind here... that was how it was. That was how it had always been. And perhaps Legolas had known it all along.

Éomer looked at her then and a slow smile came to his features. He picked up her hand and gave a kiss to the palm of it.

"I think I am ready to leave it behind", he said, his voice growing stronger again. Then he regarded her in a solemn expression and there was something akin to wonder there as he gathered both her hands in his own. "Thank you for travelling this road with me, Lothíriel... for bearing me when I couldn't bear myself."

At last her eyes filled with tears. She freed her hands of his grip, but only so that she could throw her arms about his neck and kiss him hard and long. When she pulled back she saw such overwhelming love in his eyes that it was a wonder she didn't start to sob right there.

"You are mine. Your pain is my pain. And you are my rock just as I am yours", she told him... because nothing else she could put in words. Nothing else would bear the meaning of what she felt just then.

He did not answer, but he didn't need to. He pulled her to him and kissed her, long and deep and slightly rough for all the emotion. She was lifted up from the ground and held tight, and there was so much joy and so much hope in their kiss that she feared her heart might just burst for the greatness of it.

And round and round he twirled her under the stars that shined upon Lórien, and she laughed as petals of _elanor _and _niphredil _fell from her hair, just laughed for the joy of living; he was laughing too and the rich sound of it was music sweeter even than Elven song. They were free, perhaps at last completely free, and the cage was gone. It had been replaced by _future_.

How can such a night end except than in love? And how can it be described in words? Great love and tenderness there was indeed, and somehow in the quiet there echoed the immortal music, though Lothíriel could not say if it was real or imagination. But tonight it did not matter, for she and Éomer had both strayed into a dream, and there life was a song and dark was without fear.

Towards the dawn she lay her head on his shoulder, safely nestled in her horselord's arms, and drifted into a deep, restful sleep.

* * *

Soft sunlight, filtered through the golden leaves of _mellyrn, _awakened Lothíriel from her quiet slumber. She felt rested and peaceful as her mind cleared; beside her, Éomer slept quietly. For a while, she concentrated on the steady rise and fall of his chest and the reassuring warmth that radiated from him.

Eventually she looked up at him. He looked so serene, it made her smile. But it also reminded her of what he had said last night under the trees... the slow smile on his face, the light in his eyes. With the memory of the words came also a feeling of certainty. The purpose of this journey had been fulfilled.

Carefully she entangled from his arms and sat up on the edge of the bed, stretching as she did. Behind her, Éomer didn't even open his eyes when he rolled over to lay on his stomach. He let out a soft sigh and grabbed a pillow, as though he simply couldn't sleep without holding something in his arms. Lothíriel smiled to herself: her husband was a pathological cuddler.

Combing fingers through her hair she rose up on her feet and took a brief note of the flowers scattered on the floor. Those had fallen from her hair, and now there were _elanor _and _niphredil _across the chamber, spreading their sweet scent. She had left some in a glass of water, for she liked their fragrances – she would miss these flowers once they returned home.

In the spur of a moment Lothíriel dug a handkerchief from her saddlebag. Then she picked up one of each flower, and placed them carefully inside the piece of fabric. She couldn't bring the Elven flowers into the lands of Men, but she could take a memory of them with her... always to remember this enchanted time.

When the handkerchief and the flowers were securely in the pocket of her saddlebag, she glanced back at the bed. Her husband was still lying in the same position, but he was awake now and watching her with half-open eyes. A sudden breathless feeling came to her as she looked at her horselord: he lay naked, relaxed like a great cat after a hunt, and gentle daylight streaming from outside danced on his hair and the scarred skin of his back. Yet though he was so exposed with all the marks left by the torment, it seemed to her then that the two times had at last merged together. _Before _and _after... _on this moment neither existed. There was just... just _now. _

Unaware of her thoughts he gave her a slow, lazy smile. Feeling strangely relieved, as though having experienced some kind of an epiphany, she returned his smile and crawled back into the bed next to him.

After a long kiss of good morning he pulled back slightly to regard her.

"I was thinking of home", Éomer said in quiet tones, snaking his arm about her. "What would you say about going back?"

She didn't have to consider his question for long. After all, she had felt upon waking like all things troubling her had been resolved. And she missed Meduseld and Edoras and people there.

"I would agree. This is a very beautiful place, but... well, it's not home", she said, idly caressing his cheek with the tips of her fingers.

"Aye", he agreed softly, watching her with thoughtful eyes. "Perhaps it means there is nothing holding us back anymore."

The thought made her smile and she kissed him once more.

"You think so?" Lothíriel asked. Now it was his turn to smile.

"I meant every word I said last night", he stated. "And I feel free, now more than ever before."

* * *

Though they were eager to return home, leaving Lórien was still a bittersweet thing. It was not the last they would see of Lord Celeborn – he promised to pay them a visit once he'd depart from his realm – but as the company climbed that hill where they had first gazed upon Caras Galadhon, Lothíriel felt the certainty she would not be seeing this place again. So for a while she watched the golden island in the middle of the wood and folded gently its memories in her heart... just as she had folded _elanor _and _niphredil _in a handkerchief.

For all it had given to her and Éomer, she knew Lórien was one of those things that only happen once in a lifetime. Even if she did somehow return here, she felt it would not be the same: the gold of the trees would not glimmer so strongly, the fragrances of flowers would not be as sweet, and the light... even the light would somehow be lacking. The beauty of their experience was in the uniqueness of it.

She felt a hand on her shoulder then, and she turned to look at Éomer. He spoke no word but his dark eyes met hers with understanding. If she grieved their departure, so did he. But then he gave her an encouraging smile and she turned her back to the last sight of Lórien. He had his peace of mind and her hope was renewed. It would have been excessive to ask for more.

The journey to the edge of the wood seemed to go faster this time, and the Riders accompanying them seemed eager for the road home. So was Lothíriel herself soon as the heart of the Elven realm had fallen behind. She wanted to get back home and get to the living... and to the waiting.

The men who had stayed behind to look after the horses seemed to have been well off, if a bit bored for the lack of things to do. Lord Celeborn had provided them with food and such things they had needed while waiting for the King and Queen of the Mark, complete with tents for keeping weather. The Riders were obviously glad to see their lord and lady return, though perhaps there was a bit of wonder in their gazes too. She couldn't pinpoint what was the cause of that wonder. Maybe they just saw their king stood less tense or noticed the new kind of resolution glimmer in his eyes.

After saying goodbyes to their Elven guides, Haldir among them, the King and his company made for the road once more. August had ran by during their visit and it was September now: there was a distinct feeling of autumn in the wind as they rode towards the capital. Another year was growing older, and another year had passed since the southern road. Yet now, as they left behind the Golden Wood and they entered the plains of the Riddermark, Lothíriel felt like past truly was past.

So they rode homewards, and the shadowy woods were replaced by the sunny grasslands, and instead of Sindarin there were Rohirric voices rising and falling. With those familiar sights and sounds whatever bittersweetness there remained did pass, replaced by the fondness one feels for home. It was good to be going back, Lothíriel thought with new vigour and determination. And she didn't seem to be the only one feeling so, for Éomer looked like he was more or less itching to get back to the matters of ruling, and his riders – especially those who had been to the heart of Lórien – all gazed about like there was new light burning inside them.

And there was hope. Whether the Elven medicines had helped to heal whatever it was that had prevented the creation of new life, Lothíriel didn't know – it was the months to come that would show. But she had hope and so did her horselord, as was proved by a conversation they shared one night under the stars when they were halfway home.

"Lothíriel?" Éomer spoke quietly, sensing she wasn't quite asleep yet though they were already comfortably resting under their blankets, and around them the camp was quieting down for the night.

"What is it?" she asked and looked up at him quizzically.

"I was thinking", he said after a moment's silence and she started to wonder what was on his mind. Then, taking a deep breath, he continued, "I was thinking of a name."

Lothíriel didn't need to ask _what _name he meant precisely. They had not spoken of this before, because as months went by and there was no indication she might be carrying their child, to speak of a name would have been painful. But now... now it was different.

"Tell me", she whispered urgently.

In the dim of the night, the light of the camp-fire falling softly on his face, he spoke. And the moment she heard the syllables leaving his lips, she knew it was the only possible name.

"Elfwine."

* * *

**A/N: **Happy Sunday, folks! I hope you had a great weekend. I sure did. :)

I wanted to show this moment of a kind of remedy between our favourite horselord and his lady. Time they have spent in Lórien has given him a lot to think, and I would imagine it has also helped Éomer to figure out many things. One of the most important things they take along as they leave is hope.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**solar1 - **I am glad that you are still following my stories, even if you haven't reviewed in a while. Faithful readers are appreciated. :)

I suppose Part 2 of _ALTE _is not easy one to take, though it is necessary, but it's good to know you still stayed on board through it. Anyway, happy reading and thanks for popping in to review! :)

**Miss Pixie M - **Thank you! I'm wondering now if I should have written more about their point of view.

**Jo - **It was nice to write as well! I'm glad you liked it. :)

**Wondereye - **Thank you!

**brandibuckeye - **They very much did need it. But I have a feeling that vacation has now done its job. :)

**Thalia - **Oh, Silfren definitely can be creepy at times. Still, I think it's an important part of what _mearas _are. They are intelligent and strong, but they are also out of the ordinary, and that can be frightening sometimes. And yes, Lórien is a very beautiful place.


	23. Chapter 23

_Mid-September 2, Edoras_

The day was a busy one in the Riddermark's capital. A rider had come from the Watch of the Wold a few days ago, bringing news of the imminent return of the King and Queen, and the household servants had their hands full preparing the Hall for their arrival. They were at last on their way back from the Golden Wood, much to the relief of their subjects. Elfhelm had observed a fair amount of people had been jittery during the absence of the Lord and Lady of the Mark. He could understand that, because even he had momentarily sat thinking about scenarios where things went wrong. Well, he did admit most of those scenarios were fairly absurd, like Ceolwen had helpfully informed him, but he surely was glad to know Éomer and Lothíriel were coming home.

For one, he could give up the duties of an underking – a title that held some unpleasant connotations, and was so all the more in the need of some cleansing – and concentrate on just being the Marshal. Though he had the help of Éomer's council, Elfhelm had quickly seen he was not even half as good at ruling as his friend... no wonder the man was so tense sometimes, what with the weight that rested always on his shoulders.

Elfhelm had never understood what a burden it was to be a king. Now he surely did – and he could appreciate the sheer strength of his friend's will in a whole new way.

Altogether he was anxious for Éomer and Lothíriel's return, even to the point where Ceolwen commented on it.

"Would you stop pacing, my dear man? They are not going to get home any faster, even if you wore a hole into that floor", she pointed out from her place by the fire. She looked up at him, "Why don't you go and spar with Arric? I'm sure the lad would appreciate it."

He decided Ceolwen's idea was as good as any, and so in less than quarter of an hour, he and his squire were already sparring away on the training grounds of Edoras. Now that he was frequently getting better food, Arric was growing fast, and he was taking his training with all the enthusiasm imaginable. He also seemed to possess gift for swordsmanship, and if he progressed as well in all parts of his rider's training, he would make fine material for a captain one day.

After the session and washing up, a guard came to tell him the King's Company had been spotted approaching, which had the household electrifying even more if possible. It took a while for his heavily pregnant wife to wobble with him to the terrace, where they could meet their returning friends. By the time they got there, a guard informed them the King and Queen had already entered the capital. It took about ten minutes of anxious waiting, but then at last Elfhelm could see the standard of White Horse, and his friends came riding into the courtyard of the Golden Hall. The entire household and a throng of people of capital had stopped to watch them and welcome them home. The Marshal was fairly sure everyone was glad to have their king and queen back – he certainly was at least.

Having dismounted and left their horses to the stablemen, the royal couple climbed up the steps. First he took notice of the smiles on their faces and the glimmer of their eyes, the kind that spoke of wondrous and beautiful things they had seen. Then he saw how both of them seemed to move with ease he hadn't really noticed before. Elfhelm did not need to watch for long to know what these little signs meant.

For all the anxiety he had felt for the past month, he knew whatever had happened in the Golden Wood, it had been a good thing.

The supper that night was a festive occasion, and instead of sharing it alone, the King and Queen also joined the household in the great Hall. Looking around himself and seeing all the smiling faces, Elfhelm felt like all was well in the world and he could sleep his nights calmly... well, as calm as it got with Ceolwen's pregnancy so far along as it was.

After the supper, his wife gave him a kiss and left his side, and soon he spotted her talking with Lothíriel and Scýne. The young queen was talking animatedly and making wild gestures with her hands while her two friends listened in wonder: he guessed she was telling them about the journey. He had yet to get a chance to interrogate Éomer about it. With the King's return, great many people were hoping to speak with him.

But then he saw his friend searching for his eyes and gesturing to join him at the table. Elfhelm did so and his king poured him some ale as he sat back.

"I was hoping to have a proper talk with you, but it has been a busy day", Éomer commented, leaning back his head.

"Aye, it has been. People are quite happy to have you back, as am I. The place is just wrong without the two of you", said the Marshal warmly and toasted his mug. A slight smile visited the younger man's face and he returned the gesture.

"I trust nothing too bad went down while we were gone?" he asked, regarding Elfhelm.

"No, not at all. The most difficult situation I faced was a couple of farmers squabbling over a patch of land, but we were able to settle the matter, and you don't need to bother yourself with it. My wife's idiot cousin paid us a visit as well, but he had the good sense to be apologetic at least", he answered and sipped his ale. His words had Éomer lifting up his eyebrows.

"I take it he spoke no more nonsense about 'his' inheritance?" asked the King of the Mark, making the Marshal snort.

"Oh, he may be idiot, but not so much he wouldn't realise when he's up against a stone wall. I suppose he only made an appearance because you were not home... the moron seems to think he might meet similar end as Feran, if he faced you", said the older of the two men. Éomer made a gruff sound that resembled a laugh, and Elfhelm went on, "He's nothing to worry about anymore. I sent him to serve with Erkenbrand, and I am fairly certain our friend is keeping him too busy to entertain any stupid ideas."

"I'm glad to hear that", Éomer said wryly.

"Other than that the realm is at peace, if a bit anxious. It should cease now, however", Elfhelm concluded and looked at his friend. "I suppose people were scared that history might repeat itself."

His king smiled, but the expression held only dark humour.

"Hmm. Perhaps I should not be surprised", he said in quiet tones. Then his expression turned lighter, "But even so, the trip went as finely as one could have hoped for. Maybe even better."

"You found solution to what has been bothering you?" Elfhelm asked as tactfully as he was able. At least before the topic had been a very touchy one, and he didn't want to ruin his friend's mood, which over all seemed highly lifted.

A strange little smile came now to Éomer's face. His eyes were drawn to his wife, though the Marshal couldn't have said if the man himself was aware of it.

"We don't know yet. But we are hopeful", was all he said, and Elfhelm decided not to pry more. He let a slow smile enter his face.

"Like I said, it's good to have you back. I'm not as good as you in the matters of ruling", he told his friend.

"Éothain tells me you were perfectly adequate, and seeing no one's dead and nothing is on fire, I find no reason to disagree with him", Éomer said good-humouredly. Elfhelm had to chuckle as an answer and they toasted their mugs.

"Even so, the realm should have the true king", he said then, his voice turning more serious. "Théoden would be proud of you."

"You think so?" asked his friend quietly, his eyes moving across the people of his household, though the Marshal wasn't sure he was really _seeing _anything. The earlier good humour was replaced by a sombre mood.

"Aye, I do. And I know he always was."

* * *

Life returned to normal, as it usually does. There was something welcoming about the every day routine, of council meetings and reading and receiving reports and holding court. Éomer was also happy to notice Lothíriel was not so troubled anymore: her laughter would echo in the halls, her smile would lit up the darkest autumn evenings, and in her eyes there was that sparkle he knew and loved. With this new peace on both of their minds, even the waiting was bearable.

During Kin-strife, Scýne had named her and Éothain's son Getrúwian... _to trust hope. _Éomer felt like he was only just starting to understand what it meant.

One night about a week after their return, as they sat by the fire – he had been reading a letter from Aragorn and she had been scribbling on a parchment – he looked up just to regard his wife. Light of fire and candles gently danced on her face and her expression was thoughtful and concentrated. Every now and then she would tap the tip of her nose with the end of her pen. She didn't even notice his prolonged gaze on her... but then, sometimes it was good just _look. _

"There's ink on your face, beloved", he felt obliged to point out at last. She looked up and met his smile with her own; at some point during her scribbling, she had managed to smudge her cheek somehow.

"I got carried away, I suppose", she replied and made a move with her hand as though she meant to rub it away, but stopped in the middle of it – rubbing would just have spread the ink.

"What were you thinking of so intently?" he asked, putting aside Aragorn's letter.

"I was pondering the gardens", she answered. He lifted his eyebrows – he was actually slightly surprised.

"Are you planning to start gardening?" Éomer inquired.

"Well, to be honest I know next to nothing about gardening – only what Aunt Ivriniel tried to occasionally teach me. But the royal garden has so much spare space, and the one thing I do know is we could grow so much extra food there... fruits and vegetables and perhaps even couple of beehives. And preserving all that we can should be helpful if a thinner year strikes", she said at length, fingering her pen thoughtfully.

"That is a very thoughtful idea. And a good one as well", he complimented, smiling at her. She returned that smile.

"I don't want anyone saying I'm not doing my part", Lothíriel stated and lowered her eyes on her plans again.

"No one would ever try to claim something so absurd", Éomer informed her steadily. He settled more comfortably on his seat and watched her, "Do you mean to start from the scratch?"

"Actually I was thinking of hiring gardeners, at least for a year or two. One from the Mark and one from Dol Amroth. Father's palace has really wonderful kitchen orchards – they have made gardening into an art form. But I will also need someone who knows traditions of Rohan, and what can be grown here", she explained her thoughts.

"You should talk with Osythe. She might be able to suggest someone, what with her connections", he offered. Lothíriel nodded and made a note in the parchment. She then smiled up at him.

"I never thought I'd take up such a project. Aunt used to say I was even worse student at gardening than my mother", she said. At the mention of her late mother, her voice fell soft. In the spur of the moment he moved to sit on the footstool and picked up one of her feet to give it a massage.

"You never talk much about her. What was she like?" Éomer asked gently as he rubbed her foot. His wife took a more comfortable seat and regarded him with shadowed eyes.

"I was very young when she died, so most I know of her come from my brothers or from my aunt... she was a gentle woman, always smiling and laughing. She had the softest hands and the sweetest voice I've ever heard – well, outside Elves, that is. And she sang me all these songs about heroes and heroines of the past. We all loved her so much... Father thinks I look a lot like her. He says when I smile, it's like she was alive again", she said at length.

To keep her mood from sadness, he gave her a crooked smile and asked: "Was she as boisterous as you are?"

Like he had hoped, Lothíriel laughed. She shook her head, "Apparently she was never as bad as I am. But that's the Elven blood... Father thinks it makes us, myself and Amrothos especially, wild beasts sometimes."

"Your mother sounds like she was a wonderful woman. It would have been an honour to meet her", he stated, more solemnly now.

"Just as it would have been to meet your family", she said softly. He gave her another smile.

"And they would have loved you. That much is certain", Éomer told his Lioness. He had hoped the words would make her smile, but she was regarding him with a sober look on her face. So he frowned slightly and asked, "Is everything all right?"

"We won't let it happen again. Once our children come... we won't let them grow up without us", Lothíriel murmured. For a second he sat frozen in surprise and wonder for her words, but soon as he had control of himself again, he moved sharply close to her and took a gentle hold of the back of her head.

"Of course not. We will live a long life and we'll be happy. And our children will come – we'll forget about all the pain there was. I know it now, Lothíriel, _I do. _We didn't survive for nothing."

* * *

**A/N: **And we're back in Edoras! There is some hopeful anticipation in the air now, and Elfhelm and Ceolwen are soon to become parents. Life is certainly good for our characters right now, and I would say they have deserved it. :)

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Miss Pixie M - **Yes, you are right. What you say definitely makes sense to me, so no need to apologise. :)

**Jo - **Indeed, one has to leave when it still feels good. That way, the memory will always remain a good one.

**brandibuckeye - **It was! I must admit I'm anxious to get to write about that little horselord. ;)

**Wondereye - **I'm glad you think so! :)


	24. Chapter 24

For the obvious reasons, Lothíriel had been keeping a close track of her cycle for some time now. It wasn't very difficult, as it had always been very regular. So, when she missed her moon blood for the first time since their visit to Lórien, her first reaction was to laugh hysterically and go running to Éomer, telling him maybe it was finally happening. However, she did possess slightly better sense than that. It would not be wise to say anything before she knew for certain.

So she waited, even if a wild hope had made home in her heart._ Perhaps the time had come at last. _

Unfortunately it happened Éomer had to ride out about two weeks after she had noticed the change in her cycle. He would be visiting villages in the West-Mark and hold council with Erkenbrand – as ever after the Kin-strife, he had great interest in making sure the wounds of that war did not linger. So on a bright autumn's day he kissed her goodbye and promised to be back in less than two weeks time. Though seeing him go did always sting her heart, life was not so simple as to allow her always to go with him. Everything had to go on and she had to be the Lady of Meduseld even when her beloved was gone. However, this time his absence was all the easier to bear, because a few days after she would know for sure.

On that night a dream came to her as she lay sleeping, and she perceived a vision as though with her waking eyes. Spring had come again and the plains of the Riddermark were glorious and green, and in the Golden Hall there was a smell of the year's first flowers. She was on her way out, though she didn't know for sure where she was going. But Lothíriel had a steady feeling of certitude there was something outside she had to see.

Out she came and the doorwards of Meduseld bowed their heads at the Queen. She greeted them with a smile and went on... until she stopped at the top of the stairs of her home to gaze down the road.

There she saw _him_. A young man was riding up towards Meduseld, borne by a horse that had to be at least half _mearh_. At first she didn't understand what she was seeing, for his hair was dark as those of Númenor's race and she took him for a man of Gondor. However, her eyes quickly picked up signs that this was not so: the traditional green of his cloak, the braids in his dark hair, his company of riders... most importantly, he was riding like only an Eorling would, sitting horseback with the easy grace of a natural horseman.

He came closer and she breathed deep, for he was the spitting image of her father, but his eyes... _his eyes... _

The young man smiled, lifted up his hand in a greeting, and on his lips she read the word she could not hear.

_Mother. _

When Lothíriel woke up she was crying; but those were the tears of overwhelming happiness.

* * *

In the sight of Edoras there was always something comforting and relieving. Éomer did not know why that was – he had never felt so before the south and the Kin-strife, but now each time he returned, seeing his home brought this feeling to him. Perhaps it was because Edoras had become the physical reminder of how lucky he was. Moreover, there was the knowledge he'd be seeing Lothíriel soon and the thought of her was as though a call home. The idea of going back to her was the promise.

So he'd let Silfren set the pace, and the stallion would fly before the King's Company – both him and his rider rejoicing in the speed and the feeling of freedom, and remembering the first time they had ridden together on the moonlit plains of the Mark. By the mounds of Simbelmynë they would slow down again and let the others catch up, and then enter the capital.

As always upon entering the courtyard of Meduseld, Éomer's eyes were drawn to the terrace of his home. And there she was waiting for him, filling that place that would remain empty whenever he rode out without her. Lothíriel was smiling, but her smile was not the kind that he had seen very often. Somehow, it reminded him of how she had looked like on that day in south when she and Éowyn and Aragorn had found him and she had come running. What was on her mind?

Suppressing his curiosity for a little while more, he dismounted and murmured words of gratitude to Silfren – the stallion nuzzled his face, which made him smile – and then allowed a stableman to lead the horse to the royal stables. As soon as his Riders had their orders, Éomer went climbing the stairs to his queen.

She practically flew to meet him, throwing her arms about his neck and covering his face in kisses. While she always welcomed him home gladly, this was different. But even so, he answered it with equal vigour, never minding how many people might be watching. For what was there to conceal in happiness?

"Beloved, what is it? What is on your mind?" he asked breathlessly when Lothíriel ceased with her excited greeting. It was difficult to focus enough to utter the question, because her eyes were bright and her face aglow, and all he wanted was sweep his wife off her feet and carry her to their chambers.

But then this incredulous smile filled her face again, and she spoke: "I think I am with child."

At first he couldn't react in any way at all. But then it wasn't really a lack of reaction, but instead a moment of perfect clarity. There was just... there was this shining moment and his wife's smile as she looked at him. Béma, how he had ached to hear this! Only now, when the words were finally uttered, did he really understand how deep it went. The stone on his heart had been lighter to carry ever since their visit to Lórien, but now it was gone, truly gone from him, and he knew he'd not feel it again.

Éomer did not notice the tears flowing freely down his cheeks, not before he grabbed his Lioness tight and saw the same indescribable happiness on her face that he was feeling. The line of Eorl and Éomund and Théodwyn would go on, and they would live, and he'd make sure their son knew what Lothíriel had done for him – for them all.

_He was going to be a father. _

* * *

Lothíriel was on her way back from the training grounds, trailed by guards who were acting overly fussy these days (she had a fairly good idea of just _who _had caused it), when the two women cut her way. She had not been practising herself, but instead instructing young Rohirrim who were keen to take up archery. Perhaps it was somewhat unusual that the Queen would take part in training the new generation of Riders, but as Éothain pointed out, there were not many archers of her skill in Edoras or even the whole of the Riddermark. Moreover, Éomer himself frequented the training grounds, so the royal presence was not an unforeseen thing. Even so, she knew her predecessor Morwen Queen would never have done such a thing. Then again, Lothíriel wasn't Morwen and she was content to let it stay in that way. For all her Gondorian blood, in her heart she knew in her spirit she had to be as Rohirric as she could possibly be.

Now as she was making back for Meduseld, Lothíriel guessed the two women approaching her were inhabitants of the capital, bright-haired and fair in the fashion of women of the Mark. Both were smiling as they curtsied at their queen. She met their gazes with a smile of her own, curious but friendly.

"My lady, we wanted to congratulate you", said the taller of the two women.

"Aye, we were very happy to hear of the child you're carrying. We are glad for you, my lady", added her friend.

Éomer had been giddy with joy, and she had a feeling both herself and him had recently been fluttering about the Golden Hall with their heads in clouds. A feast had been organised as fast as possible – in fact, it was made with much less effort than she had thought it would, making her wonder if Osythe had just been lying in wait for this very order. At any rate it had seemed like the woman just _knew, _even if the young queen had not said anything. At the feast, her king had announced the news of her pregnancy, much to the general joy and happiness. Rohirrim had awaited for these news as much as the royal couple themselves. She wasn't much astonished to witness the merrymaking and feasting that followed, and by now all of the Mark should know that the heir for Eorl's line was on his way. Mutters behind their backs had ceased and she saw many relieved smiles, and so Lothíriel had known she was truly and irrevocably one of their own.

"I thank you both. It is a great happiness to myself as well, and to the King", Lothíriel replied now, pushing away thoughts of the feast. She wasn't at all surprised anymore to be approached and congratulated by the people of Edoras; ever since the feast, she had been receiving such words from lords and farmers alike.

"We wish Béma's blessings both for yourself and your child", said the taller woman, and the two curtsied again.

When Lothíriel continued her way to the Golden Hall again, she considered the child she was bearing did not just belong to her and Éomer – the babe was of the whole of the Mark. This new life represented much more than just the love of his parents.

Elfwine was and would be the future.

* * *

_October 2, Meduseld_

Cool autumn's light was streaming into their bedchamber, tickling her face and calling her from sleep. Lothíriel stretched and sighed, still only half awake. Into that hazy state of mind it occurred that a pair of gentle eyes were on her... somehow enveloping her in warmth.

She turned her head to look at her husband. He rested quietly next to her, leaning his head against his arm while he watched her. When Éomer saw her awake, he smiled and reached closer to her. Tenderly he caught her lips in a kiss, slow and lingering.

"Good morning, beloved", he murmured softly against her lips. Then he moved and ran his hand over her belly. There he planted a kiss as well, and he spoke again, "Good morning, son."

The words, the tenderness those were spoken with... she felt breathless and aflutter. How could one's heart feel so much happiness without bursting? She pulled him by hand and he complied, gathering her in his embrace.

"Good morning to you as well, my king", Lothíriel whispered and kissed him again. Would there ever come a time she would grow tired of kissing him? She seriously doubted it.

"How are you today?" he asked after a while and she sought a more comfortable position in his arms.

"I feel good. Don't you worry about me", she told him. He harrumphed softly under his breath and hugged her close. So they remained for a little while, basking in this quiet moment before the challenges of the day.

Then, on the moment she knew they'd have to get up, he said softly: "I love you, Lothíriel."

She smiled. Just as she would never grow tired of his kiss, she knew those words could never be uttered too many times.

"As I love you."

* * *

**A/N: **He's on his way at last! And our horselord and his lady are accordingly excited for his arrival. :) I've been waiting to get to write about Elfwine, so I couldn't resist the temptation of giving Lothíriel that little glimpse of their son. One could say her Númenórean senses are tingling, if you will allow such a manner of speaking.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Miss Pixie M - **I think it was needed after all the doubt they felt before. :)

**Wondereye - **I would say they do appreciate her very deeply, and they would not _really _want anyone else as their queen. However, the matter is not so simple: the events that followed Éomer's alleged death and return have left Rohirrim slightly traumatised. The battles that followed are in fresh memory, and I think plenty of people are afraid it could happen again if Éomer really dies without an heir. And scandalous gossip often has a way of sounding more voluminous than it really is. But now that Lothíriel is finally pregnant, I would imagine disgruntled Rohirrim are quite happy and calm.

**Jo - **The trip did do its job indeed! And now they have even more reason to be happy. :)

**brandibuckeye - **Thanks! I'm glad you liked it. :)


	25. Chapter 25

_October 2, Edoras_

The letter arrived one early day of October, bearing joyful tidings: Éowyn had given birth to a son. She and the infant were both very well, as Faramir gleefully reported in his letter. When Lothíriel read it, she thought either he had written it very soon after the birth of his son, or either he had been drunk.

Be it as may, for all the joy she and Éomer felt for Éowyn and Faramir, there was one part about the letter that troubled her about as soon as she had read it: her cousin said Éowyn would very much like to see her brother and present him with his little nephew. In any other situation she would not have anything against it, except to start and plan the journey, but now her mind was not at ease. She knew at once she could not risk the life of her unborn child by embarking on such a long journey, and she didn't even need to ask what Éomer thought.

When her husband was done reading the letter and looked up at her, Lothíriel saw the question in his eyes before he had time to ask it out loud.

"You should go. I know you want to, and Éowyn would like it", she said steadily, though those words did not come easily. And they were not easily received either – she saw the troubled look dawn on his face, as though an echo of her own feelings.

"Aye, I do want to go, but I also don't want to leave you now", he said and shook his head. "What if something happens? You might need me."

She didn't say she most certainly would need him. She would miss him madly no doubt, and drive everyone in Meduseld insane with her longing and moodiness. However, after all that Éowyn had done to help him come home, she knew there was no way they could just deny her this upon the arrival of her first child.

"What could possibly threaten me in my own home?" she asked anyway, trying for a light tone. She couldn't really say if it was convincing. At any rate Éomer looked doubtful.

"Working yourself into exhaustion, for one", he pointed out.

"Well, yes, but I'm sure Osythe and Éothain will have a strong-worded conversation with me if they think I'm working too hard", Lothíriel replied and sat back on her chair. She looked at her beloved, "My pregnancy is not even at any critical state yet. So it would be a good time for you to travel now."

She could see he was torn between going and staying, and gently she reached for his hand. She smiled, "Go and see your sister. I'll be fine, I promise."

Even so, after he had departed a few days later, she still sobbed like a baby once she had sought the shelter of their chambers.

* * *

As ever with Éomer's absence, Meduseld did not feel quite right. He had a way of filling the Hall with his presence, even if they were both busy with their respective duties. When he was home, even if he were busy, there was the knowledge Lothíriel would see him at least in the beginning and ending of each day. However, with his trip to Emyn Arnen to visit Éowyn and her family, the wait for his return was almost unbearably long.

All this was apparently known to her friends in Edoras, who did their best to achieve two things: firstly, keep her company when she needed it and secondly, kept a close watch she did not work too much. When one windy but sunny day Éothain asked her if she'd like to accompany him for a walk, she quietly wondered if Éomer had harangued the entire capital into indulging her while he was gone. Still, it would have been a lie to say she didn't appreciate it.

So, once she was dressed for the chilly weather – her maid Freda had provided her with a fur-rimmed cloak, and she knew better than to request a lighter one – she and Éothain made their way outside. They did not make fast way, what with his maimed leg, but she enjoyed it anyway. Lothíriel couldn't say she had really known Éothain before she and Éomer had returned from the south, but these days she had started to consider him a friend.

Once they had descended the steps of the Golden Hall and come to the courtyard, she took note there were no less than six royal guards trailing them.

The young queen lifted her eyebrows and glanced at the man limping beside herself.

"Isn't that a bit excessive? Surely we don't need so many guards in the very heart of the Mark", she noted, nodding slightly back with her head. However, her words did not seem to impress Éothain over much. He looked at her firmly and resolutely.

"Lothíriel, I am very well aware of that. But before Éomer departed, he gave me and the guards the lecture of ages, and he was quite clear on what would happen if you or the babe should be harmed in any way during his absence. I will not be taking any chances, both for his sake and yours", said the former captain, his mere expression making it clear this was not debatable.

She scoffed softly.

"I should have known", she muttered, half to herself. Éothain patted her shoulder clumsily.

"He can be a bit overbearing sometimes, I know", said the man and smiled. "But you and the new life you carry under your heart are dear not only to him."

Hearing this, Lothíriel had to smile as well. Truth was, now she didn't feel so self-conscious about the heavily armed guards following them. If these precautions gave peace to her husband and Éothain... well, she could imagine worse inconveniences.

* * *

Though Lothíriel did her share of moping while Éomer was gone, her mood was lifted when Amrothos arrived from Dol Amroth, carrying with him a thick pile of letters from her family. She had sent news of her pregnancy as soon as she had told her husband – who had the prerogative of hearing it first – but she had not dared to hope she would receive such an answer from her Amrothian kin.

Her brother had sent a word of his arrival from Dunharrow, so she had plenty of time to make rooms ready for him and to work herself into anxiety, and his arrival in Edoras was very much a relief. So, as soon as he had entered in the courtyard and dismounted, Lothíriel went half-running for Amrothos, and with a laugh he grabbed her into a hug.

"Sweet Elbereth! Look at you, sister! I can't believe you're going to become a mother to a tiny horselord!" he said happily, making her laugh.

"If he takes after his father, he's not going to be tiny one!" she said and grinned at the thought. Though it was months and months until the time of childbirth, her son was already a matter of tangible reality to her.

Amrothos laughed too as he pulled back to regard her. His dark, shoulder-length hair was windblown, h was wearing a wide grin, and his grey eyes glimmered cheerfully. Seeing him there brought her a feeling like something warm overflowing inside her – slightly similar to how she'd feel at receiving Éomer back home, but also very much different. Amrothos was a sight and sensation of her childhood home and memories, some of which only he shared with her.

"Welcome to Edoras, brother! I can't tell how glad I was to hear you would be visiting me", she told him with a wide smile and hugged him again.

"Only you? Éomer isn't home?" he asked and glanced about like he were expecting her husband to make an appearance.

"He is in Gondor, visiting Éowyn. He wanted to see his nephew", Lothíriel explained, bringing an expression of realisation to Amrothos' handsome face.

"Oh! Of course. I always forget how long it takes from Edoras to Ithilien", he commented and nodded. "Elphir and Aredhel went to visit Éowyn and Faramir as well, but they should be on their way home by now."

"So everyone else is going to see that little boy before I do? How typical", she grumbled and made a face. Then she smiled at her brother again, "Please, do come in with me! We'll get you settled down, and then I expect you to tell me all the news of Dol Amroth!"

As usual, Lothíriel's cheerful brother was received well in the courts of Edoras. People remembered him well from the time of Kin-strife, and she felt they much appreciated his participation in the struggle against Feran. Moreover, Amrothos had always possessed the gift of making fast friends, which among a people like Rohirrim had earned him quite a few friendly acquaintances.

Even so, both of them were eager to spend the night together and to catch up – though letters were frequently sent back and forth between Edoras and Dol Amroth, written words could not compete with the presence of family members.

When they were eating supper, Amrothos recited her the news of the city by the sea, and of their family there. Father was just as always - "He never really changes, you know" – and with the calm and peace in the realm, he was able to spend more time in his own fiefdom. Elphir and Aredhel were busy with their growing family and with his occasional trips to Minas Tirith, as he had taken over much of Father's duties of serving in Aragorn's council. Aunt Ivriniel doted on Elphir's children and would most like behave similarly as soon as she met with Lothíriel's child. As for Erchirion, the sea could not be taken from him, and so was often away on voyages. Amrothos himself had spent plenty of time in Ithilien, accompanying Faramir on his ranging trips to scout the land which still was not entirely free of marauding orcs and other villains.

He also wanted to know when she would be visiting Dol Amroth again, and wish as she might to travel to the city of her birth, Lothíriel had no answer for him. Past two years had been busy, and now that she was with child, she would not be making trips any time soon. It was strange to think she had not seen her home ever since the trip to Pelargir, where they had received news of Éomer's alleged death – while she and her horselord had wedded on the shores of Dol Amroth, obviously there had not been a chance to visit the palace.

Thinking of that brought yet another question to her mind.

"But tell me, how did Father receive the news?" Lothíriel said halfway through the meal. No doubt Father's letter would answer this to an extent, but she wanted to hear her brother's opinion. Her question sobered up Amrothos' face somewhat.

"He actually cried a little. He is happy for you, and for getting another grandchild, but I think it also makes him feel bittersweet. You see, although it has been some time since you left home, having a child is something that removes you even farther away from him – from us all, really", he said at length, regarding her seriously. "He misses you, Lothíriel, just as we all do. But don't you ever take that as a slight to your happiness. We all want you to be as happy as you can possibly can."

"And I am happy. It's a good life we have here, even if it's not always without challenges", Lothíriel said at length, her mood sobered as well. "It doesn't mean I don't sometimes miss Dol Amroth and our family there, though."

She shook her head then, unwilling to let the bittersweet feeling take over – she should be glad to have him here now. She smiled at her brother, "But just so you know, I am expecting you all will come to visit us after the baby is born."

He nodded emphatically.

"Of course we will! We would not miss it for the world", Amrothos said, smiling again. Then suddenly something smug appeared in his expression. "I told you so."

It took her a minute to understand what her brother meant. When she did, Lothíriel snorted and rolled her eyes.

"You waited all this time just to tell me that?" she asked dryly.

"Oh, dear sister, it's a gift that keeps on giving", Amrothos said cheerfully. "Setting you up with Éomer is one of my greatest achievements."

"You are such an idiot, Amrothos", Lothíriel said... but even so, she couldn't help but smile.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's a little something for Friday! Hope you all will have a great weekend. :)

Obviously, Lothíriel can't make it to see Éowyn and Faramir and little Elboron. But I think Éomer is in between a rock and a hard place: on one hand, he doesn't want to leave his pregnant wife, and on the other he doesn't want to fail his sister. In the end he decides to go though, and in the next chapter we should see a bit of his journey to Gondor.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **Glad you liked it! Lothíriel has had these moments of foresight before, so it seemed to me she'd still occasionally get a glimpse of things to come. :)

**Vilwerin - **Yes, he's on his way! :) Hope you liked the bit with Amrothos in this chapter.

**brandibuckeye - **He has been much awaited indeed!

**Wondereye - **I totally could, if people want to see it.

**Thalia - **Thank you! :)


	26. Chapter 26

The first longer stop on the road was in Minas Tirith. Éomer and his riders had not wasted time travelling: the sooner they got to their destination, the better. Making haste also made it so he wasn't worrying about Lothíriel for every minute of the day. While he technically knew she would want for nothing in Meduseld, he was also aware pregnancies could go awry, and at any rate he didn't want her to feel like he didn't support her.

He tried not to think too much of it, and instead bent his mind on his sister. She had been writing such happy letters to him during past months, he knew she must be overjoyed now that the babe had been safely delivered. Éomer was anxious to see them, but courtesy demanded they make a stop in Mundburg and remain as guests to Aragorn and Arwen for a few days.

As always, Aragorn was there to welcome him with open arms. Life had treated him well, Éomer deemed, when he saw his friend coming to greet him.

"Welcome to Minas Tirith!" Aragorn called out, and then as soon as the younger king had dismounted, he received a brother's embrace. When the King of Gondor and Arnor pulled back, he was smiling, "It has been too long."

"Aye, it has. I have been kept busy in the Mark", Éomer replied and returned the smile.

"Even so, you look well. I am glad to see your trip to Lothlórien was a success", Aragorn spoke, his voice falling soft. Then he shook his head slightly and went on, "But come! You have a long way behind you, and I would wish to hear news of the Mark soon as you have bathed and rested."

His friend certainly had a way of making one feel welcome. As always during his visits to the White City, Éomer was given spacious chambers with every comfort one could hope for, and he knew his guards were looked after just as meticulously. The one thing he most cared for at the moment was a hot bath, though; on the edge of the tub, he found a multitude of small vials and bottles, which apparently contained oils and salts, and most of them so sweet and flowery that he wasn't sure why he had been provided with them. Even so, it dawned to him Lothíriel might appreciate some of these – especially the oils – and made a mental note of having to purchase some for her when he returned from Emyn Arnen.

After he had bathed and dressed again, he joined Aragorn for supper. Arwen was present as well, but once the meal was finished, she excused herself to give the two men some time to catch up. With glasses of wine in their hands, they recounted the happenings of late, and of families and friends. Though they were in regular correspondence, it was good to speak face to face and share laughs.

"It is a pity Lothíriel couldn't come as well", Aragorn commented after a while, at which Éomer made a gruff sound in agreement.

"Aye, but it was agreed she should not travel now at all, if it can be averted. It would not be safe with her pregnancy", he said and stared at his glass.

"You must miss her", said his friend gently.

"More than I could ever tell in words", Éomer sighed and tried to ignore the aching feeling, the one he always associated with her absence. He shook his head then, to rid himself of the thoughts he knew would take him down a morose path. He looked straight at his friend, "I was wondering when we would have the pleasure of you and Arwen visiting us in Edoras."

Aragorn smiled as a reply.

"And I would love to stay as your guest. I have been thinking of it for a while now, and at any rate I should like to travel to my northern kingdom... very little has been done to restore Arnor as of yet", he spoke slowly, and Éomer could see the shadowed thoughts in the older man's eyes. Then Elessar looked back at him again, "If not before, we will come when your son is born."

"It would please us both very much", said the younger of the two kings. Indeed, he already had a feeling that the occasion would ask for a great feast – he at least had no intention of letting the birth of his heir go by unnoticed.

They proceeded into a relaxed conversation on family and life, but eventually Aragorn got up stretching; he was eager to go and see to his own, though the night was not late. However, Éomer did not particularly fancy the idea of going to bed yet. For one, he didn't feel one bit tired, and he knew the quiet of his chambers was an excellent source for morose mood.

So, after he had bid good night to his friend, he decided to seek the company of his riders in the barracks.

He had no idea of what was to come out of that decision.

* * *

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

The words earned the King of the Mark a friendly slap on his back, delivered with such force that a more fragile man might have fallen on his face. Captain Edelric apparently had a poor control of his considerable strength when he was drunk.

"You'll be fine, Sire! I've sworn to protect you and that's what I will do, be it in Mordor or a tavern", said the young man merrily. He accepted a wineskin from one of the riders accompanying them, took a long sip, and offered it to Éomer next.

_Oh, damn it. _

He lifted the wineskin to his lips and drank, reassuring himself this beat the other option he had: moping away the night all alone never made anyone a happy man.

He had joined his riders at the barracks and found them on a merry mood, which was much uplifted by the ale and wine they had found somewhere and were happily drinking away. His arrival had roused a round of cheering and they had insisted he join the makeshift feast, and soon Éomer had found himself downing his third drink. Eventually someone had come up with the idea of finding a tavern and continuing the night there, and at that point the King of the Mark was too drunk to disagree. At least he wasn't arrayed too conspicuously, which made him hope he would not be recognised.

The fresh air outside did clear his head slightly, so that a brief doubt about being known entered his mind – however, as the wine flowed down his throat and the singing of his riders rose about him, he was suddenly feeling like a young man in his twentieth summer. Éomer had forgotten it, because since the days of his early manhood, many concerns had kept building up on his shoulders. But now, as ale and wine already burned his blood, he embraced it once more.

By the time they reached the tavern he was feeling quite mirthful like his riders, never minding Folcred who, in the middle of cheerful comradeship, had tossed his king's arm on his shoulder and his own on Alger's.

The tavern they chose was known to Edelric and Folcred, who had come there a few times after the victory over Sauron; the place was a clean one as well, and somewhat crowded. The arrival of a bunch of Rohirrim attracted some curious glances, but as his captain ushered him to one free table, Éomer noticed to his relief no one seemed to have recognised him. The concern fell from his mind when a rider of the name of Halga thrust a tankard of ale into his hand.

Rohirric voices rose and sang, filling this Gondorian place with the sounds of home. He didn't know if it was very bewildering to the natives of Mundburg, but he didn't care – it was a long time since he had last taken part in such carousing.

Éomer was deep into his cups by the time the woman made her appearance. The amount of drinks was also the reason he didn't notice her before she slipped into his lap, moving almost as lightly and agilely as Lothíriel. For one bizarre and drunken moment he even thought it would be her, because no one else had business touching him in such a way.

He blinked his eyes as the woman wrapped arms about his neck.

"Can I help you?" he asked, trying not to slur as he spoke. He was suddenly aware of several pairs of eyes on himself: his riders were curious to see what he'd say and do.

"I was watching you, my warrior... wondering if you'd fancy some company", the woman asked in a low, tempting voice. Now he made notice of her clothing and understood her reason to make such approaches. Maybe in another lifetime he might have considered her offer, but now he just felt bewildered to receive her attention, seeing there were several young and handsome men about him.

"No thank you", he said and tried to clumsily push her away, but she persisted, easily avoiding his hands.

"Shh, it's all right. I think you are in the need of someone cheering you up – you should be smiling..." she told him and moved closer.

"My wife", Éomer said, feeling like that was exactly the needed amount of explanation, because his Lioness _was _the very meaning itself. It did not occur to his drunken mind that this lady did not know Lothíriel.

"Is not here, my warrior..." she said, like he should have known, and leant closer to his face. But now he was thinking of his wife again, and how very far she was from him this night.

"She's _always _here. She was there even when I thought I would die. And she saved my life. I can't say that about many people", he informed her, making her blink. He let out a morose little sigh, "I miss her so much."

That was the point the woman understood he was a lost case, and with a slight annoyed noise she left him there. Éomer downed his tankard in one go. Damn, he did miss his wife.

The night was, however, everything but finished.

* * *

The first thing he knew was a pounding headache, hammering against his skull like a single dwarf determined to find some _mithril. _Éomer let out a groan and hid his face in his hands, rubbing his forehead. The next thing in his mind was the question if some small animal had crawled into his mouth during the night and died there. The chief thought he could muster for several minutes was a vague but firm _why. _This only became more pressing when he opened his eyes and became aware of his surroundings, and realised he was not in his chamber.

"Can someone tell me why I am under a table?" he called out, not bothering to move yet as he suspected that might just make him throw up. His question roused some quiet but good-natured sniggering outside his vision, though apparently no one was brave enough to laugh out loud.

Edelric's face appeared as he peeked under the table. He looked like he had been waiting for a hundred years to answer this question.

"Good morning, Sire", he said, sounding much more cheerful than he had any right, "You were slumbering under a table because not long after we returned from the tavern you fell from the bench and at that point the entire guard was too drunk to move you. I do not know if you have noticed but you are not a very small or light man."

Éomer tried to come up with an answer, but found he had none. Seeing his state of speechlessness, Edelric helpfully went on: "There was this lady of the night who would have enjoyed your kingly company, but soon as she sat in your lap, you began to rant about your wife. She quickly lost her interest, but you proceeded to tell everyone how much you love and miss your queen. It was very eloquent, my lord."

The older man groaned and began to rub his temples again. He couldn't even recall when he had last felt so ridiculous and foolish.

"Why did I ever make you my captain? You're supposed to defend me", he muttered, mostly out of saying anything at all.

"Well, I tried, but you just told me to mind my own business", Edelric said lightly. At that, Éomer really couldn't do anything except make another gruff sound. He thought he should probably try and get up, perhaps make his way into his chambers. Maybe a cold bath would help. Then he'd have to seek out Aragorn.

His friend was going to love this.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's something silly, because I was on a silly mood, and since there has been drunk Lothíriel, I thought maybe there should also be a drunk Éomer. Of course, his drinking days are mostly over, but I would imagine he would have something of a lapse here - and as you can see, it's mostly because he's trying to avoid being alone. Still, drunk Éomer is just as hopelessly under Lothíriel's spell as the sober one is!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Anonymous - **I'm glad to have cheered you up! As a writer, I'm always delighted to know I've had such a positive impact on someone. :) And yes, it's always exciting for me as well to bring Amrothos back!

**Thalia - **Thanks! Hope you liked this chapter. :)

**brandibuckeye - **Thank you! :)

**Jo - **Yes, and it's precisely why he has a little misadventure here in this chapter!


	27. Chapter 27

Éowyn had been feeling on the edge ever since a Rider had arrived, bringing word of the arrival of her brother the King of the Riddermark. Though he had first sent a message to her upon his arrival to Mundburg, to let her know he was on his way, somehow it only became real and tangible when she knew she would soon be seeing him.

With the house scrubbed clean, supper on its way, the stables ready to take in extra horses, and the best rooms prepared for Éomer, there wasn't anything Éowyn could do to put away her anxiety. Fortunately, Elboron provided some distraction from waiting. She loved fiercely her and Faramir's little boy, and also enjoyed how her mild-mannered and dignified husband turned absolutely soft and mellow at the mere sight of the child. In the face of their son, all the pain and all the darkness was made irrelevant.

Soon her brother would know this happiness too... and new life would hopefully usher away what remained of the south.

It was raining when Éomer arrived with his riders. They emerged from the grey shadows of the wet evening while Éowyn and Faramir awaited in the shelter of the doorway of their home. Eagerly she sought for the face of her brother among the company, and saw him in the front: though he was weather-beaten and wet to the bone, he was smiling at her. Catching her eyes, he lifted a hand in a greeting. Éowyn's keen eyes took in the sight of his expression, of the posture of his figure, and a strange warm feeling came to her. He had written to her of the trip to Lórien and though it was past now, the Golden Wood had shed some light to him that lingered on his features and eyes even now.

When he had dismounted and strode to meet her, Éowyn could not help but dash to her brother and hug him. Éomer let out a soft laugh, "You'll get wet, sister!"

"Irrelevant. I'm so glad you are finally here!" she said, smiling brightly at him. He returned the smile as well as the hug.

"It is good to see you, sister", he said warmly. Éowyn's heart swelled with happiness, seeing him in this mood. It reminded her of how things had been during that brief time between the end of Ring War and the southern campaign.

"Likewise, brother. Do come inside! Your bath should be ready – I will not have my son thinking his uncle is a drowned rat..."

* * *

Éomer joined them after he had bathed and changed into some dry clothes. By then, Éowyn and Faramir had already seen to the comfort of the King's Riders, who were all glad to have reached their destination after the journey in rain. When she asked her brother if he'd like to have supper, he shook his head and insisted he'd like to see his nephew first.

So, once he was sitting close to the fire – Éowyn didn't want him to catch cold – she carefully laid her son in the arms of her brother. He received Elboron carefully and let out a small breath once he was holding the baby.

Her eyes were drawn to the face of her brother. His expression had become very gentle and somehow marvelling as he regarded the child. He hummed a soft little tune under his breath, though Éowyn could not tell if he were aware of it at all. As a response, Elboron looked up at him with wide, trustful eyes, as though he knew right away he was safe with this unfamiliar man. She did not say it out loud then, but Éowyn knew Éomer would be a wonderful father once the time came.

"I can't tell if he'll look more like you or Faramir, but he has your eyes", he commented at last and glanced up at the proud parents.

"If he's lucky, he'll get more than just his eyes from his mother", Faramir teased gently and wrapped an arm about her shoulders. She laughed.

"You will be content in bringing up a horselord, then?" she asked him, which made her husband wave his hand dismissively.

"I married you, dearest. After that, nothing can take me by surprise anymore", Faramir said, his voice light and his face beaming. Éowyn laughed again and moved closer to kiss her husband, who gladly received the show of affection.

Not long after Elboron fell asleep in his uncle's arms, and before Éowyn could react, Faramir rose up on his feet.

"I'll take him to bed. You two must be anxious to catch up", he said firmly and carefully received his son from Éomer. He flashed a smile at the two and made his way out, leaving them alone. Her brother let out a soft sigh and sat back in his chair, relaxing after the long journey.

"He's a beautiful child. I'm happy for you, Éowyn", he said and smiled slightly at his sister.

"Thank you, brother. He's a great joy to us both", she said softly. He hemmed and pushed his feet closer to the fire.

"You know, for a little while I thought the matter of producing an heir for the Mark would be up to you", he said in low tones which spoke of some dark musings. But even so, she sensed those were well behind him now. For that very reason she dared to ask the question in her mind.

"What caused it?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know. Lothíriel just didn't conceive", he said, meeting her gaze solemnly. "We were quite unhappy because of it."

"I guessed as much when reading your letters. But I'm glad the matter has been resolved", Éowyn said and reached to pat her brother's hand. She gave him a smile, "You both deserve to be happy."

"And we are", he said and the memory of troubles left his eyes again. "If only she could have come here too – she would have liked to see Elboron."

"We will travel to Edoras as soon as it is safe for him to travel such a long way", Éowyn reassured her brother. That her son was so small and Lothíriel herself was now pregnant meant they would not be able to meet in some time, which saddened her. At least they could exchange letters.

She reached for his hand once more and held it as she spoke in soft, low tones: "Thank you for coming, brother. I know it must have been hard for you to leave home at such a time."

Éomer squeezed her fingers gently, and in his dark eyes she saw warmth and affection.

"You and Elboron are my family, Éowyn, just as Lothíriel and our unborn child are. And I will not forget the time when you were all that I had left. How could I possibly stand back when you ask for me?"

* * *

_Late October 2, Meduseld_

"My lady? Are you in there?" Éothain called out upon entering the royal chambers. He dared to do so for the close friendship he had with both his king and queen, and also because he was sure Lothíriel would not have wanted him to wait if she knew what business he had here.

"We are here", came the answer from further down in the chambers, but it was not the Queen's voice – instead, it was his Scýne who spoke as a reply. Éothain followed her voice into the bedchamber, but saw none there.

He didn't have to wonder for long, because there was the sound of someone retching in the washing chamber, and in seconds Éothain had put together two and two. After all, he had witnessed Scýne's pregnancies at the earliest stages. Moreover, past three weeks he had been observing the ups and downs of the Queen's mood; while it could be taxing at times, he knew it was nothing that wouldn't be remedied by Éomer's eventual return.

When the sound of retching stopped, he took a quick peek inside the washing chamber and saw Scýne sitting on the floor next to Lothíriel, whose hair his wife must have been holding while the Queen emptied the contents of her stomach. Now she was rubbing the younger woman's back in slow, gentle motions. It was good Lothíriel had Scýne supporting her at this time, along with the ever-motherly Osythe.

Éothain pulled back to allow them some privacy, wondering if the Lady of Meduseld was quite ready yet to listen to him.

"I had some reports brought to me, but if my lady is feeling unwell, those can wait for now", he said however, even if his words were directed at no one in particular.

"She should be resting, if you ask me", Scýne retorted firmly.

"Of course. I will make sure no one disturbs her for the rest of the day", Éothain said, nodding to himself. He had all the appreciation for Lothíriel's health, but he also knew Éomer would not be glad to presume people had caused any stress to her.

"I'm fine, you two – I feel better already. You know I'm supposed to be throwing up", came Lothíriel's voice then. Though it was raspy, it also held the spark by which Éothain knew there was nothing to worry about. With her, one could tell so much just by how she sounded.

"You did that for the better part of last quarter of an hour. You need to drink and eat something, and then get some rest", Scýne told the Queen sternly.

"Elbereth, I will never be free of fussy Eorlingas, will I?" Lothíriel grumbled, making Éothain smile.

"Absolutely not. What do you think? You married the biggest of them", Scýne answered unaffectedly. Now the former captain had to hold back his chuckle, though he did sympathise with his queen. He knew a great many people – including himself – were being rather frustrating with her. But with the fresh memories of Kin-strife and the events leading to it, Lothíriel too understood the reason to that behaviour. While she might make an occasional complaint, most of the time she was very patient with people bustling about her.

"Speaking of which, I have something that should cheer you up, Lothíriel", Éothain said, deeming she was well enough to pay attention.

"What is it?" she asked, still in the washing chamber.

"A rider just arrived from Gondor. He says he brings a letter from Éomer King to the Queen", he answered, smiling brightly.

He wasn't one bit surprised to see her dashing out not two seconds later.

* * *

_My beloved Lothíriel -_

_I have arrived safely in Emyn Arnen after a long journey, and decided to write to you as you are sorely missed. I hope you are feeling well and you haven't exhausted yourself with the matters of the realm. Have you remembered to eat and rest enough? You can always ask Éothain to attend to the matters of ruling if you are too tired. I know I am being fussy, but this distance is not easy to bear. _

_The journey went uneventfully, and I met Aragorn and Arwen in Mundburg. They are both very well, as is their little one. I must admit I was missing you rather painfully on the first night in Mundburg and as a result tried to drown the melancholy in a barrel of ale, though of course one of my age should know what a bad idea that is. Well, the act of drowning the sorrows did get out of hand a bit and the next morning I actually woke up under a table. It was a ridiculous affair and I feel quite foolish still – I will tell you all about it when I come home. _

_Éowyn and Faramir were thrilled to receive us, though they would of course have loved to have you here as well. Their son, whom they call Elboron, is a strong and a healthy little boy. You will find a drawing of him as an attachment to this letter – my sister has taken up the hobby of sketching things that catch her attention, and I must say she is very good at it. I cannot say if her little son resembles more his mother or his father, though he has her eyes. The parents are blissful as you can imagine; Éowyn tells me it was a very easy childbirth and she is already bustling about the household. She manages her guests with one hand and her son with the other. Faramir still has to go ranging at times, for in the mountains nearby there are many dark things lurking even now. Still, they say the mending of Ithilien is going very well. They are hoping to establish a town near their house. It is a fair land, and I would love to wander these sunny woods with you one day. _

_My sister is so happy, it is good to see her so content. She seems to make a wonderful mother, though I'd not have expected anything less. And Faramir – well, no doubt you can imagine him all over his wife and son. I must admit I felt a bit envious when I held my little nephew in my arms for the first time, but it is easy to bear knowing you carry our child this very moment. _

_Éowyn is composing a letter for you as well, and so is Faramir. They would have sent those with this one, but I'm afraid they are too busy for my impatience – I will most like act as a messenger to their letters when I turn homewards. At any rate they send you many fond greetings and wish you well. They have promised to travel to the Mark as soon as it is safe for Elboron to make the journey. Aragorn and Arwen also send their regards. If only you could be here! _

_I am going to stay with my sister and Faramir for a week or so and meet with Legolas as well, as I do not believe I can bear to stay away from home and hearth that much longer. By the time this letter reaches you, I should already be on my way back home to you. _

_Good night, my love. Perhaps, if I am fortunate, you shall come to me tonight in dreams._

_Your husband_

* * *

**A/N:** Here's little something for Friday! I hope you will have a great weekend. :)

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**brandibuckeye - **That I'm glad to hear! :)

**Jo - **Yes, he did feel pretty awful in the last scene. :D Poor man indeed!

**lena1987 - **Glad you liked it! :)

**Wondereye -** I think that's he would feel about Lothíriel. She's with him even when she's not physically present.

**Thalia - **I imagine it was a long tirade about how brave, strong, beautiful and wonderful she is in his opinion. :) And I must say it was very fun to write!


	28. Chapter 28

During his journey home, Éomer had to constantly hold back himself from the idea of just urging Silfren to race ahead with all the stallion had in him. While the speed of the _mearh _would certainly have taken him to his destination much faster than with an ordinary horse, he did possess more sense than that. If he committed such an act, Edelric would never let him hear the end of it – and no doubt Éothain too would have a word or two to say.

He had enjoyed his time as a guest to Éowyn and Faramir, and as always he was not glad to take leave of his sister, but the call of home had eventually grown too great. His sister and her husband understood very well – they knew the anxiety of expecting a child, and fully agreed he should be with his wife. So they had sent him on his way with letters to Lothíriel and a wish for a safe journey.

The company had made haste on their way – his riders apparently knew he would not be at peace before they reached Edoras, and they put up with his moods and demands to stay on the move as long as it was humanly possible. When they passed Aldburg, a number of dreadful scenarios began to haunt his mind: what if something had happened to Lothíriel during his absence?

The last stretch of their journey they made as the day fell into a night. Usually he'd not have travelled at such an hour, but Éomer was anxious for home and for his wife. After the long journey, his riders were similarly eager to get to their own families. As a result to the weariness of the travel and the cold and windy weather, everyone were more than happy to see the lights of Edoras at last, and though men and horses were equally tired, their vigour was renewed for the last bit of the long road.

Upon entering the courtyard of Meduseld, Éomer was half disappointed and half pleased. Disappointed, because he couldn't see Lothíriel on the terrace to welcome him home, and pleased because she should not be standing about at such late hour anyway. He did spot Osythe and Éothain – both were smiling at him, which he took as a sign not to worry about his wife.

"Welcome back, my lord. We didn't know to expect you home at this time", Osythe greeted him when he climbed the stairs to meet his chatelaine and adviser.

"I admit I was too anxious to get home. I trust all is well?" Éomer asked, running his fingers through his hair. He glanced from Éothain to Osythe, but saw only calm expressions on their faces.

"The realm is in one piece, if that is what you mean. And your queen is quite well, though she is endlessly grumpy. I fully expect you to redeem that", Éothain replied good-naturedly. As an answer, the King of the Mark snorted.

"Go home, old man", he merely said to him. He looked at Osythe, "I will not be receiving anyone for the rest of the night, except hopefully someone to bring me some supper."

"Of course. Go and see your wife", she said and made way to him, smiling as she did.

Éomer wasted no time as he strode through the Hall, answering greetings by his household members only very quickly: for the moment, his chief concern was seeing Lothíriel and making sure she really was well, and that grumpiness had been the worst effect of his absence. Though rationally he knew his friend and chatelaine would have told him if something was wrong, Lothíriel was one thing where his paranoia could not be reasoned with.

He entered the royal chambers, and then he spotted her at last, after an entire month of being parted from her...

His wife lay sleeping on the divan in their chambers and the embers in fireplace cast soft light to her face. She looked to be well, with a healthy glow on her cheeks, which he was glad to notice. The bump of her belly had grown since he had left for Gondor, and now as he saw her he could not help the feeling of joy for the knowledge of the new life she bore under her heart. She had wrapped about herself his robe and there was a blanket over her feet, and in her lap and on the floor there were various parchments he guessed were reports and appeals. She did not stir as he quickly gathered those and lay them on a table, and then sat next to her. A moment he took just to take in the sight of her and savour it; how calm she looked asleep, how dear was the vision of her... seeing her made him feel like home at last.

He reached to touch his fingers to her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open and at first she looked at him sleepily as though one still caught in a dream. Then a small squeal of delight rose from her throat and she threw her arms about him, which gesture he gladly returned.

"You're home!" she mumbled, only half coherent in delight. It made him smile and lightened his heart even more; there had always been something untainted about her joy, even in the darkest of times. Perhaps that was why laughter came to her so easily still after all the things she had seen.

"Glad to be so, beloved", he said, relishing the feel of her in his arms. She smiled brightly and kissed him – this went on for a while, but he more than appreciated it. After all, he had missed her very much.

When she pulled back, she looked at him inquiringly.

"Now, tell me everything. How are Éowyn and Faramir and their son? Are they all healthy? And Arwen and Aragorn? And what on earth was that bit about you sleeping under a table?"

* * *

The better part of the next hour, once he had undressed of his gear and they were comfortably settled in the bed, was spent talking: he told her about his trip and tidings from family, and she debriefed him of the comings and goings of the realm. She was not surprised when he interrogated her on the matter of her health and well-being, demanding to know if she had taken enough rest. Lothíriel smiled and told him she had missed him greatly, and mostly she had just been bothered by his absence.

Most likely it was that statement which caused Éomer to speak up the following words: "Do you ever think it might have been unwise to let your life become so entangled with mine?"

She knew what he meant. She knew the pain of parting, how she'd miss and worry for him when he was gone, the depth of need she would sometimes feel for him... and she was aware all this was shared on his part.

"I can't say", she started at last, moving her fingers back and forth his chest absent-mindedly. She glanced up at him, "For one, I do not see how I could have done anything differently."

"Even so, it may come to break your heart in the future", he said at length, holding her a bit tighter.

"Why is that?" she asked warily, though she did not like asking this one bit.

"While in Mundburg, Aragorn and I talked about many things. He told me of the reports he has been receiving from his spies in the east... he says it looks like there will probably be another war in a year or two", he said softly, and Lothíriel looked up at him.

"We will deal with it when it comes", she stated confidently. "And I will come with you."

"Before I would not have asked you to stay behind. But now... it's different now, Lothíriel", he said solemnly. "After what happened in the south, it would be easier for me and for the Rohirrim if the Mark had at least her Queen here in Edoras while I am gone. It should reassure everyone that no matter what happens in some battlefield, the future of our people is secure."

"But surely Elfhelm or Erkenbrand could take care of it?" she argued. Éomer sighed.

"It's not just that. As the Mark should have at least her Queen, so should Elfwine have one of his parents guarding him. If in future I have to be away for months at a time... it would drive us both insane, worrying about our son while trying to fight a war. But if you are watching over him, then I know nothing can harm him or lead him astray. I would not trust this to anyone else than you, my Lioness", he said gravely. She fell silent and didn't really know what to say: her husband did have a point. She didn't want to leave their child without both his parents... not just because she hated the idea of her son feeling alone and insecure, but also because the babe she carried was the future King of the Riddermark.

"I see", she murmured at last, her voice unsure and quiet. Gently her husband turned her face towards himself and looked at her.

"It is not a concern for this day, or tomorrow. But we must be ready for it", he said and leant closer to kiss her brow. Then against her skin he breathed, "In an ideal world, I never have to leave you..."

Sadly, it was not an ideal world they lived in.

* * *

_November 2, Edoras_

The day was chilly, almost close to freezing temperatures, but sunny as well. For a change the wind was temperate, making Lothíriel long for a ride to the plains. Of course, she knew better than to fulfil such an urge. While her pregnancy lasted, riding was one thing she really missed – no doubt she'd fall right out from the saddle due to lack of practice once her son had been born and she had recovered enough to ride again. It was slightly odd to think that not so long ago she had practically lived in the saddle.

Be it as may, she could enjoy the sunlight, which was not always for granted during the late months of the year. So she had donned on a thick, fur-rimmed cloak and ventured out for a short walk. She was trailed by guards, but at this point Lothíriel had learnt just to ignore them, and presently thoughts of Ceolwen and Elfhelm kept her attention elsewhere. The two had recently become parents, as Ceolwen had given birth to a healthy, robust son. Both were apparently very happy, as could be guessed by Elfhelm's letter – it had been only half-coherent, suggesting it had been written in the middle of a great tumult of emotions. The Queen was already anxious for when the two would be able to travel to Edoras with their little son. Éomer had paid them a visit and reported the little boy was just like Elfhelm. He had also commented that Ceolwen would have her hands full with the lad, if he took after his father in other things as well.

Her musings were interrupted by the arrival of Éomer and a few of his riders. Like every day, he had taken a ride to the plains. They exchanged a quiet smile before he dismounted, and she stopped to regard the company, and to wait for he husband with the hopes he might have some time to walk with her for a bit.

But then, as she stood there waiting for him to finish his conversation with Edelric, Lothíriel's attention was suddenly drawn to Silfren. Quietly the animal approached her, his movements even and calm, somehow reassuring her as well. He halted before her and nickered softly – she wondered if it was a greeting.

"Hello there", Lothíriel said with a smile and dared to pat the stallion's powerful neck. Gently Silfren nuzzled the side of her face, and then he lowered his great head... she felt breathless when he softly prodded his nose against the bump of her belly.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turning her face she saw Éomer there next to her; his face reflected the same wonder and amazement she was feeling.

"What is he doing?" she asked him – he was more in tune with Silfren than anyone else, and even seemed to understand the stallion's mind to an extent. She didn't know if that was because he was Silfren's rider, or if the animal had just chosen to tell him his thoughts somehow.

Her King looked at the _mearh _stallion, and then moved his gaze to her. There was no way to describe the expression he held just then... and soon as he spoke, she understood why that was.

"I think he is greeting Elfwine."

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update! Éomer has come home, Elfhelm and Ceolwen have become parents, and for now all is well in the realm. I imagine our characters are quite enjoying this peace and quiet in their life!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **He very much does, just like she misses him. That is why he asks if their lives are too entangled - but even if that's true, I don't think either of them could or would help it.

**brandibuckeye - **Thank you! :)

**Wondereye - **I wouldn't say it's an easy life. They just have the kind of peace of mind now they were lacking before, and the prospect of their son's birth is another important factor.


	29. Chapter 29

_Late March 3, Meduseld_

The air of evening smelt of spring and newly turned earth – smells to indicate a new year and new life. The day had been busy in Meduseld, what with the Queen's gardening project being in full action. Well, Éomer had known Lothíriel would insist she wasn't really doing that much, considering she was merely the one who had hired the gardeners to do the dirty job, but he had told her to take credit where it was due.

"This would not be happening without you, beloved", he had reminded her. Indeed, Lothíriel was bringing so much more to Meduseld than one would have ever known: there was life, order and beauty, and at her wake went laughter. Just as she had inspired him to hope and to heal, she was now inspiring her new people.

The sight Éomer met in the upturned royal garden was one to inspire his heart as well. He had come to call her back inside, but on the great terrace he had to stop and just _watch._ The sunset was the frame of the vision he witnessed, casting warm orange light on the place and the plains about the capital of his realm. The wind had mostly settled, bringing only an occasional breath to catch in her long dark hair. Lothíriel walked there lost in her thoughts, her feet bare and stained with freshly turned earth, and one of her hands resting on her swollen belly. One more month of pregnancy was still ahead of her, but she looked very healthy and strong.

He did not call to her, but he didn't have to: she had sensed his presence and looked up at him. Her green gown strongly contrasted against black earth, the brilliant evening's light on her hair and her face, and her smile...

Here was something to die for. But more than that, here was something to live for, to hope and to cherish – and to endure all the agony and torment that even surpassed the south... and seeing this vision, he knew he was only just starting to understand what it really meant to be called _"the Blessed". _

* * *

_Early April 3, Meduseld_

The King of the Mark was smiling slightly to himself at the end of a long day as he made his way through the quiet Hall. The foaling season was at its peak, and he had just witnessed the birth of a very special filly: her mother was a beautiful mare from the royal herd, and the father was Silfren himself. After the birth, the young animal had seemed strong and healthy – with the experienced eye of a horseman Éomer deemed she would be just fine. Even so, he had requested a stableman watch over the filly over the night. He already knew what to do with such a precious horse.

Though the idea of joining Lothíriel in bed was beckoning him, he decided to take a brief detour via the kitchens. There had been barely time to eat anything today, and a small late night snack was a tempting idea.

He didn't expect to find anyone there at such late hour, and was surprised to find Osythe sitting by a fire, holding a cup of tea in her hands. Then again perhaps he shouldn't have been – she often stayed late in Meduseld when her husband was away with some business. When he arrived, she looked up and smiled as the fire's light and shadows danced across her face.

"What are you still doing up and about, Sire?" she asked. Though she most often used formal titles with him, her manners were not cool and distant. He supposed that came with having watched him go through the awkward years of adolescence.

"I thought to eat something before heading for bed", he said, and like he knew to expect, Osythe was on her feet in seconds.

"Let me fix something for you", she said briskly. Éomer smiled fondly; he knew better than to try and tell her no. Moreover, she knew the kitchen like her own pockets, and so it did not take long for her to fix him a late meal. Soon he was given a plate with a piece of bread, a chunk of cheese and some ham, complete with a slice of apple pie. This made him smile again, because he could remember times from his boyhood years when Osythe would slip something sweet in his hand.

"You shouldn't be up and about anymore, my lord. You look tired", she commented disapprovingly when he was making his way through the plate.

"It's a busy season, Osythe, and an important one", he said, hiding his gentle amusement at her motherly tone.

"And you'll be busier still once the babe is born. You would do well to enjoy a full night's sleep while you still can – believe me, I know", she said nonchalantly. Yet Éomer could only smile at the idea. He could barely wait for the moment he'd finally be able to hold his son in his arms.

His chatelaine saw his smile, and slowly a similar expression dawned on her face. She looked at him fondly.

"It is good to see you happy at last, laddie", she said softly; while her manners toward him were everything but distant, she rarely spoke like this. Her words, and the heartfelt emotion behind them, moved him deeply.

"Thank you, Osythe. For all that you have done, and still do", he said solemnly. He searched the woman's eyes and saw tears in them, but then his chatelaine turned and patted her eyes.

"You should go to bed, Sire. It is very late", she said and stood up once more. Having emptied his plate, he decided to follow with her advice.

"Good night, Osythe", he bid her.

"Good night to you as well, my lord", she replied and busied herself with cleaning up, and he made his way to exit the kitchens.

In the royal chambers it was quiet now, but the embers in the fireplace gave him enough light to undress. Soon as Éomer had rid himself of clothing, he climbed into the bed. Lothíriel was fast asleep, but she shifted as he sought to settle down next to her. He took in a long breath, his nose filling with the scent of her hair – like a balm to his soul. Soon as he had wrapped an arm about her, she gathered his hand in hers.

"I was missing you", she mumbled sleepily, making him smile.

"Go back to sleep. I'm here now", he replied, placing his head next to hers. She sighed softly and seemed to fall back asleep. Concentrating on her breathing he relaxed as well... and it wasn't long that he followed her into the realm of dreams.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update for Sunday! I hope you have all had a great weekend. :)

The time of Elfwine's birth should be getting very close now, and hopefully we'll soon see him for the first time. I sure am anxious to meet him!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **Thank you! I'm glad you liked it! :)

**Thalia - **Thanks! I would say Silfren too is eagerly awaiting for the little prince to arrive. :)


	30. Chapter 30

_May 3, Edoras_

The day came as an ordinary one, promising nothing unusual about its course. But for Éomer and Lothíriel, each day now was less than mundane, because they were well aware that the time of childbirth was getting closer. They certainly were anxious for it, and it seemed that the entire capital was holding their breaths in expectation. In Meduseld things were ready for the heir's arrival: nursery had been prepared for the first time in forty years, and all such things a child would require were in place.

For all his restlessness, Éomer knew they could not do anything except wait. He tried to keep his worrying and fussing as minimal as he could: Lothíriel had been quite healthy through the pregnancy, and soon as she had been able to put aside her own fears and doubts, her moods were calmer as well.

The visit by Elfhelm and Ceolwen came to a need in this breathless awaiting. The two brought their little son along as well. The lad, whom they called Cenric, seemed he'd grow to be the spitting image of his father, and looked like he would very much have liked to be running about already.

"He's going to teach all the mischief to your son, I just know it", Elfhelm had said to Éomer with a grin a couple of days earlier, when he and his family had arrived in Edoras. He looked to be very pleased by the mere idea.

"Well, _you_ were the one who taught _me_ all kinds of mischief when we were lads, so I suppose it's only fitting", Éomer had said with a slight but humorous snort.

The time came on the third day after their friends had arrived in Edoras. They had eaten breakfast together, and after he had given a kiss to his very pregnant wife, Ceolwen had ushered him and Elfhelm out, no doubt for the sake of some womanly business.

He always appreciated having his Marshal joining the council meetings. The event was usually more prolific too, and this was perhaps the reason Éomer did not remember to worry about the matter of childbirth. At least, he didn't remember it until midday, when there suddenly was a frantic knock at the door of the council room. Then, before anyone had time to react – and the King's advisers could be annoyed because of this interruption – the door was thrown open.

There stood Ceolwen, carrying her son in her arms. Her face was flushed and her eyes very bright.

"My lord", she spoke loudly, effectively silencing all other voices, "the time has come."

Éomer knew right away what she meant.

"She's giving birth?" he asked anyway, his voice coming out as a breathless croak.

"Aye, she is", Ceolwen announced. "The waters just broke – Osythe is with her now, and I have already sent for a midwife."

"Is she all right?" he had to ask, even as the worst possible outcomes danced at the edge of his mind. Childbirth was not necessarily without dangers to the health of both the mother and the babe...

"Your wife is strong and she wants to bring this child into the world. Don't worry", Ceolwen said, her voice even and gentle. Cenric cooed happily, as though to agree to his mother's words.

"Well, gentlemen, I believe that's it for the day", Elfhelm stated and stood up straighter. He grinned, "I daresay this calls for a celebration."

"Not before he has been safely delivered, and Lothíriel is fine", Éomer managed, though his voice came out choked. He had fallen to sit on a chair, trying to wrap his mind about the knowledge his son was about to enter this world. Of course, he had been there for nine months now, but still...

Now it was _truly _happening.

Elfhelm laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.

"It's going to be all right."

* * *

The day went by painfully slowly.

Soon as he was able to function, Éomer had dismissed his council, knowing there was no way he could concentrate on anything as long as his wife was in labour. Then he had gone to the royal chambers and asked to see her, but apparently he had no business in there right now, and he was told to wait outside.

Some helpful soul provided him with a chair, and there he sat with his head in his hands, waiting and agonising. Every time someone came or went running from the royal chambers, his head popped up in hopeful but slightly scared anticipation, but he soon realised it was in vain. The labour was not anywhere near to ending.

Elfhelm joined him after a while – Éomer couldn't have said how much time had passed – and offered him some ale, but the younger man refused it.

"What will I do if she dies? Or something happens to the baby?" he asked weakly, staring down at his hands. His friend patted his shoulder.

"I'm sure she'll be fine. Lothíriel is resilient and strong, and the babe must be too, considering he has you and her for parents", Elfhelm reassured him. Not knowing any other way to answer, Éomer grunted quietly and sighed. He could not remember the last time he had felt so _scared. _After everything that had happened, very few things frightened him as much as the idea of losing his wife and child.

As time went by, others came to pay their respects, and to inquire about Lothíriel. Soon enough Elfhelm took up the task of answering the questions, in which he was accompanied by Éothain – the two had rightly noticed their king was not in a conversing mood. From the middle of soft-spoken conversations, he heard Alger asking: "Is he all right?"

"He's just a first-time father, nothing more. I was told I was just the same when Ceolwen gave birth to Cenric", Elfhelm said calmly.

"It would be useful if there were some task we could distract him with", offered Edelric, but the expecting father shot him a threatening glare. As though he'd agree to go anywhere right now!

The captain understood right away and hurried to continue, "Then again perhaps we should just let him be."

Éomer grunted as a response. Some people just didn't have a clue.

Then Éothain sat next to the King of the Mark. He offered a flask: "Here, have a drink."

Éomer made a vague sound at the back of his throat, but he did accept the flask, and he took a long sip of the drink. The strong flavour of Rohirric liquor spread with warmth inside him, but did less for his anxiety than he would have hoped for. Oh, how he hated this! On a battlefield or in a council chamber he would find his way, even in a difficult situation, but now there was nothing he could do.

The afternoon was growing older when he asked his two friends, "Should it be taking this long?"

He didn't miss the uncertain look Elfhelm and Éothain exchanged. It made his heart sink, which apparently showed on his face, because Éothain hurried to speak: "It might not mean anything. It's her first childbirth, so it may be a bit difficult."

"What are you, a midwife?" Éomer grunted and rose up on his feet, stalking away and back again as he tried to stay calm.

"Well, I've seen more than a few foals entering the world, so... it's not so different, is it?" Elfhelm tried, which earned him a furious glance.

"My friend, it _is _the heir for the Mark we are talking about", Éothain pointed out delicately.

The conversation was interrupted by Osythe. She hastily opened the door of the royal chambers, making all three men look at her quizzically. It was Éomer's eyes she sought and he stepped closer, hoping for the best but dreading the worst.

"What is it?" he demanded to know.

"Sire, the Queen asks for you", said Osythe solemnly.

He froze. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Terror washed over him – _no please no don't take her from me_ – and he was torn between needing to rush to her side, to share the last few moments with her before she was gone forever, and not wanting to watch his love die.

His horror must have shown on his face, for Osythe reached to touch his shoulder.

"It is a difficult childbirth, aye, but she is strong and keeps fighting. She's just scared, Sire, and I think it would help if you were there to encourage her", she told him gently.

Éomer did not answer. He merely pushed past the woman and into the royal chambers. Before he saw his wife he heard her yell – a sound to tear and choke his heart – and he rushed forward, pushing women from his way in order to get to his Lothíriel. There she was on the bed, her knees propped up, and her hair glued to her head with sweat. Her face was twisted in pain and she was breathing rapidly, almost like air wouldn't sustain her. Ceolwen was next to her and holding her hand, but she quickly made way to Éomer.

Quickly he was by her side and reaching for her hand, desperate in the knowledge he could not help her... but then she grabbed at his hand as though it was her lifeline. Her eyes were wide and feverish and she looked at him pleadingly, and suddenly he realised he _could _do something.

"It's going to be all right, beloved. You can do this – I know you are strong enough. Just keep breathing", he told her, his voice coming out far calmer and steadier than he had thought it would.

"Don't leave me", she stammered frantically, and he clutched her hand inside both of his own.

"I'm not going anywhere", he promised gently and managed to give her a smile.

They had made it through worse things... and they would make it through this too. They had to, he knew, for the alternative was too much to bear.

* * *

When Éomer had dashed into the royal chambers, a hush fell over the crowd waiting in the corridor. The amount of people had steadily grown, consisting of folk from the royal guard to advisers and kitchen staff. No one dared to speak, not at least very loudly – they knew what fateful moments were now passing by. And the outcome... well, Elfhelm knew much was hanging on the balance, the future of the Mark being not the smallest.

He felt anxious too, though he had tried to hide it for the sake of his friend. But then, Lothíriel had to be all right. He couldn't imagine her giving up – she'd fight until the very end.

Rohirrim knew that. They knew their queen battled like Lioness. Yet even this knowledge could not smother the fear, and he heard Alger whispering to Edelric: "What do you think will happen if she doesn't –"

The young man wasn't allowed to finish, though, and the order was barked by at least four different people: "Shut up!"

* * *

If asked afterwards about the affair, Éomer did not think he could have given a clear, coherent account. Nor did he know if his presence helped his wife, though he stayed next to her and told her whatever sweet and encouraging things that came to his head. Having to watch her suffer was one of the most difficult things he could imagine, but knowing it was her who needed his strength now, he was able to put aside himself and concentrate only on _her. _

And finally her yells became more frequent, and the midwife kept telling her to push... until at last came that last agonizing scream, and her nails digging into his hand drew blood, but he noticed the pain only for a little while... for Lothíriel's cry was followed by another – the first scream of a newborn babe. In the moment of hearing that cry he felt like he'd die from the sheer happiness he felt.

"It is a boy, my lord! The Mark has a Prince!" Ceolwen called out happily. The said prince was tiny, wrinkled, crimson-coloured thing, and he was screaming from the top of his lungs. With steady and sure hands midwife held him and proceeded to tie his umbilical cord.

"Are you all right?" he asked Lothíriel, his voice weak with emotion as he sought his wife's eyes for the confirmation he wouldn't lose her. Now that her ordeal was over, she rested limply in his arms, trying to catch her breath.

Her sweaty hair glued against her scalp, the weary look on her face... she looked like she had been to Mordor and back. And yet her eyes shone with overwhelming love and happiness.

"I'll be fine", she managed somehow, and then her eyes fixed on the child she had just brought into the world. She half laughed, half sobbed, "Oh, look at him! Éomer, look at our son!"

Gently, carefully Elfwine was placed in her arms, his tiny head against her breast. His wails had quieted somewhat, turning into whimpering. No words could tell what the King of the Mark felt that moment, looking at these two people he loved more fiercely than anything in the world.

"Our son", he was able to utter somehow, though the words were so heavily laden with emotion that it was a wonder he could say them without weeping.

He could quite easily have sat there for the rest of the evening and night just holding his wife and son, but Osythe had other ideas. She placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly, "People must be anxious to hear the news. Why don't you go and tell them this happy news while we clean up here?"

Éomer made a soft sound in agreement, mostly because he was too dazed to really make any such conclusions himself. He kissed Lothíriel's brow briefly, "I'll be back in a moment."

She gave him a tired but happy smile – it felt wrong to leave _them, _even if it was for a little while – but he was able to tear himself away from the chamber. Once he stepped outside, he saw that quite a crowd had gathered there, awaiting for any tidbit of news. There was folk from the royal guard to kitchen staff, all eager to hear the happy tidings that the realm at last had an heir.

"How is the Queen?" Elfhelm asked right away, his voice proving he had been just as concerned about Lothíriel.

Éomer could not help but grin at his friend; immediately he saw Elfhelm's expression becoming relieved.

"She is well. They both are", he said, his heart swelling with love and relief even now. "Send riders to each and every corner of the realm. Send also messages to Mundburg, Emyn Arnen, and Dol Amroth. The Riddermark has a prince once more."

The crowd more or less erupted, and the corridor was full of cheering and laughter. He received quite a few words of congratulations, and Elfhelm stood next to him, grinning maniacally as though a man who has just witnessed his son doing something miraculous. Éothain was promising he'd send riders right away all over the realm, and many flasks and barrels of ale were produced – "The entire capital is going to be feasting, I tell you", Folcred insisted to Edelric – as Éomer considered he had had an unclear idea of just how much this meant to his people.

But no matter how many feasts the event of Elfwine's birth would cause, there was only one place Éomer wanted to be now, and thankfully Scýne made then her appearance, slightly surprising him – he had been so preoccupied he hadn't even notice her presence. Then again, it was likely the entire capital could have crumbled down the hill and he wouldn't have noticed while his wife's labour lasted. Scýne smiled to him and said, "Everything is ready now, my lord."

So he shared one more grin with his friends and then he headed back into the royal chambers. The maids had already changed the sheets in the bed and helped Lothíriel into a fresh night shift. She rested comfortably against some pillows and in the crook of her arm was the invaluable bundle of new life. Hearing his steps she opened her eyes and smiled. Wordlessly he returned that smile and sat down next to her, just to bask in this moment.

"Would you like to hold him?" she asked softly, though he didn't think she asked it because of really wanting to know.

Elfwine was quiet now, and only half opened his eyes when his father held him at last. They had cleaned him as well and his skin had a healthy, ruddy shade. On the top of his head there was already a shock of dark hair. Éomer let out a long, trembling breath as he looked down at his son, marvelling at this little human being. He had watched Lothíriel grow large with child, and now the babe was here in his arms... if there were a greater miracle in the world than the birth of a child, Éomer did not know of it.

"He's so small", he stammered at last, barely able to speak for the emotion he was feeling.

"He came a bit early. But he seems healthy and strong", Lothíriel said in soft, weary voice. He smiled at her, and would have said more, but was distracted by the midwife.

"My lord, I must insist the Queen get some rest. It was a rough childbirth", said the bothersome woman, though Éomer knew he couldn't deny it. His dear Lioness had gone through quite an ordeal to give birth to the little prince.

"I would see if I can get him to feed first", Lothíriel said and reached her hands towards Elfwine, and carefully he placed the baby on her breast. It took some shuffling about, and the little one didn't seem to understand first what he was supposed to do, but eventually instinct took over and his little mouth closed around the nipple of his mother. The sight was enough to bring a man to his knees, and Éomer knew that if anything should ever threaten these two... he would not spare the effort or hesitate to commit terrible acts just to defend them.

While his wife nursed the babe, the midwife told him to keep an eye on them both, and make sure Lothíriel didn't start to bleed – she and a healer would stay in Meduseld for the night, but for the moment it seemed the mother and the child would be all right. Éomer fixed his own mind firmly on that thought.

By the time Elfwine had got his fill, both he and his mother looked like they were completely exhausted. Readily Ceolwen picked this up and together with Osythe she cleared the chambers, though it was with the promise that should they need anything, someone would be just in the next chamber. As the room emptied of people, quiet fell at last, though Éomer thought he could hear some noise from the Hall. He did not have to wonder why that was.

After he had made sure Lothíriel was warm and comfortable, he settled next to her, completely and keenly awake. He reached gently for his wife and brushed a lock of hair from her face.

"You should try to sleep, beloved. You must be tired", he told her in soft tones. Elfwine was already asleep by her side, safely nestled inside blankets – even more reason for her to try and catch some rest.

Lothíriel gave him a weary smile and with a sigh, her eyelids fluttered close. It looked like she was out in minutes. The King of the Mark did not feel the need for rest, though: he stayed watching over his family, feeling his heart swell with something so great and overwhelming that he had never thought a human heart could contain _so much_.

This past year he had sometimes thought of the name they had given him, but now, this moment, his life was Blessed.

* * *

**A/N: **Aaaand he's here! Elfwine has come at last, and it was high time that he did. :) I'm looking forward to writing more about him and his family.

I meant to update before Easter, but it turned out a really insane and busy week for me, so this chapter comes at the wrong side of the holiday. Well, I hope you all had a great Easter, and you enjoy this chapter.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **Indeed, Éomer and Silfren are now both fathers. :)

**Thalia - **He is! We will see what will come out of his little filly. :) I hope you liked this chapter, and Elfwine's first appearance.

**brandibuckeye - **Thank you!


	31. Chapter 31

The healer and midwife came to check on the new mother and baby on the morrow. Éomer had not got much sleep that night, but somehow he did not feel very tired: what was keeping him up and running at this point, he didn't know for certain. He awaited anxiously as the two examined his wife and child, but both apparently were in good health, though Lothíriel was still tired and lethargic. She did seem to have a good appetite though, and finished the breakfast he had fetched before Elfwine asked for food again.

Not long after, Elfhelm and Ceolwen came to pay a visit and to see the little prince for the first time. The Marshal looked nervous as he held the child, probably terrified he might harm the child somehow. But his wife showed only care and confidence as Elfwine was placed in her arms.

The Marshal also assured his king that he could take off the day and stay with his family: "It's not every day your child is born, and I know this is where you would most like to be for now."

Éomer gave his friend a thankful look. Elfhelm smiled and went on, "There was quite the celebration in the Hall last night, though it certainly wasn't the only one. Alger and Folcred made a round about the city, and they said they visited at least ten separate feasts."

"Fancy that. People must be on a festive mood", said the younger man and shook his head with some surprise.

"Oh, they are. I wouldn't be surprised if feasting went on for the entire week. Your son has been much awaited in the Mark", Elfhelm said solemnly. "In fact, there's a crowd outside Meduseld even now, and I understand they would much like to see him – that is, if you'd be willing to make a brief appearance."

"Aye, I suppose that is a good idea", Éomer agreed after brief consideration. Lothíriel did so too, even if she didn't seem altogether pleased by the idea of letting Elfwine out her sight. But he promised it would not take long, and obviously she could appreciate the idea of letting Eorlingas see their prince. Ceolwen, now accustomed to handling infants, carefully wrapped the babe in warm green quilts while Éomer found himself something decent to put on.

He decided the occasion called for some formality, and so he had donned on one of his better coats, and also his coronet. It was not every day he would present his people with the heir of the realm.

Éomer did not know how the word reached them so quickly, but by the time he and Elfwine were ready and stepped out of the royal chambers, there was already a crowd waiting for them. The way to the great doors of the Hall was lined with folk of his household: most of them had not yet seen the Prince, and so were just as curious to see him as anyone outside. Éomer carried Elfwine as one might carry something very fragile – which was how he essentially regarded the child. Not only was the babe very small and newborn, he was also the heir to the throne. Even so, he did not spare smiles, and he received quite a few words of congratulation. There were also inquiries on Lothíriel's health, to which questions he could happily answer she was well.

When the twin doors were opened, sunlight briefly blinded him. The day was very bright, as though the very Sun had decided to come greet Elfwine. The baby shifted and blinked as he felt the wind of his home land for the first time. As Éomer's eyes adjusted, he saw the great crowd below the steps of the Golden Hall, all staring up towards him and the little bundle he carried. A hush fell over the crowd as he stopped on the edge of the great terrace – not a single sound was heard in the courtyard of Meduseld.

When Éomer spoke, it was in a strong, loud voice that easily carried over the place.

"Yesterday, Lothíriel Queen gave birth to my son and heir. Here he is before you. Hail Elfwine Prince!" he said, carefully lifting his son, and his words roused a great noise: "Hail Elfwine Prince! Hail the Son of the Blessed!"

_They loved him. _They had only just seen him for the first time, and yet they already loved him. This knowledge brought Éomer a strange breathless feeling. No matter what had happened, no matter the fact Elfwine was half of Gondor, Eorlingas considered him their own. They loved him, and he was their land's future.

He half expected this noise to startle Elfwine, but for one reason or the other, the babe was quiet. But the King of the Mark did not have long to wonder about that, because suddenly... suddenly another noise began to stir, and people were moving aside. The reason for the shift came to a view: Silfren was climbing uphill from one of his wanderings, unbridled and unsaddled. Quickly way was made for him as he came, and on some faces there was even fear. However, Éomer knew the stallion and read only calm about his movements.

Out of an impulse he went for the stairs and descended, his eyes fixed on Silfren. The stallion stopped to stand at the bottom of the stairs, where Éomer met him in a few strides – about them there was a wide empty ring, as though people were unsure to get too close.

Silfren let out a soft nicker, which somehow sounded like a question. His dark, wise eyes met those of Éomer as the man approached his equine friend. The King of the Mark stopped close to the stallion – so close that Silfren only had to slightly reach his head to be able to touch him.

The words he spoke were some of the most obvious he had ever delivered in his life.

"This is my son Elfwine", he said quietly and glanced down at the bundle he was carrying. The baby was wide awake, looking up at him with eyes of dark blue. The stallion made another gentle nicker, and then he reached his nose to the little prince, prodding and sniffing carefully, and reminding Éomer of when the stallion had done something similar with his pregnant wife. He could tell Silfren was being careful with the babe, and he let out a small breath.

A hum of voices rose in the crowd surrounding them, slightly startling him – Éomer had already forgotten this scene was witnessed by what had to be at least half of the capital's population. Remembering that he could comprehend the wonder on the faces of his people and in their voices. Yet he could but imagine what they made of what they were seeing.

Perhaps it did not matter. For one thing was known to Eorlingas.

Only the kings and princes of the Mark could ride the _mearas. _

* * *

It was strange, Lothíriel thought: Elfwine had been in the world for less than a day and yet he already seemed so integral to it, and letting him out of her sight felt wrong in ways she wouldn't have been able to explain. Rationally, she knew the baby would be fine with his father, and in addition the people needed to see their prince. Yet when Éomer had left her, telling her to get some rest, she mostly did so for the deep weariness that still persisted. It wasn't uncommon, Ceolwen had said – especially after such a rough childbirth.

So she drifted between sleep and awakeness, and many thoughts crossed her mind. She thought of the moment when she had realised the baby was coming and the fear she had felt – not for herself, but for Elfwine and all the things that could go wrong. She knew how very important it was she delivered this child safely.

The hours had passed by though, and the baby wasn't coming out. She had been so scared, so sure she couldn't do it. And so she had begged them to get her Éomer. Somehow, if he were with her, everything would be all right.

He had come and stayed with her until the end; Lothíriel thought she would never have been able to pull through without him. His calm and reassuring words had helped more than she could say. Then at last, after what seemed like hours of pain, she had heard that first scream... at the sight of her newborn child, she had forgotten all agony. There were no words to describe the feeling of holding her son for the first time, or watching him in the arms of her husband. In that vision all hurts and all wrongs were made right.

She felt still very tired and sore, but happy as well – like coming to an end of some long road. However, she knew the real journey was only just beginning, and it would last the rest of her life. But that thought was somehow very hopeful: she looked forward to seeing Elfwine grow. And then there was the bliss and happiness she had seen on her husband's face, the sight of him holding their son, the wonder on his features when he looked at the child... it was like he was illuminated by some inner light which washed away all memories of pain and grief. She couldn't have hoped for more.

There were sounds at the doorway, and then Éomer's voice: "Thank you, Freda. I will call for you if we need anything."

The maid had been staying with Lothíriel and now exited to give some privacy for the royal family. He Queen opened her eyes and smiled as she took in the sight before her: there was her king dressed in regalia and carrying their son in his arms.

He returned her smile and asked: "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. Just tired", she reassured him and settled back again. "How did it go?"

"I believe it went very well. I didn't even realise there would be so many people... they were excited. I think they love him already", he answered and came to sit on the edge of the bed. Elfwine had fallen asleep in the crook of his arm and the sight made her heart swell with love and gratefulness.

But then Éomer's expression became slightly odd. Quizzically she looked at him, "Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all. It's just... Silfren made an appearance as well. He was returning from his wanderings, and... I showed him our son. He seems to like Elfwine", said her husband solemnly, his eyes thoughtful.

Lothíriel breathed in and out. There was something truly overwhelming about those words, though it was hard to explain. Perhaps it was just the knowledge that _her _son had this in him – he was accepted by Silfren. And she knew as well as any one who lived in the Mark that the _mearas _would only let those of Eorl's royal line ride them.

The blood of the north ran strong in Elfwine's veins, and in a moment of foreknowledge she felt he would always be more a child of the Mark than of Gondor. Be it as may, he was her son, hers and Éomer's, and there was a wonder in that thought; for it shined and glimmered in her mind, and she knew all that she had endured was worth _this. _

Gently he placed the baby in her arms again and sat next to her. He wrapped an arm about her shoulders and she leant closer to him, her heart overflowing with all the love she had for her little family. _They were parents, and here was their son. _Even in the most desperate moments when she had thought she'd never have _this, _she had not been able to imagine just how happy it could make her.

Éomer pressed his lips against her temple and did not move away when the kiss ended. He spoke very softly, his voice not more than a whisper. Yet it still held _so much, _and at the sound of the words her own happiness only grew.

"You two have made my life truly beautiful."

* * *

**A/N: **Here's a little more of the bliss of the new parents! I would imagine it is needed after how desperately they hoped for it. :)

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo -** My earlier works do have bits and pieces with Elfwine, but I'm now looking forward to write more about him and his life. :) Anyway, I'm glad you liked it!

**Catspector - **Thank you as well! I'm happy to hear you enjoy the story!

**Wondereye - **It was mostly normal, though somewhat difficult. But the baby and the mother are fine (for now).


	32. Chapter 32

Having made sure Elfwine was fine with the wet nurse, Éomer entered the royal bedchamber. Though his son had been in the world for almost a week now, there still came moments when an irrational thought came to him, telling him to hurry to see the little boy – as if this were but a dream and Elfwine might just disappear.

Now he was not thinking about the infant, but rather the mother of his son. She was curled up on the bed, sleeping quietly. She looked so peaceful, it felt wrong to disturb her, even if he knew her nap had already lasted for over an hour. But her face had not regained much colour since the labour, and she had only left the royal chambers for a short walk yesterday. Worriedly Éomer remembered how energetic Scýne had been after giving birth to Elva – she had been up and about the very next day, and a week later, one would not have guessed she had recently gone through childbirth.

He was in the middle of these thoughts when Lothíriel stirred and opened her eyes. Sleepily she smiled at him.

"Hello, beloved", she said and reached her arms towards him in an invitation. He responded it, striding to the bed and sitting down next to her. Éomer pulled his wife in his arms and pushed away unpleasant thoughts.

"Is Elfwine well?" she asked, settling against him. Though perhaps one might have not known to expect it, she appeared to have the instinct of a natural mother. Then again, it could very well be the agonizing months before she had conceived had brought this part of her into being.

"He's fine. Don't worry about him", he reassured her, leaning closer to kiss her brow. She relaxed again and rested her head against his shoulder.

"Hmm. I keep thinking if he's not here with me, something bad will happen", she said softly.

"I know how that feels", Éomer said, holding her a bit tighter. A memory from years ago returned to him and roused a bittersweet smile to his face, "Some years before the War of the Ring, Théodred was wounded while riding patrols. He was brought to Edoras to recover. Uncle was out of his mind, even though my cousin was strong and his injury wasn't fatal. Being the foolish young man I was, I told Uncle there was nothing to worry about. But he told me that a parent never stops worrying, especially when their child is in pain. Now I understand what he meant."

A darker thought entered his mind then, making a shiver run down his spine, "Yet I can't even begin to imagine the agony he must have felt."

Lothíriel shivered too, and he could see she knew exactly what he meant. Quickly he decided such ideas were not something to torment his wife with, especially now that she was still recovering. So he swiftly proceeded to change the course of the conversation.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her, searching her face. He really didn't like how pale she looked.

"Hmm. I'm fine. Just a bit tired", Lothíriel replied softly, idly smoothing a crease from his coat. She looked up at him then, "And I was thinking of how much I'd like to have a bath. Would you care to arrange one for me?"

"Of course. Just wait here", Éomer said and more or less leapt on his feet. Like any man of action, he liked to have something to do – and something to let him think he was improving her well-being.

About half an hour later, the servants had come and gone, and they were alone again. When she was undressed, he picked her up and carried her to the bath tub; she huffed and grumbled she was perfectly capable of walking, but when she thought he wasn't looking, he spied a small smile on her face. He hid his own, and soon as she was comfortably settled in hot water, he grabbed a stool to sit next to the tub.

Soon as he sat there, his eyes were drawn to Lothíriel. There was a dreamy smile on her face, her eyes half-closed, and her form relaxed in the steaming water. Oh, how he loved her! What a cruel fate it would be to lose her to some malady now that she was not so strong... his mind rejected the idea, for he did not wish for the pain it would cause.

"You look so worried", Lothíriel spoke then, bringing back his focus and calming his mind somewhat.

"That is because I am", Éomer replied, trying to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. But his wife smiled and reached to place her hand on his. Its soothing warmth called to him, and tightly he wrapped his fingers about hers.

"You don't have to be. I'm not going anywhere, beloved – I have so much to live for, and I am needed here for decades to come. I want to see Elfwine grow and become a man... be there when his children come", she spoke softly, and her voice held nothing but hope. He couldn't speak, not at first anyway, and so he just cradled her hand with both of his – placed a kiss on the palm of it and her fingers. How utterly, how truly he belonged to this woman... strange, how the knowledge of it might still overwhelm him so deeply.

When he spoke, it was in whispers.

"Promise you won't leave us?"

"I promise."

* * *

"Where are we going?" asked Lothíriel one day about a week and a half after Elfwine's birth. She had been slow in recovering from the labour, much to the quiet dismay of her husband. There did not seem to be a particular threat on her life – she just was not as energetic and strong as usually. It was partly because of that the healer had suggested she should be getting more fresh air and sun. As far as she could tell, Éomer was thinking a surprise might renew her good health and vigour.

Only, the villain wouldn't tell her what it was ("What's the point of surprise if I answer?"). He was smiling at her, which she could appreciate after watching him worry over her for past two weeks. He said, "You will see soon."

He didn't make particular haste either, the fuss, as they made way through the Hall and then outside. She didn't say anything about it though – just held on to his arm and let him lead her where he would. While the idea of surprise was filling her with curiosity, on the other hand it was also nice to walk with him without any haste.

The questions in her mind multiplied when they entered the stables. It was one of her favourite places in Edoras, what with all the beautiful horses, the reassuring smell of it, and the soft light streaming in. Stablemen bowed their heads as the King and Queen passed by, and Lothíriel gave them a smile.

Éomer lead her to the end of the stables. There was one great stall, which belonged to the King's steed – now it was occupied by Silfren, who was presently being brushed by one of the stablemen. At the arrival of the royal couple, the stallion turned his head and nickered softly as though to greet them. The man by her side smiled, like he was answering the greeting as well.

For a short moment she thought he was taking her to the _mearh _stallion but instead he stopped by a smaller one close to the large stall. Stopping beside him, she looked in the stall and saw there a beautiful white horse – a mare, as could be seen right away by the little foal next to her. The young animal had reached his head under the belly of the mare and was suckling hungrily. The foal had his mother's white coat, but Lothíriel, even though she wasn't a native Eorling, could see he had strong _mearh _blood.

"Oh, aren't they beautiful! What do you call them?" she asked Éomer, glancing at him.

"The mare is named Snow Queen, as is fitting for one with a coat like hers. The filly doesn't have a name yet, though – that is for her rider to decide", he replied, regarding the animals with a pleased expression on his face. He looked at her then, "She was born about a month ago, but she already grows fast – she will be a beautiful horse one day. And no wonder, for she was sired by Silfren."

"That makes her quite priceless, then?" Lothíriel asked, though she knew there weren't many half _mearh _horses around. Of course, most if not all of the Rohirric horses had _mearas _ancestors in their lineage – their famed strength, intelligence and bravery was much owed to that. Yet the birth of a horse which had half the blood of a pure _mearh _was always a thing of importance. In time, such a steed would renew the Rohirric stock in their own offspring.

She realised then why Éomer was showing her this horse. She nodded solemnly, "Am I correct in assuming you'll raise her for Elfwine?"

Her surprise was not small when he actually shook his head and smiled.

"No, I don't mean to give her to him. It will be many years before Elfwine can ride, and during that time, the promise of this filly would be wasted. Silfren will sire more foals and fillies in time, but this one is here now... and I know just where she should go", he said, his smile widening. She still did not understand, but helpfully he relieved her of this ignorance. Yet when he spoke, she wasn't sure she had heard him right.

"She is yours, Lothíriel", he told her.

"Mine?! Are you serious?" she exclaimed, her eyes wildly leaping between her husband and the filly.

"Of course I am, beloved. Or doesn't this filly bear the promise of growing into a steed worthy of a queen?" Éomer asked lightly.

She couldn't answer, not in words at least. Instead, she just squealed in wordless delight and covered his face in kisses.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's a little update for Tuesday! I hope your week has had a great start. :)

I would imagine Éomer knew right away the little filly sired by Silfren would go to Lothíriel, seeing their son won't be able to ride before he has grown. He also knew how well she'd appreciate this gift, being the horsewoman she is.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Thalia - **He does indeed! He had been much awaited.

I hope you liked the bit with Silfren's little filly. :) I'm sure we will meet her again in future.

**Jo - **Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. I thought Silfren should meet Elfwine too. :)

**brandibuckeye - **And it is a great happiness to them, after all the time they spent hoping for it.


	33. Chapter 33

Elfwine's birth had finally released the tension and excitement which had been building up for the last month of Lothíriel's pregnancy. Now that the little prince had been safely delivered, everyone could let out breaths they had been holding and continue with the ordinary life. Yet life was not quite the same anymore either: there was a prince in the realm at last, a reassurance of future and a promise of peace in the land.

For Lothíriel and Éomer life had changed as well. Now there was a small cradle next to their bed in the royal chambers – Osythe had found the object, and said long ago Théoden had it made for his son – and the occupant of it altered things in expected and unexpected ways. For one, Elfwine's needs did not ask the time of day, and he'd wake up a few times during the night, asking to be fed. His wish to grow larger and stronger seemed insatiable, even to the point where Osythe had to find a wet nurse for the little prince, for soon Lothíriel noticed she did not simply have enough milk for her child. Despite this, she recovered from childbirth eventually and got back her energy. She could live again as normally as ever, without a care things she did might endanger her unborn child, though after nine months it felt odd not to be pregnant and feel the weight of her son under her heart.

Be it as may, life had assumed a new kind of normalcy, the kind she and Éomer were only just starting to get familiar with.

It was slightly overwhelming to look at the baby and see how utterly dependent he was of his caretakers, and yet know he'd grow into a boy and into a man. Now it was many years away, but looking at the little prince, Osythe wiped an errant tear from the corner of her eye and softly murmured, "It will feel like a blink of an eye."

Being the Queen of the Mark, Lothíriel knew she could not stay with her infant son for every hour of the day as much as she'd have liked, though she was never far; she quietly rued the day the new nursemaid – carefully investigated and hand-picked by Osythe and Lothíriel herself – started her job. While she rationally knew she needed a nursemaid to look after Elfwine, it still seemed somehow wrong.

Perhaps it was because of this that the nights were always a special time. Then it would be just her, Éomer and Elfwine, nestled as though in a warm cocoon. Like before, she and her husband would talk about the day, but one of them would be holding the infant, and Elfwine would drift to sleep, tranquilised by the voices of his parents. Lothíriel thought she could never grow weary of watching her husband while he held their son, and when he'd sing Rohirric songs to him of brave Shieldmaidens and tall Riders and of the wind sweeping through valleys; Elfwine would look up at his father with wide eyes until Éomer's soothing voice would lull him into sleep. His voice would calm him down even when the infant was fussy, as though there was some spell in his father's song. She imagined the days ahead and all the things this little boy would bring into their life – all the things they could teach him. And everything was all the more invaluable, for she remembered well the time she had thought she might never bear a child.

Perhaps she wouldn't again either, but as she held her son and looked into his sleepy, trustful eyes, she felt thankful. She thought: _This one is mine, and if he's the only one I will bring into the world, he will be all the dearer. _

Elfwine was not just the apple of his parents' eyes – it appeared he was dearly loved by all the Rohirrim. In Meduseld, there was no shortage of people eager to hold and mind the child, coo at him and sing him songs, and about the royal holdings there were often people wandering by like they were hoping to catch a glimpse of their prince. In the quiet of her thoughts, Lothíriel was glad to see how well her son was received, and it reassured her that he would be loved just as his father was.

With Elfwine's coming to world, great preparations were begun in the Golden Hall, and many letters were written: the birth of an heir was not a small event, and both the King and Queen wished to celebrate it with their friends and family. So invitations were sent to the White City, Emyn Arnen, and Dol Amroth. If all the invited guests would arrive, it would be quite a gathering in Edoras.

While all this was going on, the life of Meduseld was very busy, but there was still time for gentle and light moments. One such an instance came a late afternoon, when Lothíriel was returning from the kitchens. Yawning and stretching, she entered the bedchamber. Upon walking in her eyes fell on the bed, and she had to stop right there just to _watch. _

Her husband was lying on his back on the bed, leaning his head on one arm. He wasn't the only occupant of the piece of furniture, though: Elfwine was there as well and was sleeping quietly. Only, his cushion rather than the bed was the broad, sturdy chest of his father – which was just about the safest place in the world. How small the baby looked atop his tall and strong father!

"He fell asleep on me. I didn't want to disturb him", Éomer simply said, having noticed the quizzical look on her face. She did not respond in words, but instead smiled at him. Once she had kicked off her boots, she settled on her side next to him – quietly and carefully as to not wake up the baby. Idly she ran her fingers through the long hair of her horselord, basking in this moment of peace and quiet. In such an instance words were unnecessary.

"What do you think he'll be like when he grows?" she asked at last, settling more comfortably against the side of her beloved.

"I imagine he'll have one ridiculous temper, considering his parents", he commented wryly, making her laugh softly. He went on then, "He already seems to have your hair – perhaps he'll look more like you in other ways as well. But no matter what happens, I know he will be loved."

"Yes. He will be", Lothíriel agreed and rested her head against Éomer's.

* * *

_July 3, Meduseld_

Life remained, as ever, busy for Elfhelm. Between his duties as Marshal, riding up and down the East-Mark, and spending time with his wife and son, he found his days full from the morrow to nightfall. But it suited him, because he was well used to an active life. It often took him to Edoras as well, to meet with his king and to participate council meetings; this was one such occasion, and brimming with energy he inquired of the whereabouts of his liege-lord as soon as he had reached the capital.

He was informed the King was in the garden, which much surprised Elfhelm. While he knew Lothíriel had taken on a project to revise and build anew the garden of the Golden Hall, he had not thought Éomer himself would bear much more than basic interest. So, when he went to seek out his friend, it was partly because of curiosity as well.

The day was a sunny one and quite warm and in Edoras preparations for the upcoming celebrations were fast advancing. But beyond the Hall and in the garden one could not sense the bustle Elfhelm had seen in Meduseld and on the streets of the capital: though the garden was still in progress and would be so for a couple of years at least, many flowers and herbs were already growing there. These filled the air with pleasant fragrances. The Marshal did not know much about plants but apparently all that grew in the garden could be used for some purpose, be it healing or seasoning or what ever one would imagine – quite a different set of mind, he deemed, when he remembered the extravagant gardens of Mundburg.

He forgot about plants when he saw his friends. Elfhelm stopped and fell very silent, reluctant to disturb the scene he beheld. For his king and queen were resting on a blanket on a strip of grass, and with them was their little son. Lothíriel sat nursing him, sideways to the Marshal, and she was grinning – perhaps at something her husband had said. Éomer himself lay on his side and had propped himself up with one hand and arm. Looking at his wife and son, his eyes and face held an expression Elfhelm had not seen before, though he had known this man ever since they had been lads.

_Would that Théoden could see you now, my friend..._

The Marshal smiled to himself as he backed away as silently as he was able. He was fairly sure reports could wait for later.

* * *

_August 3, Edoras_

Lothíriel's Amrothian kin were first to arrive in the capital of the Mark. The entire family came this time, even young Alphros – it was his first trip to the Mark. It was a rare occasion that would have the entire family of Prince Imrahil on the move, but the birth of his grandchild was surely enough to warrant it.

The arrival of so many guests at the same time caused something of a happy explosion in the courtyard of Meduseld: there were numerous hugs and kisses, joyful greetings exclaimed, and so many dear faces to welcome that it was overwhelming. It was also good to see that some things never changed: about as soon as he had dismounted, Amrothos energetically asked, "Now where is that little horselord you call your son?"

The first meeting of Elfwine Prince and his Amrothian kin took place about half an hour later, as they were all anxious to meet the infant boy. The moment itself was somehow very solemn, and Éomer himself brought the child before the guests. Father was the first one to hold the child, as was right for the grandfather. A smile spread on his face, but his eyes glistened with silent tears, and gently he cradled the child against his chest. Elfwine quietly returned his gaze, until suddenly a smile broke across his face. The sight of the child's smile made Father gasp softly, like the very smile was a miracle.

"He looks just like you when you were his age'", he said to his daughter, his voice trembling.

"Indeed he does, but Lothíriel did not have such dark eyes", Aunt Ivriniel spoke softly; she stood next to Father and anxiously awaited her turn to hold her grand-nephew. To herself, the Queen of the Mark smiled, though she did not say anything. She knew already Elfwine would not behold the world with the grey eyes of Westernesse.

"I don't remember her being so tiny", Erchirion commented, peeking over Father's shoulder.

"How would you know? You barely paid any attention to her then, because you thought babies are appalling and they smell bad", Amrothos put in, his voice teasing. He too was hovering just behind Father, making funny faces at his nephew.

"Well, that is because back then my only experience of babies was _you", _Erchirion shot back, making Lothíriel shake with quiet laughter. How she had missed her family! Her husband came to her side and wrapped an arm about her shoulders. From the corner of her eye, she could see he was fighting a smile as well.

"Usually even the smallest babies tend to grow", Aredhel said gently, "and looking at his father, I am quite sure he will."

"My grandson, the Prince of Rohan. I can still hardly believe it, even though I should have known Lothíriel would come up with something like this", Father said softly, looking at his daughter.

"Yes, I always knew if she'd marry, the affair would be extraordinary", Aunt Ivriniel added.

"Well, I did my best", Amrothos said, smiling smugly. Both Lothíriel and Éomer snorted at the same time, which in turn roused some amused smiles among the company.

"You and your swollen ego, brother", she said, wrapping her arms about her husband's waist. "You could have thrown Kings of Númenor in succession at me and I wouldn't have even noticed. And I wouldn't want anyone else than my two horselords."

"So Elfwine will be a full-blooded Rider too, talk with horses like with men, and wear his hair in braids? Why am I not even surprised?" Elphir commented wryly, but his smile was a fond one.

When Éomer spoke, it was not with humour.

"He is the future. And he is Rohan."

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update for Monday! I hope you all will have a great week. :) As to how Lothíriel knows Elfwine won't have grey eyes like she does, you may remember the dream she had of him when he is full-grown. At least as far as I know, small babies often don't have the eye colour they'll get when they grow.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **He's often wondering if she knows how much he appreciates her, but perhaps the gift of the filly will tell somewhat... then again, Lothíriel already does know! :)

**brandibuckeye - **I'm afraid it is his pet peeve! But that is often the case with people who care as much as Éomer does.

**Wondereye - **She's definitely better already!

**Thalia - **Turns out she just needed time and rest. And I imagine we will meet the filly again some time soon! Hope you liked the bit with Lothíriel's Gondorian family and Elfwine. :)


	34. Chapter 34

Though past few years had seen many feasts in the Golden Hall, arranged for various occasions, Elfwine's birth caused a celebration in par to the funeral feast of Théoden King. Guests had arrived from far and wide, and Meduseld was bustling with noise and life tenfold compared to normal. Not only was the capital packed with Rohirric nobility, plenty had also arrived from Gondor in the retinue of King Elessar and Queen Arwen. Among them were Princess Éowyn, Prince Faramir, and Prince Legolas. Even a Dwarven company had arrived to pay their respects to the heir of the Mark: with Gimli had come a party of his folk from Aglarond. To herself Lothíriel mused no Prince of Rohan had ever been welcomed into the world by such a retinue.

The little prince himself understood little of the occasion. Yet he was wide awake through the beginning of the celebrations, as lords and ladies came to greet him and wish him well. He observed them with his large eyes, which had become darker since his birth. He had grown much since May – though Elfwine had been a small babe, he had caught up much – the midwife had even surmised he'd soon grow bigger than infants of his age usually were.

Imrahil was the first one to officially greet the child, even though it wasn't the first he saw his grandson. Still, both Lothíriel and Éomer had thought he had this right as Elfwine's only living grandparent. His expression was very solemn as he held the infant, blessing him and calling him a dearly beloved grandchild, who would always have friendship and support of Dol Amroth. After him, rest of the little boy's kin came: Éowyn and Faramir, Aunt Ivriniel, and three princes of Dol Amroth. All of them had met the child already of course, but this had been in private – though like Amrothos, the first words out of Éowyn's mouth upon her arrival had been to ask about her little nephew.

Though now the event was formal, Amrothos was not. He made noises and faces that could be called ridiculous, but seemed to immensely amuse Elfwine ("If I were you, I would watch him before he steals that child", Elfhelm snorted). His greeting of the little prince was oddly similar to the one he received from halflings Meriadoc and Peregrin a little later – the two hobbits had been invited as well, and from Edoras they would continue to Minas Tirith with Aragorn and Arwen. Their friend Samwise had been invited too, but according to his two friends, he was far too busy with his growing family to make lengthy trips. At any rate, Lothíriel muttered to Amrothos a little later: "The more I see of hobbits, the more convinced I am you are one of them – though perhaps a bit tall and touched in the head at that."

Amrothos had to be escorted away, howling with laughter.

The little prince became very quiet when Queen Arwen held him. What she whispered to him no one would know; perhaps it was some Elvish blessing to protect him. Aragorn, however, was less mysterious than that. When he received Elfwine, he spoke in strong voice (yet soft enough that Elfwine wasn't startled), and he said: "This child will indeed have all the might of Arnor and Gondor to support him as long as he lives. He is dear to me already, for he is the son of Éomer King. My children will grow to regard him as their brother, just as his father is mine – not in blood, but in love and loyalty. There shall be friendship between our houses as long as these endure."

Then, soon as he had placed Elfwine in his mother's arms again, he embraced Éomer; Lothíriel was close enough to hear the words he uttered: "I'm happy for you, brother. May Ilúvatar bless you and your family."

Not many greetings moved her as much as that one, though it was not to say each one was not appreciated. For as guests came to wish well and greet their son, Lothíriel could see how deeply they welcomed Elfwine, and how glad they were for the existence of this little child she and Éomer had brought into the world.

And so there was a great feast in the Golden Hall, full of laughter and song and joy. Lothíriel welcomed this abandon, and she was glad to see Éomer laughing and smiling so much. Moreover, in Meduseld there were so many dear faces gathered, like there only rarely was. And so it was all the more precious.

Towards the end of the banquet Elfwine was growing tired, Lothírel decided it was a high time to take the child to bed. So, after Éomer had given a kiss to their son, and drinks had been toasted for the prince for one last time, she headed for the royal chambers with the babe. However, she gained company before she got to her destination.

"Mind if I join you for a bit?" Father asked softly, smiling at her.

"Of course not. Come along", she invited him, supporting Elfwine against her shoulder. Her son was somewhat fussy – no wonder after such a long day, and having met so many strangers. All things considered, Elfwine had got through it most beautifully. Well, he was a born prince.

Father followed them into the royal chambers and into the nursery, where the prince would stay the night with his maid. He remained nearby, observing his daughter quietly as she fed her son and changed him, all of which she managed more effortlessly now than in the beginning. She could have asked Elfwine's wet nurse to see to these, but she found she rather liked to take care of him by herself, if she were able.

"He seems like such a calm and quiet child", Father commented as Lothíriel carefully wrapped blankets about Elfwine, to make sure he'd be warm through the night.

"It amazes me too. I had not thought our son would have such an even temper", she said and let out a soft laugh. "Then again, maybe he's just waiting for a right moment to unleash it on his poor parents. I wonder, how did you ever manage to raise me? Sweet Elbereth, even in the best of times I was such a little beast!"

Now was her father's turn to laugh.

"Where do you think all my grey hairs have come?" he asked back teasingly, making her snort and roll her eyes, but she couldn't fight her smile for long.

When her son was safely in the cradle, wrapped in warm blankets, Father spoke softly: "After all these years you still keep surprising me. I never thought you would raise such a family... I was sure it would be a complete catastrophe if such ever happened."

His expression had become a gentle one, filling her heart with the fondness and love she had for him.

"Well, I suppose it _would _be with anyone else. But Éomer was always different... things make sense with him. And I am fairly sure of all the people in all the world he is the only one who can make it so for me", Lothíriel said at length. She shook her head, "No wonder I kept fighting so stubbornly against him."

"No wonder indeed. Your mother did just the same... all the more reason to think she would immensely have enjoyed watching you fall in love with your horselord", Father commented softly, his expression bittersweet. She knew her own must be so too, and she wiped an errant tear from the corner of her eye. Though Mother was gone, her life went on in her children... and now in Elfwine as well.

"Now you have made me cry. Thank you, Father", Lothíriel said, though she kept her tone gentle.

"I am sorry. Such a night is not meant for tears", he said and offered her a smile once more, and then he pulled her into a tight hug.

* * *

The tables had been cleared away and the clatter of dishes and plates was replaced by chatter and occasional bouts of laughter. The mood was still very formal though, what with all the fine Gondorian folk. But Alger did not spare with his consumption of ale – it was only right to honour the heir of the realm properly. But it was also to honour the woman who had carried and birthed the little prince. As Alger looked about, he saw her returned in the Hall again, side by side with her father Prince Imrahil. It was easy to tell they were so closely related, especially by the light they both carried in their eyes.

Looking at his Queen, Alger still felt that familiar sting of an unrequited emotion, though it was stayed when she stopped by the side of the King and he wrapped an arm about her waist, pulling her closer to him. The glance they shared could not be mistaken about. Well, it wasn't like Alger had ever had any chance against _that. _

He pushed the matter out of his mind and thought of getting a refill, despite the fact he was also starting to feel slightly drunk. But after he had found himself more ale and drank his tankard halfway empty, he felt the call of the nature and decided a trip outside was what he needed anyway. So Alger began to make his way through the crowd, greeting friends on his way, and friendly smiling at a group of Gondorian ladies – about his age, he deemed, and as different from the women of the Mark as day was from night. Sometimes it was hard to believe Lothíriel Queen really was one of them.

The twin doors of the Golden Hall had were both open, to let inside some fresh air of the gentle August night. It was clear and stars twinkled bright, and many torches gave light to the courtyard and terrace of Meduseld. Even here there was a rise and fall of noise, of whispers and laughter in the shadows, and near the doors Alger saw a couple in the middle of a passionate kiss. A warm feeling grew in his heart: this was _home, _and he would not have exchanged it to any palace in the world.

He made his way down the steps of the Golden Hall and stopped by the fountain to drink some cold water – though he had consumed plenty of ale, he could still appreciate the cool, fresh liquid that poured plentiful from the fountain near the Hall. It was said to have the purest water in all the Mark, and it was so cold some said you could taste the winter in it. He cupped his hands and scooped them full of water. Yet even as he was drinking, a voice of a man ranting carried over to him from close by.

"... it is like I have been saying, don't you see? That child is not the King's son – he is an Elven babe, if anything. He exists because of some sort of witchcraft – everyone knows she could not give him a son..."

Alger thought he had heard that voice before, but he could not place it, not first at least. And at any rate his focus was not in the attempt of recalling any names. Rather, it was exploding with the outrage that someone would dare to speak so of his Queen and her son.

The offender was an elderly man, talking heatedly to another one; had the object of his insult been anyone else than Lothíriel Queen, his age might have made Alger hesitate. But it _was _her to suffer such injury, and while Alger breathed no one, not man or woman, elderly or child, would dishonour her.

He strode fast to the two men – they were some six feet from the fountain, concealed partly in the shadow. They noted his arrival and turned to look at him, most like expecting some kind of an address from him. But Alger gave them none such thing. He just pulled back his fist and then flung it at the elderly man. He cried out and fell, thudding on the ground like a sack of potatoes.

"Banstan!" exclaimed his friend in shock, and turned then to look at Alger, "How dare you hit an old man!"

"How dares this old man insult and debase a great lady who is so far above him that he would not be fit to kiss her feet!" Alger growled back. Then he hit the other man too, and this one fell on the ground as well.

The situation changed as soon as it had started, for Banstan, still on the ground and pressing a hand against his bleeding nose, yelled: "Guards! Guards!"

* * *

Elfhelm arrived to the scene when it was already over, and guards were merely cleaning up: the two elderly men were being escorted to see a healer, and Alger, whose left eye was walling up from a melee with a pair of guards, was taken to sleep off his intoxication. Edelric was the one overseeing this situation and the Marshal deemed he had it firmly under his control, so he merely stopped next to the young captain.

"Everything all right here?" he asked anyway – one of the guards had informed him of the fray when he had come outside to catch some fresh air. But the fact the noise had not even reached Meduseld suggested it had not been very serious in the first place.

"Aye, it's fine. I don't think there will be any more disturbances tonight, not by these gentlemen at least. I have ordered the guards to keep a close eye on things, though", Edelric answered, watching as Alger was carried away. The lad was finely drunk to say the very least, but Elfhelm did wonder still – he hadn't known the young man to be aggressive when he was deep into his cups.

"What happened?" Elfhelm wanted to know. He hadn't thought the celebration for Elfwine Prince would be grounds to brew any fights. But his question made Edelric frown slightly.

"The best I could figure, it seems that Alger was, hmm, _educating _some ill-mannered codgers", he said delicately. Elfhelm's confusion probably showed on his face, because the captain went on after a short silence, "I understand some implications were made about our prince."

"What kind of implications?" Elfhelm asked. He was now frowning too, though he was also beginning to understand just why Alger had been throwing punches. He might have done the same himself, had he been drinking ale at such rate.

"That he's not of the line of Eorl", Edelric grunted and made a face. Elfhelm cursed under his breath and his hands became fists; that people would be talking such outrageous nonsense! If Éomer heard of this, people would be sorry.

"Who were those men, to dare to claim something like that?" he asked, his voice wavering with anger.

"Do you remember that old man Banstan? The one who acted as adviser to Déor my cousin?" Edelric asked, shaking his head. Though he did not voice his displeasure as bluntly, the steely glint in his eyes did very much reveal what he thought.

"Banstan! I should have known that old miscreant would make another appearance", Elfhelm growled.

"I know. I had thought he would have got the point already", muttered the captain and sighed now. "I should probably go and report to the King."

"Hmm. Perhaps we shouldn't tell him anything, not tonight at least. It would just ruin both their moods", Elfhelm suggested then, rubbing his forehead. He knew what this night meant to his two friends and he did not want to spoil it in any way, or let some old fool ruin it.

"Aye, maybe you're right. There's plenty of time tomorrow", Edelric agreed after a moment of consideration. A slight crease appeared on his brow, "I should tell the guards to make sure Banstan does not make another appearance tonight."

When Elfhelm made way back inside, his mood was somewhat dampened. It was appalling as ever to know there were still tongues wagging nonsense when it came to the Queen, as though she had not given proof enough of her worth. Not to mention the Gondorian courts would no doubt just love it if they were led to believe Rohirrim did not accept Imrahil's daughter as their queen. But hopefully, Elfhelm thought, this was just Banstan and a few of his ilk: too old and too embittered to change their ways, no matter how preposterous, but essentially not very serious.

His mood was restored when he returned the feast inside and notes of music reached his ears over the noise of the crowd. Several voices were singing around one table, and they had gathered many spectators, both Rohirrim and Gondorian.

It took a moment to Elfhelm to comprehend what they were singing about. He heard the names, the places... his own was mentioned too, but only briefly. For it was a song of how Éomer King and Lothíriel Queen had returned from beyond all hope and brought back peace and justice into the land. When the chorus came, all the Rohirrim in the audience joined it, and the Hall echoed with the song. Up on the dais, the royal couple were listening to it as well; Éomer was smiling slightly and looking at his wife, and there was wonder on Lothíriel's face... but this emotion was accompanied by a glimmer of tears in her eyes. Elfhelm did not not have to think about it: he would probably be in tears too, if he ever went to live among a foreign people and saw them embracing him as their own.

A slow smile grew on the Marshal's face and his earlier indignation was replaced by joy. _Let the dogs bark as they will, _he thought to himself, _for the truth is so much more than that. _

* * *

**A/N: **Here comes an update! I hope you will have a wonderful week. :)

Here's a glimpse of the celebration. Though dogs bark indeed, it is like Elfhelm says: truth is so much more. But just to make clear, Banstan and his kind are a very small but vocal minority, and for the most Eorlingas, Lothíriel is _the _Queen.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **She too has the occasional gift of foresight, like people of her line sometimes do. In case you don't remember, she had a vision of Elfwine before she knew for sure she was pregnant, and in the vision she saw him as he will be full-grown.

**brandibuckeye - **Thank you! :)

**Wondereye - **They had some less stressful times indeed!


	35. Chapter 35

Éowyn could well remember the royal chambers from the time Uncle had still lived. She recalled the shadows lurking about, the stale smell, the dust covering the furniture... for one reason or the other, Wormtongue had not let the servants clean up the place properly. Perhaps it had played a part in why the loathsome man had been able to retain his hold over the King. When Uncle had been restored, there had been more pressing matters in the realm than renovating any chambers.

After the Great War, Éomer had been reluctant to change anything in the royal chambers – well, beyond a proper cleaning, that was – and she knew the reason: changing the place would mean Uncle truly was gone. He had not felt comfortable in these rooms, just as he had not felt like the mantle of kingship suited him well. Éowyn had done what she could, but ultimately she knew she could not walk that path of moving on for him.

He had walked it in the end, and she thought it tied in strongly with the prospect of a marriage and a future. Of course, seeing he could manage the challenges of being a king had helped. Soon she would notice the stand for his armour was not stuffed in some dark corner anymore, and he was slowly starting to claim the space for his own.

But now, as she sat by a long table and was holding her nephew in the crook of her arm, Éowyn felt like the last shadows of Théoden's time had been chased away. The curtains had been replaced with lighter ones and more sunlight was allowed in, and the very air of the chamber felt now wholesome_._ Here and there she could see objects that could only belong to Lothíriel or Elfwine, and Éomer's own belongings were happily (but orderly) scattered among those.

Yet perhaps the most drastic change was all the _life _she saw around her. The long table was packed full with friends and family: Lothíriel's Amrothian kin, Faramir, Arwen and Aragorn... Elphir and Erchirion were bickering about something, while Éomer and Imrahil and Aragorn conversed leisurely. Amrothos was not present though – he was probably sleeping off the ale he had consumed last night. Arwen and Faramir and Aredhel were laughing about something, with occasional interruptions from young Alphros who wanted to know what was so funny. Lothíriel and her aunt were deep in conversation, though at times she'd look up and glance at her son, as though to check he was still there. At such times Éowyn would smile at her in reassurance, even if she had to admit Elfwine was such an adorable child, she would have gladly stolen him.

The first she had seen Elfwine, she had marvelled at how much the child resembled his mother. She had been expecting to see more of her brother's likeness... but now, having watched her nephew, she thought perhaps Elfwine had inherited something else from his father than his face. For already his eyes were very dark, and though his gaze was that of a small baby's, she thought she saw there a promise of what would one day be a keen glance not unlike Éomer's. Quietly Éowyn smiled: this was truly her brother's child, and years to come would show just how much he resembled his father.

She thought of her own son Elboron, who had been too small to make the long journey; it was the first time she was away from him for such a long time. It was not an easy parting, though she knew her little son would want for nothing. Though she missed home and Elboron, this visit to Edoras had been long overdue; just as Éomer had made the sacrifice of travelling to see her son while Lothíriel was pregnant, so she would make it for him and his wife... and for their little son, her nephew. It would be a couple of years still before Elboron could make the journey to the Mark, but once the time came, Éowyn would make sure her son would know Éomer's.

Now, as her soft words brought a smile on Elfwine's face, she suddenly heard her brother's voice beside herself: "You two surely are getting along well."

Éowyn looked up to see a wry smile on Éomer's face. She grinned as a response.

"Aye, we are. I was considering how I might be able to smuggle him out of Edoras and the Mark. I'm sure Elboron would like a little brother", she said teasingly. He frowned at her, but she recognised the glint in his eyes.

"You wouldn't dare", Éomer said in low tones and reached for his son. "Give him back, you thief."

Laughter rose among the company and she joined it as well, but she did relinquish the little prince to his father. Éomer might be joking still but she knew how fiercely he loved his family. Elfwine let out a happy little sound when he recognised who was holding him now, and a gentle and mellow look filled his father's face. That expression meant the world, for Éowyn had watched him grow into an angry young man, plagued by the constant fear that the Mark would perish and he could do nothing to prevent it. Even as her own troubled mind had grown light with the end of the Great War, he had still been so restless, and the southern campaign had left him haunted and sick at heart. Yet all that was remedied in Elfwine's smile.

Later that there finally came the opportunity to talk with Lothíriel in private. Past few days had been too busy for such a thing, so when the two women sat down in Éowyn and Faramir's chamber (he had gone somewhere with Éomer and Aragorn), the White Lady was glad for a chance to talk properly with her sister-in-law. The matter of childbearing was discussed, and eventually she asked if Lothíriel and Éomer were meaning to have more children. The question brought a slight frown on the younger woman's face.

"We haven't really talked about it. But I'd like to, and I think he would not mind the idea either. It's just... well, I don't know if I can conceive again, or if this were just something that happens once. I'd like Elfwine to have siblings, just like I did, and Éomer", she replied at length. She went on, her voice softer now, "He's such a wonderful father. And he has so much to give."

"I always knew he would be when the time came. There is so much love in that man, though he only shows it to a few chosen people", Éowyn said, her voice gentle and low. Lothíriel made a quiet noise to agree. But then she looked up again, and she smiled.

"What about you and Faramir, then? Are you planning to give siblings to little Elboron?" she inquired. Éowyn smiled now too.

"Most likely we will. Faramir has always wanted a large family, and so have I", she replied, thinking only briefly why that was; in her mind, a family was a guarantee against the feeling of loneliness and being abandoned which had been caused by the untimely deaths of her own parents.

She ushered that thought of her mind and straightened up.

"Speaking of him, I would like to show you something", Éowyn said then, reaching for a leather folder she had carried all the way from Ithilien in the hopes of preserving its contents in pristine condition. She opened it and pulled out a piece of parchment.

"You said in your letters you were dying to see Elboron. Since it is going to be a while still before you or him can travel, I decided to bring you this", she said, offering the object to her friend. Lothíriel's eyes were curious as she received it, but then she saw what it was and let out a small _"oh!" _of delight.

The artist had come from the White City – Faramir had known him from years past when he had frequented the libraries of the Citadel, and met the man there. Elboron had been fussy on that day, so his father had sat with him to keep the child calm. In the end, the drawing had turned out very well: both the father and the son were smiling in it, and Elboron sat on Faramir's knee. The artist had perfectly captured how a smile would spread on the child's round face, though in black and white it did not show the grey of his eyes or the dark gold of his hair.

Lothíriel sat studying the drawing for a long time. When she looked up at last, she looked very moved, and Éowyn thought she even saw some tears in her friend's eyes.

"It is wonderful – he looks just like Faramir. Thank you so much, Éowyn", said the Queen of the Mark, her voice slightly weak for emotion.

"You are very welcome. Since we couldn't bring him with us, I decided this was the next best thing", Éowyn said, smiling as she spoke.

Wordlessly Lothíriel looked up. She was smiling and blinking tears from her eyes. Carefully she put aside the drawing, and then she got up, and in seconds Éowyn was enveloped in a crushing hug.

* * *

Days went by fast with all the guests and feasting in the capital. At the end of the day, Lothíriel would collapse next to Éomer in bed and tell him _"we are never going to throw anything bigger than a banquet again." _

Gently he would kiss her and smile, and then he'd tell her that to his experience, such promises rarely lasted. She realised he was probably right and hit him with a pillow. Somehow, the villain was able to turn a promising pillow fight into a lot of kissing.

Though hosting such gathering took its toll, mostly things ran very smoothly. Elfwine remained a very charming little prince, which also earned him a lot of happy caretakers. If the current holder was not a member of family or a close friend, Éomer would watch them like a hawk, ready to strike if he saw one instance of mistreatment. His temper was also tried when Elfhelm and Edelric reported an incident that had taken place outside the Golden Hall, involving Alger and two old men; far-sightedly Aragorn took him out and they had returned only after a long sparring session (poor Aragorn looked like he had received a proper beating). By that time Éomer was not bristling so obviously anymore, but it was probably good for Banstan's health that he had reportedly left the capital.

Strangely enough Lothíriel herself was far less upset than she could have been. She deemed it was because past few days – and months, really – she had only met love and respect among Eorlingas. Especially in the first night of celebrations, she had witnessed how her northern people regarded her – that they would include her in their songs was an honour of highest order, for she knew how important music was to the people of the Mark. Against such overwhelming acceptance, a few mumbling old men could hardly mean much to her. She explained this to Éomer as well, and he eventually agreed, which was for the better. Lothíriel did not want him worrying over much about this matter.

And if Banstan had not moved on, his granddaughter surely had: Hlísa visited the capital with Déor as well – with them there was their first-born son and she was obviously pregnant again. To her quiet pleasure Lothíriel noticed Hlísa and Déor were quite a happy couple and completely infatuated with each other. She was not very surprised to receive both of them separately to give her lavish thanks for contributing to their marriage.

There were a few minor disturbances to the peace, like when Alphros saw Elva with her wooden sword and informed her that girls weren't supposed to be warriors. This resulted in a wrestling contest between the two – which, to the great amazement of Elphir and immense pride of Éothain, Elva won – and a slight conflict for their parents. For Elphir and Aredhel were not impressed to learn of what had happened, whereas Éothain and Scýne firmly stated their daughter had just stood up for herself, and should not be punished for it. The incident took some mediating, but eventually with the diplomatic intervention of two kings it was resolved.

Still, afterwards Ceolwen muttered to Lothíriel: "Mark my words: that girl is going to be a Shieldmaiden."

* * *

_Life is strange, _Éowyn considered to herself as she stole a glance of her brother. It was one of those moments that, though entirely ordinary, also somehow reaches beyond it. Now it made her remember a time long ago when they had still lived in Aldburg and Father and Mother had been alive. She remembered her brother had been a tall clumsy boy, always running if he could help it – and in the process, colliding with a lot of people. His favourite place had been the training grounds, watching the Riders as they sparred and hoping to join in.

Similarly, it had been the training grounds he had spent most of his time in when Uncle had brought them to live with him in Edoras. The way Éomer kept training and hacking at the dummies, one might have thought those lifeless objects were the reason their parents were no more. She hardly saw him anymore, which had made her sad, but she didn't complain. Éowyn knew then already what a great fate was in store for her brother.

She wouldn't have thought such an angry, clumsy boy would grow to be the man he had become. Suddenly he wasn't so clumsy anymore, and winning fame in battle made him popular among his peers and maidens of his age. Before, Éomer might have spent nights with her and Uncle and Théodred (if their cousin happened to be in Edoras), but at the threshold of manhood he had increasingly sought the company of other young riders in the alehouses and taverns of the capital. Éowyn had sulked for months, but Uncle had been more understanding: "Théodred was just the same at that age. Don't worry, sister-daughter – it is only natural for young men to seek their freedom in this way."

Uncle had been right in the end, and once the first excitement of rampant merrymaking was gone, Éowyn would see her brother more and more busy with his training to become a Marshal. Then he had moved back to Aldburg to take charge of the East-mark and she was lonelier than ever, but she kept her silence still.

With the war approaching there was no more merrymaking. Edoras had grown grim and unwelcoming, and when Éomer visited the capital, he was always snappy and short-tempered – though not towards her. Despite all, she had been glad to see that the lively boy he had once been had not yet completely disappeared, and did not wonder that she was the one to be able to bring him out. After all, their bond had only been strengthened by the loss they had endured.

After the Ring War it had not been the taverns or training grounds he holed up in. Rather, if he were not riding up and down the land, he would spend hours and hours in the royal study and the council chamber. Delicately she had tried to told him to relax once in a while, but he had told her he had no time for that. She had sighed in frustration and shaken her head, hoping that he would loosen up a bit once he got married.

The man who had returned from the south had seemed somehow misplaced, wandering about like a restless spirit and regarding the world with wild eyes. He had not shown any great enthusiasm for the idea of going home – in that light, Éowyn felt she should not have been surprised when he left Pelargir in the middle of a night. In a way, it made sense that he had done so: ever since their parents had died, Éomer had been firmly under the impression he had to be strong... for her, for Uncle, for the Mark. He had conditioned himself into that belief so tightly that it became a part of who he was. And when a moment came he couldn't be that, he had to leave – for he couldn't stand anyone (well, except for Lothíriel) seeing he was no longer the strong man they thought him to be. Only, what he had not realised was that strong man never went anywhere. The south had not killed him – it had only defined him.

And that strong man she had seen charging over the forces of Feran the traitor, riding a great horse of silver.

Éowyn smiled. Her brother was on his feet, holding a report in one hand. He would slowly walk back and forth, though it did not seem like he was aware of doing that. His brow creased slightly as he read the parchment, and she could practically see how ideas sprung into life in his eyes. On his right arm he was gently rocking a dark-haired baby – his little son. Of Elfwine not much more was visible than the top of his head and the side of his face, and in one chubby hand he had grabbed some of his father's tunic. Occasionally Éomer would glance at the baby and smile.

_Yes... life is strange indeed. _

"What are you smirking about, sister?" he asked suddenly.

She just smiled widely at her brother. His look of slight bemused curiosity was absolutely endearing.

"It's a long story, brother."

* * *

**A/N: **Here's a new chapter! I hope you like it. :)

This update is heavy on Éowyn's POV, but I wanted to kind of "make up" for not properly showing her first meeting with Elfwine. Not to mention, being the one who has known Éomer for such a long time, I think she has an unique insight to his character and the struggles he has gone through.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **And it was nice to bring them together once more. :) I'm glad you liked it! Anyway, I always thought Banstan would eventually make another appearance, and what better place than the last chapter?

**brandibuckeye - **Thank you! :)

**Thalia - **I'm happy to hear you liked it! For now Elfwine is being a sweet little baby, but we'll see how that turns out once he grows. :)


	36. Chapter 36

Lothíriel had once told Éomer she had never really had any friends before her time in Rohan. She knew the reason for that – she had just been too different. It didn't mean she had been unhappy or lonely, though. She had been content in the companionship she had shared with her brothers. Well, maybe she had been content because she hadn't known what she was missing.

In Rohan, she had found love, life, friends... it was much to be thankful for, and she knew she would always be ready to fight for it.

One friend she had not thought to have was Marshal Elfhelm. She remembered him from the time after the War of the Ring had ended, striding tall and _Rohirric _with Éomer. While the man seemed to possess an invincible joy of life, he could be very prudent and fierce as well, and he had not seemed the kind of person she'd befriend.

She became aware of how fond she was of him on a day near the closing of the celebrations, when he sat with Elfwine on his left arm and Cenric sitting on his knee. The man did not seem to know he was being observed, and Lothíriel did not bear to make her presence known. Instead, she just watched.

"See, this little baby here is called Elfwine. He's your prince, Cenric. One day he will be your king. I know, he looks small now but he will grow. Even so, no matter how big he grows, you must always look after him and make sure he doesn't get into trouble. His Da would be so unhappy with us if we let harm come to him... and his Ma just might feed us to the orcs. So we must take very good care of him, son", Elfhelm explained to Cenric very solemnly. The little boy looked at his father with wide eyes; he had not yet seen his first birthday, but the likeness he bore to his father already was astounding.

"He's surprisingly good with them, isn't he?" Ceolwen asked softly as she stopped to stand beside Lothíriel. She went on, "And he learns so fast. You would laugh if you knew how awkward he was with Cenric when our son was born."

"I never thought I'd see Elfhelm as father", Lothíriel said, smiling at her friend. "But then, that was before I knew you."

Ceolwen answered the smile, though there was something bittersweet about it as well.

"Neither did I expect to see it. I thought we would have a few months together at best... my faith was not as strong as his, though I understand now how wrong I was to doubt you and Éomer", she said in quiet tones and shook her head. "I will never doubt either of you again."

"You doubted... yet you still fought with us. To me, that is what matters", Lothíriel said firmly and wrapped an arm about her friend's shoulders.

* * *

As any time of feasting, so did this one have to come to its end. A week had gone by in Edoras as though a blink of an eye, and on the next morrow, the retinue of King Elessar would head back to Gondor once more. Aragorn had been hoping he might continue northwards and visit Arnor at long last, but the situation in the east made him uneasy – he did not want to be as far as in the North Kingdom if a war loomed at Gondor's doors. For now, Arnor would still have to wait for him, but he fully intended to see to the lands of his birth and make sure the lost realm would rise again. Though he could not go there himself yet, past two years had already seen a slow but steady influx of hopeful new settlers travelling north to rebuild and inhabit Arnor once more.

But tonight he did not entertain the everyday concerns of the King. Rather, he enjoyed the feast in the Golden Hall: Rohirrim surely knew how to make merry and enjoy life. It was good to see his friends Éomer and Lothíriel were rather enjoying it too, as could be judged by the smiles on their lips and laughter on their brows. With his birth, Elfwine had brought such joy and hope into the world.

It was by chance that he came to stand next to Ceolwen, the famous Shieldmaiden who had been one of the first to join Éomer in the fight against the usurper, and who had married Elfhelm. Though Aragorn had met her a few times, he could not say he knew her very closely. He did know, however, that both Éomer and Lothíriel regarded her their friend, and in his eyes she needed no other credential.

As a greeting he lifted his cup, and she answered with a similar gesture and a smile.

"King Elessar. It is an honour", she said and nodded her head.

"Likewise, Lady Ceolwen", he replied and smiled as well.

"I hope you have enjoyed your stay here in the Mark?" she asked politely. Though she was considered a fine warrior, now she appeared like any noble woman of the Mark in her deep red gown, and her hair in thick braids. Though she was not the fairest lady of Rohan, she surely was an impressive one.

"I have, thank you. I'm always glad to visit your land, though it is too rarely now. The air here always seems somehow purer and clearer", he commented, making the blonde woman smile.

"That is the freedom you smell in our air", she said lightly and humorously. He let out a small chuckle and looked about himself, his eyes passing by many familiar faces. His smile became fond when he saw Gimli, holding little Elfwine on his knee and singing some Dwarven song to the prince. The sight was immeasurably strange, but also heart-warming.

The little boy's mother stood next to them, grinning brightly as mirth sparkled in her eyes, and Aragorn smiled to himself. He glanced at Ceolwen, "Tell me, my lady, how do you like your queen?"

His question brought a fond expression to the woman's face.

"She's my friend and I love her dearly. I have seen she's brave and a capable queen, yet I feel there must be some elf in her, for her spirit is evergreen... I think even if she and you both were a hundred years old, she could still make you laugh in a heartbeat", Ceolwen replied softly.

"Would other Eorlingas agree with you, my lady?" Aragorn asked carefully. He had sometimes wondered about it, because while Lothíriel herself said she felt welcomed, and Éomer insisted the Mark could not want for a better queen, they were both understandably subjective in their stances. Not to mention the reception of the Gondorian queen of the Riddermark could tell a lot about where the two realms stood in their alliance.

"Oh, our people love her, my lord. She is our Lioness and the mother of the future king. If there ever were a time our people were shy of her, it is long past, and most days they even forget she was not born in this land. While there has been some spiteful tales, to my understanding those are but a small minority against the general opinion", Ceolwen said firmly, giving Aragorn a stern stare. But then her expression became softer, just as well her voice, "In the end what she did for our king and for our people will always remain. It can never be forgotten, and never rewarded in the full measure."

He stood silent and said nothing; she looked straight at him again and a smile made its way to her face once more.

"And I know you played your own part in those events, my lord. Lothíriel says she'd not have got far without your guidance, and Lady Éowyn's help. So we owe to our gratitude to you also", Ceolwen stated and bowed her head.

"We all needed each other to find him and bring him back. Lothíriel's faith and tenacity, Éowyn's strength, my knowledge... these all played a part. Yet I had feared he would return home and find it hostile, perhaps receive some harm. You saw it was not so, and in aiding him you added to the saving of the Mark, my lady", Aragorn said and reached to touch the Shieldmaiden's shoulder. She looked up again and smiled.

"Éomer is my king. He is a good ruler – he cares about his people, and he came back even after all that he endured in the south. I would fight for him any day, even against the most overwhelming odds", Ceolwen stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Aragorn decided it _was. _He felt reassured: in the Mark, things were as they should be. Whatever wounds had been caused by the Kin-strife and events leading to it, he felt that those wounds were healing as finely as one could hope for... and with this peace, he knew his friend and brother could finally pursue and fulfil the promise Aragorn had seen in him from that very first meeting on the plains of the Mark.

* * *

With the ending of the celebrations, the crowd in Edoras dispersed once more and went their ways. Goodbyes were, as always, bittersweet; however after such a busy time the prospect of ordinary life was welcome.

Éowyn and Faramir took their leave with Aragorn and Arwen, inviting the royal couple of the Mark to visit them in Ithilien, and promising to write letters soon as they had arrived home. Luckily, Lothíriel's own Gondorian family left a few days later, so one did not have to endure so many goodbyes in one day. After many hugs and kisses, Father too insisted she and her two horselords must come visit Dol Amroth some time soon. It was strange to think the last she had been home, excluding her and Éomer's brief sojourn in the city after leaving Pelargir, had been during the southern campaign.

She reassured him they would come, held back the urge to hug him one last time, and watched as her family mounted their horses and carriages. By her side, Éomer stood – gently he wrapped an arm about her, and she leant closer to him. In silence they watched as the Amrothian company slowly exited the courtyard of the Golden Hall and started their way downhill. Lothíriel let out a small sigh – now, with the departure of the last of their guests, the celebrations were truly over.

"We do have to make that trip to Gondor as soon as we can. I want to see Dol Amroth again... I feel like I never said proper goodbyes to that place", she said that night to her husband, when all the guests were gone and quiet had fallen at last. Their son was with the nursemaid, allowing the royal couple some much needed time alone.

"Aye, we do. Your father would like it – he seems to miss you very much", Éomer said, watching her with half-open eyes. Settled lazily in an armchair and resting his feet on a stool, he too looked like he had been looking forward to this quiet moment. He spoke again then, but his voice fell more quiet, "Sometimes I have to wonder how you could leave your home like that and never demanded to go back. It seems like a great sacrifice."

"Well, it was not easy. But I knew and still do know what was at stake. First it was either home or your life, and for me there is not much of a choice between those... and then I kept thinking were I would be needed the most. I couldn't just go back to Dol Amroth in the middle of Kin-strife or in the first year that followed. I knew I could never just sit back in my father's palace while all that work was falling on you. Then Elfwine made it known he was on the way, and I can't travel as long as he's too small", she replied at length and leant back her head. She frowned slightly, "After all that has happened, it will feel strange to go there again... when we left for Pelargir, I had no idea it would be years I would next visit the place where I was born."

Her husband regarded her quietly and his brow creased. By his expression she could see there was something troubling him. But before she could ask what it was, he spoke up.

"It does not seem fair that you've had to give up so much because of me", Éomer said, regarding her with solemn eyes.

One corner of her mouth lifted in a half-smile and she waved her hand in a small dismissing gesture.

"Yet what would my life be without those sacrifices? I would spend my days in Dol Amroth, purposeless and alone, and my life would be empty of meaning. But for the road I walked with you, I now have a family of my own, and I can live knowing that I have helped to make so many lives better. What more can one ask for?" she pointed out gently. He thought of her words and nodded quietly – she saw he had to agree with her point of view. He did not say anything, though. He just sat there and watched her quietly, and she thought she saw some wonder in his eyes.

"What is it?" Lothíriel asked curiously. Now her horselord smiled, and the expression was incredulous and happy.

"I do not suppose I will ever understand what I did to deserve _you", _Éomer said plainly. The noise she made was something like a scoff, but it also held something very fond.

"It is very simple, you dear oaf", Lothíriel said and reached with her foot to nudge his.

"It is?" he asked with a slight lift of his eyebrows. She smiled.

"Yes", she replied and met his gaze steadily. "It's the simplest thing in the world: you loved me."

* * *

Life tooks its normal courses again in Edoras. As the autumn progressed, tidings came to the capital from the different parts of the realm: the harvest had been very good, and storages were filled with foodstuff to last through the winter and beyond. Éomer's efforts to increase the trading between Rohan and Gondor were starting to pay off as well, for traffic had slowly grown between the two realms since the ending of Kin-strife, and Rohirric products were highly sought after in the south. It appeared the Eorling weavers simply couldn't produce fabric fast enough to satisfy the demands of the traders. The lively trade had started to bring new wealth into the land which had been ravaged by wars only a couple of years ago. And if the foals and fillies born last spring would make it through their first winter, there was also a promise of great multiplying of the herds.

As the King's Marshals – the newly appointed Deorwine Marshal of the North-mark among them – visited the capital to give their reports, they said all the realm now seemed to thrive in a hopeful mood, and people spoke the name of Éomer Éadig in reverence and love. In the North-mark, building new villages was going well, and Deorwine's Riders kept at bay what few orcs dared to cross the border. Even the West-mark now had peace and prosperity, and according to Erkenbrand Feran's supporters there had mostly forgotten about their grudges. Moreover, another encouraging sign was the traffic between Rohan and Dunland – only, it was now becoming more peaceful kind, and there had been small trading contact.

"Perhaps it is because there is a king in Arnor once more. Now that folk are travelling there to rebuild Arnor, perhaps Dunlendings too are feeling the pressure to seek a more peaceful existence with the Riddermark", Éomer suggested when the matter was discussed in his council meetings. What ever the reason may be, Lothíriel at least was glad for it, and she knew her husband was too.

Lothíriel's days went by fast. Between her duties as the Queen, minding her son, and spending time with her family, not much spare time was left. But the moments she could take for herself were most often spent on the training grounds, keeping up her own skills of an archer or instructing others. Even more she'd be with the little filly Éomer had given to her after Elfwine's birth in the hopes of building a deep friendship with the young animal. She had not yet come up with a name for the filly, as nothing seemed quite fitting. It would be a while before they could ride together, but watching the young animal grow was rewarding as well, and being instructed by Éomer himself as to how to raise her was even more so.

Slowly but surely Elfwine grew, and it was delightful to watch him develop, see how his eyes became more aware and concentrated, and hear his cooing voice in the royal chambers and the Hall. When he learnt to turn, it was as though witnessing some kind of a miracle, and both the parents beamed proudly having seen it. The same joy and wonder were there when Elfwine started to move on his own, and when he took his first steps. Soon as he was able to walk on his own, there seemed to be no boundaries to his wish to explore his surroundings. Among the members of the household, the child was an endless source for laughter and mirth. Yet even as Lothíriel watched her son grow larger, she remembered what Osythe had said soon after his birth: _it will feel like a blink of an eye. _

It was not only the realm that thrived these days, but families as well. Ceolwen and Elfhelm came to the capital as often they could, bringing Cenric with them. When Éothain and Scýne's children were added and all were present in Meduseld, there was a multitude of noises of children in the Hall; they would run (or toddle, as in Cenric's case, and Elfwine would crawl after them) about while their parents sat around a table, drank ale or tea, and spoke of many things. Elfwine was still too small to understand much of what was going on, but Elva had already taken the three little boys under her wing and was their informal leader.

Looking at them in the middle of their games Lothíriel could only smile, for she remembered the most uncertain of times and moments of despair; flashes of memories on the smuggler ship, the long nights she had lain awake under the southern stars wondering if Éomer were still alive, and the weeks of struggle against Feran... in those times, she had not dared to imagine so much life would follow if they just endured through everything.

_All this, _she thought to herself when she looked at Éomer, balancing Elfwine against his shoulder and singing a song about his grand-uncle Théoden, _all this because he would not give up... because I could find him. May a day never come that I forget the meaning if it. _

* * *

**A/N:** Here's some domestic happiness! Celebrations are now over, but there is peace in the realm, and the reign of Éomer the Blessed is only at its beginning. :)

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **It's fun to engage different POVs at times, like Aragorn's in this one. I hope it's entertaining as well. :) And like I said, Éowyn should have a pretty unique point of view to her brother's life!

**brandibuckeye - **Glad to hear that! And thank you! :)


	37. Chapter 37

_April 4, Edoras_

Spring came to the Riddermark with a call to war. Elphir rode from Minas Tirith as a messenger from Aragorn, explaining how the situation in the east was turning ever more difficult; Elessar was now asking for his fellow king's aid to meet the threat. Lothíriel and Éomer did not welcome this turn of events, even though they had known to expect it. But neither did they have to discuss whether he would go or not. As always, he knew his duty... and he was twice bound, once by oath and once by friendship and love.

"It's strange, how life changes you. Only some five years ago I would have been excited to go", he said to her on the night of Elphir's arrival – by that time, riders had already been sent to muster éoreds for war, and in the capital preparations for the King's departure were in full speed.

"Yes, I suppose there are enough of things to keep you here now. It must be very different from when you were a Marshal", Lothíriel commented, glancing at her husband. He was seated on the edge of the bed, watching as she got undressed and readied to join him in the bed.

"It's not just that, though I do not deny our own hearth has now things I wouldn't stay for", Éomer said, his voice turning quiet. He shifted and moved his eyes away, and spoke again, "Once I embraced battles – thought it was the only thing I could do well. But after the south... and after these past three years it seems there must have been something insane in me to be so eager for war. I have seen enough of death, Lothíriel. I would now rather witness _life_."

Hearing that, and the heaviness of his voice, she moved to sit next to him and took his hand in hers. He apparently guessed what was on her mind, for he smiled slightly and gently cupped her cheek.

"It's all right, beloved", he said. "I may not enjoy it but duty can never scare me again, whatever it might be at the time."

He didn't have to explain himself any further than that, and with a quiet sigh she wrapped her arms about him.

"You promise to be careful?" Lothíriel mumbled half-audibly, the words containing so much that was left unsaid at the time, though not unknown: _you can't be replaced. _

"Aye, I will", he reassured her, and then pulled her into a long and deep kiss.

In less than a week later came the moment she dreaded: all was set in Edoras for the King's departure, and he would ride to Dunharrow for the marshalling of éoreds. Then the muster would leave for Gondor, and beyond... Éomer had been gone before, but not for months at a time, and he could not say when he would return. He promised to send letters, and this comforted her somewhat, though she knew messages would linger on the road for many days – by the time it reached her, situation might have changed entirely.

So, after he had kissed her and Elfwine for the last time, Éomer turned and strode down the steps, his men around him; Silfren stood ready for the road and tossed his head when his rider mounted him. Sunlight glimmered on the steel and the white horsetail of Éomer's helmet as he looked ahead. But then he spared his wife one more glance and a smile she knew was to encourage her. Then he looked ahead and with his command, the King's Company began for the road.

Lothíriel held Elfwine a bit tighter and swallowed hard to get rid of the lump in her throat. It was easier to fight when Éothain laid a hand on her shoulder – she had been so in the middle of her own goodbyes that she had not noticed his presence.

"I wish I could go with him", she said in quiet tones, watching as the line of riders disappeared downhill.

"I know that feeling, my friend. To this day I still regret that I can't... it still seems wrong to stay behind when he rides", Éothain replied and let out a sigh.

"If you did, then I would be missing you and your help, Éothain", Lothíriel said in an attempt to cheer him up. He glanced at her and she met his gaze steadily as she spoke, "I see now why my husband prizes your help and council so much."

The former captain looked slightly embarrassed and he made a gruff sound at the back of his throat. She did not say she had seen time and again how hard he worked, as though he thought he needed to prove himself constantly. And Lothíriel knew not to point it out. For after what Éothain had lived through, how could one persuade him that he did not need to prove his worth?

Though Meduseld was always lacking during Éomer's absence, it did not leave Lothíriel in leisure: she had her hands full running the Golden Hall, minding Elfwine, and taking care of what everyday matters of ruling she could. She would sit in council meetings and trudge her way through piles of reports, seeing to whatever cases she was able and leaving the more serious issues to wait for Éomer's return. There even came a day she had to hold a court of justice all alone in Meduseld, and that was more terrifying than facing a traitor, although Éothain stood beside her the whole time and matters brought to her attention were not the most challenging she had witnessed her husband resolving. Ruling was hard work, but only at the times when Éomer wasn't home did she really understand just how difficult it could be.

Whatever free moments there were usually passed by with Scýne, Osythe, and Ceolwen, who had come to stay in Edoras for a couple of weeks – Elfhelm had ridden with Éomer to Gondor, and she knew well how it felt like to miss someone irreplaceable.

Letters came, as Éomer had promised. In them, he described the road to Gondor and his arrival there, and the preparations for departure; in the last letter, he and Aragorn were on their way east, and at least then things had been looking promising. Reading his descriptions, she could picture the war company and their camps, the nights under the stars, the meetings and plans, the long days of travel... she wanted to be there too, though she rationally knew her presence was more needed in Edoras. And anyway, how should she have left Elfwine behind?

There were nights she could not sleep, and she'd lay awake thinking of her husband so far away from home, or perhaps watch Elfwine as the child slept next to her until she'd fall asleep too. Somehow, his presence did help a bit to catch some rest. She wondered if Elfwine missed Éomer as well, and thought that he did – while their son did not yet have words to express such concepts, there were moments when he'd look at his mother quizzically as though to ask where his father was. On the day of Elfwine's first birthday she felt overwhelmingly melancholy, though such date should have inspired joy; because Éomer was not there to celebrate the occasion with them, she refused to organise a feast. Her mood was slightly lifted when a few days later heavy parchments came from Gondor, and inside she found toy soldiers which must have been made by some very talented craftsman. With them came a letter of apology that he was not home with his family, and he promised they would have a proper celebration next year.

The incident took place when about a month had gone by since Éomer had ridden for Gondor. As the day was a fair one and she did not have so much work for the day, Lothíriel was able to take dress in her cloak, ask Scýne to accompany her, and make their way to the markets of Edoras. With the influx of traders from south and north, the place was cramped; she had seen an appeal from a company of traders to rebuild it larger so that more people would be able to sell their goods, and their customers would have more space to roam the markets. When she and Scýne came there, she could very much see it was a valid concern. But with Éomer away, there was little she could do about it.

Yet even if the place was packed, the arrival of the Lady of the Mark caused a stir, and way was made to her along with many bows and curtsies and happy greetings. Traders took notice of her as well, and many of them shouted out in an attempt to get her to their stalls – even if it were pots they were selling, and she did not exactly have use for those.

"It's a good thing I did not take more coin with me. Otherwise, I might leave this market with all sorts of knick-knacks", she wryly commented to Scýne, who laughed softly.

"We would have to call in reinforcements from the Hall – to get it all carried up and inside", she quipped, glancing at the two guards trailing them. Once there had been a time Lothíriel had rued having to be accompanied by riders of the Royal Guard, but she had got used to it, and knew it reassured certain mother hens disguising as Eorlingas.

"Éothain and Ceolwen would think I had lost my mind", Lothíriel said and chuckled.

She had heard some booksellers had come from Minas Tirith, and wishing to expand the royal library, she had decided to come and find out what was on sale. She wasn't a particularly avid reader, but her grandfather had made sure she knew the worth of written word. Not to mention she hoped books would be useful in Elfwine's upbringing one day. So, if the merchants she had been told about did have good stock, she might just end up calling for that reinforcement.

Once they had the directions for the booksellers' stall, they went and met with the merchants – their stock was less than she had hoped for, but she was able to purchase a book on the recent history of Gondor and even an account of re-establishing the kingdoms of Dale and Erebor. When she and Scýne left the stall, she thought she'd have to visit the booksellers in Minas Tirith the next time she would travel to Gondor.

They made their way through the markets, picking up some necessary items here and there: fabric for Scýne, new needles for the servants of the royal household, a pair of riding boots... by the time they were done it was already afternoon, and they decided to head back to the Golden Hall. Lothíriel thought of checking on Elfwine, and then she'd spend a few hours going through some appeals and reports. Then Scýne suggested she should join her family for supper later that evening, and they were discussing it when suddenly the Queen of the Mark noticed movement at the edge of her vision.

Hair on the nape of her neck stood up and a shiver passed through her in a moment of foreboding. She shifted and moved to side the very same instance that Scýne exclaimed: "Watch out!"

The knife was meant for her body, perhaps her chest or her abdomen to slash internal organs and cause serious damage, but her shift altered where it hit: she lifted her arm just in time and she could feel the blade cutting through fabric and skin. It hurt anyway and made her curse in pain, but the metal did not go so deep as to render her defenceless.

Her opponent was hooded and cloaked, not much taller than her – he lifted the blade again and meant to strike, but she caught him by wrist as instinct for survival took over. Then, as the crowd around them shouted in shock and terror and the guards threw aside things they had been carrying in order to rush to defend her, Lothíriel drove her knee into her attacker's groin and her forehead against his nose.

He yowled in pain as he fell, and then one of the two guards was on him, while the other grabbed Lothíriel by arm while he unsheathed his sword. Scýne picked up her skirts and went running, growling something about alarming more guards to storm the scene. The second guard pushed away the attacker's hood to reveal his face, and they saw he was no Rohirric man. Instead he looked like he was from the east – not of Harad, but perhaps from the vast lands of Rhûn.

"My lady, are you badly hurt?" asked the guard sheltering Lothíriel, his sword bared in case any more attackers appeared. Around them the crowd bustled, though they had retreated to create an empty ring – no one seemed to want a blade in their guts. Meanwhile, the attacker was writhing on the ground in a fetal position, and the second guard's task of watching him was mostly nominal, though he had his spear ready.

"No, I don't think so. It's just a scratch", Lothíriel replied and pressed the hem of her cloak against the wound. Her heart still beat fast and alarmed, as though the fight to defend herself was not yet over. In truth it was, because guards flooded the place then; in orderly fashion the culprit was taken in custody, the Queen and newly returned Scýne closed inside a defending circle, and the investigation of the scene was started.

"Come, let us get you back to Meduseld. We'll have a healer take a look at that wound", Scýne said briskly, linking her arm with Lothíriel's good one. The older woman glanced at her sternly, "Are you sure you can walk?"

"Of course I can. It really is just a scratch", said the Queen with a humourless smile. She was yet too dazed to make out anything about what had just happened. Her friend frowned.

"You must tell me right away if you start to feel faint", she insisted, and then they started for the Golden Hall. Guards remained around them the whole way, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords, though no one should be so mad as to try to harm their mistress now.

Half an hour later, when the healer had cleaned the wound – a longish but not very deep cut – and was in the middle of wrapping fresh linen around it, Éothain and Ceolwen came to see their queen. Both were wearing grave faces, and one might have thought Lothíriel had received a far more serious injury.

"Well? Have you been able to get anything out of that man?" Lothíriel asked once the healer was done with her, and she glanced at her two friends. She decided she'd be surprised if the villain had not said anything, seeing he had been interrogated by the two former captains. Even so, she already had her own suspicions about the reason of the assault.

"Not much yet. We will continue to question him, but right now it looks like he was trying to get revenge... it seems that someone in the east doesn't like how the campaign is going", Ceolwen replied.

"You mean they may have sent men all the way here, to harm me in hopes of distracting my husband and Aragorn?" Lothíriel asked and narrowed her eyes, looking from the Shieldmaiden to Éothain. The thought had occurred to her, but it still astounded her.

"It is possible, yes. With all the traffic in the realm it would be easy at least", he said. The implications occurred to her in a blink of an eye, making her nearly leap from her seat.

"You must send a rider to Minas Tirith immediately. If someone is trying to take revenge on the Lords of the West by attacking one royal consort, then the other may very well be in same danger. Arwen's guards and Faramir must know as soon as possible what is afoot", Lothíriel said sharply.

Ceolwen's eyes widened only very slightly and briefly. She had been in war enough not to give in to shock when action was needed.

"Aye, I'll see to it right away", she said and strode out swiftly to send a rider to Gondor. Éothain remained behind, looking worried.

"I shall have men search the capital in case there are more Easterlings here", he said, but his words made Lothíriel frown.

"This was unfortunate, yes, but we can't assume everyone is a potential assassin", she pointed out. "It's already bad enough now. I don't want people on a lynching mood because of one man's deeds."

"When your life and well-being are in question, I will not do things by halves", Éothain said sternly. "That is the least I can do for my king."

Lothíriel groaned. Of course she should have known he would bring up her husband... she could very well imagine how Éomer would take these tidings. For the man who had attacked her it was very good Éomer was not home... but even so, after an attempt on the life of the Queen, his future prospects did not seem very good.

"Do you think Queen Arwen really might be in danger?" Scýne asked then – she had been silent until now, but had followed the conversation keenly.

"I wish I knew. This could have been just an isolated event, but we must take it into account and warn her... still, it's days' ride to Minas Tirith, even for one fast rider. I hope she'll be all right", said the Queen and sighed as she rubbed her forehead with her free hand.

"I'm sure she will be. The Citadel is very safe, and she is guarded by capable men", Scýne said in an attempt to console her, though there was slight concern on her features as well. Arwen could be under attack this very moment... Lothíriel shook her head, trying to rid herself of the dread. After all, it was not like they could do anything now, except hope that the rider would reach the White City before it was too late.

* * *

_Early June 4, near River Running in Rhûn _

Rain had been falling since a few days ago.

It had left the camp a muddy field and was carried everywhere – there was mud even on Éomer's sleeping furs. As the rain combined with a cold wind from the north, he was starting to forget how it felt like to be warm and dry. If he had not known better, he would have guessed the time of year was October rather than June. The weather was also stalling them on an otherwise prolific campaign. As long as rain continued to fall, they could not make progress.

"I think my boots have sucked up so much much water and mud, it will create a whole new lake in the Mark once we get back", Edelric muttered half to himself as they made way from Aragorn's tent. Éomer paid only brief attention to his captain's words, as he was mulling over the meeting with his fellow king. He thought of sufficiency of the provisions, of battles still ahead, and of going home. It was nearly two months since he had left Edoras and he felt the length of that time keenly; this was the first time he was parted from his wife for such a period, and it was still going on. He had no doubt she was fine, and Elfwine too, but still he missed them terribly.

"I'm sure the rain will end soon and we can leave this place", he said to his captain, though the weather was starting to get on his nerves too. What would he have given if he could have sat before a fireplace in Meduseld, watching his wife and son!

"Well, I hope it does. Some sunshine should cheer up the men as well", Edelric commented wryly. Not that their morale was very low, for Eorlingas were a people who moved a lot under the bare sky, and it would take much more than just a few days of rain to shock them. Rather it seemed the Gondorian troops were much more affected by the weather.

As they approached the royal tent, the guards bowed their heads to the two men and made way. At least inside it was slightly less wet – though the furs near to his cot smelled abysmal for all the water they had sucked up, and most likely would have to be burned once this war was done for.

He gestured his captain to sit down and poured them some wine while Edelric pressed rainwater from his long hair. The young man received the cup with thanks and downed almost half of the drink in one go, while Éomer sat down and kicked off his boots. He stripped his feet bare and stretched; he had to smile, because he could almost hear Lothíriel telling him he'd catch cold. The dear woman still did not seem to believe him when he told her the cold had never much bothered him.

"What are you smiling about?" Edelric asked, bringing Éomer's attention back to the present moment.

He smiled still when he answered, "I was just thinking about Lothíriel."

His captain made a noise someone who didn't know him might have called rude. Edelric sipped his wine again before muttering, "I should have known."

Erkenbrand's son looked at him then with a jesting half-smile, "You and that wife of yours are so sweet together it's disgusting."

Éomer chortled and sat back, running fingers through his damp mane.

"Sorry. Can't help it", he said humorously. His captain let out a soft laugh and relaxed on his seat as well. Quietly they spoke of days ahead and what things would follow, and whether they might soon see the end of the campaign. While they had won a few victories against the hostile forces of Rhûn, a definitive battle had yet to take place.

It was in the middle of this conversation that the messenger arrived, way-worn and dripping wet. A guard announced him from the doorflap of the tent: "Sire, a Rider has arrived from the Mark."

"Let him in", said Éomer and stood up; like always, there was a slight leap of his heart and a sudden twist, for he could never know if the tidings would be good or bad. The messenger stepped in and he did not seem to wear any ominous expression, which at least consoled the King of the Mark somewhat.

"My lord, there are letters from the Mark – from Lothíriel Queen and Lord Éothain", said the rider and bowed at his liege-lord.

"Give them to me", Éomer said impatiently, reaching his hand towards the messenger. News from home were always welcome, and on this rainy night Lothíriel's words seemed like a promise of a warm embrace. The rider produced two scrolls from the satchel on his side and offered them to his king, who grabbed them hastily

"Go and get some food and rest. One of the guards will find you a place", he said to the messenger, who bowed again and exited the tent. Edelric stood up from his seat and grinned.

"I will leave you to it, then", said the captain, to which his lord only growled half-audibly, his mind already turned towards the letters. He paid little attention to his captain as Erkenbrand's son left the tent. Éomer was fast considering which letter he should read first: while he was anxious for his wife's words, he thought perhaps he might save those for later – to savour them when he was sure he wouldn't be disturbed, and compose an answer too.

So he set her letter aside for the time being and instead sat down to read Éothain's letter. After breaking off the seal he rolled it open an began to read:

_My friend,_

_While I know your wife is writing you a letter – and no doubt she'll give you a better description than I could – I thought you might wish to hear another account as well. It could be a grave matter, though at the time I'm writing this letter we don't know everything yet. I do not know if it might be important for your campaign in the east but alas, I would not take any chances. _

_Yesterday there was an attempt on the life of your wife. Don't be alarmed, my friend – she was not injured badly and the wound she took to her forearm should heal nicely. Certainly it is not holding her back in the slightest. I know what you must be thinking right now, but I assure you she is fine..._

When Éomer stopped reading the letter, his heart had already assumed a fast pace, and there was a feeling like just before battle. But he felt anxiety and terror as well, even despite Éothain's reassurances. It remained one of his greatest fears, that something should happen to Lothíriel while he was far away and unable to help her...

The bottle of Rohirric liquor stood on a stand nearby. He grabbed it and took a long swig, reminding himself Éothain wouldn't lie to him, and least of all when it came to _her. _If his friend said Lothíriel was all right, then there was no reason to doubt him. Moreover, she _had _written a letter to him, so it was foolish to imagine she was laying on her death bed or something of the sort. Yet he still felt a wild urge to jump in the saddle and race back to the Mark, even if he knew the mere thought was irrational.

He took another mouthful of the liquor and continued reading. Éothain explained what had happened: the attack at the markets, Lothíriel's response _–_ _"You'll get a better description from her, I imagine", _he wrote – and the interrogations afterwards. At the time Éothain had written the letter, the culprit had not yet told much about his reasons and whether he had been working alone but one thing was clear: he was of the people of Rhûn, which clearly connected him to the present campaign. Éothain promised to send riders as soon as he knew more, and insisted that in the meantime, the Queen and the Prince would be watched over most diligently. As for the attacker, he'd be kept tightly under guard until Éomer could return and see to the matter himself.

_"Don't be troubled, though these tidings seem to give a reason. Eorlingas certainly don't seem disheartened by the incident – rather, they are proud of their queen, for there was quite a crowd to see her fight and defeat her attacker. I would tell you not to worry if I did not know that you will anyway. Just remember your wife is Lioness, and assassins will have to try much harder to cause her harm."_

Éomer took a third swig of the liquor and rested his forehead against his hand.

_Oh, but my friend, it is the fact that they try which kills me... _

* * *

**A/N: **And here comes an update! I'm going on a holiday and won't have time to write anything, so this chapter is a bit "meatier", if you get what I mean. I have a feeling this little story thread may continue to several more chapters. :)

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **It's also entertaining to switch between POVs every now and then. I'm glad you enjoyed it! And yes, kids at that age are so adorable!


	38. Chapter 38

_Mid-June 4, Edoras_

After the incident, a watchful atmosphere reigned in the capital of Rohan. While people of Edoras were generally proud of how their queen had handled her attacker, they also did not like what it implied. Moreover, there was no telling whether there would be another such incident.

As such it was no wonder that Éothain insisted Lothíriel and Elfwine should be heavily guarded at all times, which the Queen allowed. Yet Ceolwen observed that in his ideal world, the two would not leave the Golden Hall before such time he knew for sure no more assassins were seeking to end her life, or Éomer came home. However, Lothíriel would not have any of it: "I will not hide in Meduseld like some coward. I'm not going to let them think I'm afraid of them."

Her voice was stark as she made clear her stance and Éothain knew not to argue. It did not prevent him from shaking his head and looking exasperated. But Ceolwen thought Lothíriel was right: she should not let some villains and lawbreakers set the rules by which she lived. Even so, the Shieldmaiden took to wearing her chain-mail again and strapped on her sword whenever the two women ventured out together. No one would get to her queen while she was able to wield a blade.

As for the culprit, he would not speak much when interrogated; there were some mutterings perhaps he should be coaxed more pressingly, especially because of what he had mean to do. But Lothíriel was also very clear on the matter of his treatment. No definitive decisions on his fate would be made before Éomer came back. It also remained unclear if he had accomplices – at least he named none, and a search of the capital did not reveal any either.

Lothíriel and Éothain had sent letters to Éomer on the day after the incident, and he fast responded to those. Ceolwen did not know the contents of the message he had sent to his queen, but Éothain at least reported he was very displeased and insisted they keep the assassin behind the bars until he could come home and see to the matter himself.

"He must have been very angry when he wrote the letter. Some parts of it he had written so fast I could barely read it", said the former captain to Ceolwen, frowning as he spoke. "I only hope he won't let his anger compromise the campaign."

"I wouldn't worry about it. He can put it aside, or use it if he needs to. If anything, it should just inspire him to give the Easterlings a serious reason to consider whether it was wise to meet the Mark and Gondor in battle", Ceolwen said calmly. Éothain considered her statement for a while and eventually nodded.

"I suppose you have it right. I keep forgetting that you know him as a leader in a ways I do not", he said in quiet tones, not quite able to hide the regret he spoke with. Ceolwen did not wonder: she knew what being the captain of the King's Guard had meant to Éothain. While it had not been her calling the way it still was his, she treasured the time she had been given in that position... perhaps, in a different life, she might have continued in it for much longer. Be it as may, they both knew the King they now served was not the same man who had ridden south four years ago.

But though in the capital atmosphere remained somewhat tense, there were good tidings as well. For the rider Ceolwen had sent to Gondor returned eventually, reporting that Queen Arwen was fine and unharmed. In her letter she thanked her fellow queen for the swift warning and said that in the Citadel security measurements had been tightened, and Faramir was busy investigating if there were any rumours of assassins in Minas Tirith.

Lothíriel herself took the matter quite calmly, and though she didn't protest to having more guards, she didn't believe more villains would come to threaten her.

"And if they do, I'll send them to keep company with that first one. Or if they make the mistake of coming near my son, you will find that an executioner won't be needed", she stated firmly and told Éothain not to worry. While Ceolwen could comprehend her queen's calmness, she was rather surprised when the younger woman requested to meet the man who had tried to kill her. It was one of the few times the Shieldmaiden witnessed her friend and Éothain quarrelling intensely, but in the end the former captain was forced to give up.

When Scýne heard of it, she lifted her eyebrows and looked at her husband with some surprise, "You seriously believed you could win?"

* * *

"Are you sure you wish to do this, my lady?" asked the guard before he opened the door of the prison cell. Lothíriel gave him a pleasant smile.

"I am certain. He is in shackles, I am armed, and you are just outside the door. What do I have to fear?" she asked him in calm tones. He frowned briefly and looked uncertain, but at least he knew not to argue. To herself, she wondered if it had been Éothain or Éomer himself who had bullied the guards of Edoras into such paranoia.

"Very well then", he said and bowed at her. "Just call me if you need anything, my Queen."

"Of course", she said and rested a hand on the hilt of her short blade. Though she was determined to show only calmness to her people, she would not tempt the fates when meeting again the man who had tried to kill her.

The door was opened for her and she took in a small breath as she stepped in. There was a chair and a table in the cell, and a candle had been left there for her convenience. Quietly she took seat before focusing her eyes on the man sitting by the wall; the cell did not have much, but at least he had been provided with a bunk, and fresh water and food was brought to him every day. With a shudder she remembered the evils of her husband's captivity, and also those of Elfhelm and Éothain's. After hearing such stories she would not have any prisoner treated inhumanly, even if the man before her now wasn't innocent.

She could feel his eyes on herself before she met his gaze at last. When she did, Lothíriel stared back at him firmly and calmly, regarding her would-be killer in the hopes of seeing what kind of a person he was. His hair was short, wavy and dark – even darker were his eyes, so that in this light they seemed black. She supposed he was a comely fellow with his finely defined features and full lips. It was a good, ordinary face; had she passed him by on a busy street, she would never have guessed his intention.

"I would ask you to sit with me, but as you can see, there is not a great abundance of furniture, and I'm afraid my guards insist I retain certain level of distance to you", she said conversationally at last, if just to break the silence. The man tilted his head and narrowed his eyes slightly as he searched her face.

"You are not afraid I might try to harm you again?" he asked bluntly.

Lothíriel gave him a crooked half-smile and lay a hand on her blade again.

"The thought did occur. But even then, it would remain a mere attempt", she said and sat back, though her attention was not anything less than fully focused on him and his barest gesture.

"Yes, I suppose you can say that", he said, his voice falling lower now. It was a pleasant baritone, though perhaps a bit higher than Éomer's. She had to marvel at this scene silently: here she was, sitting and conversing politely with her attacker! No wonder Éothain had kept glancing at her like he thought her mad.

"Do I have to explain why I have come?" she asked then, ushering away thoughts of the former captain.

The man from east still stared at her as he answered, "You have come to ask why I tried to kill you."

"One likes to know such things", Lothíriel stated and crossed her knees. With a slightly sharper tone, she went on, "I was also wondering if you had friends who might want to finish what you started. But first I would wish to hear your name."

Her request brought a strange little smile to the man's face.

"In this part of the world I am called Agon, but it is not my true name", he replied slowly. He spoke Westron very well, and she could hardly notice an accent in his speech.

"Then tell me, Agon, why did you want to kill me?" she asked, staring straight into his eyes. If she had expected her gaze and straightforward manners would unnerve him, she had been wrong.

"It is nothing personal, Queen Lothíriel. You seem like a wonderful lady, and I see now why a word of you has even travelled to my land in the east", Agon answered. It was certainly a surprising statement, but she masked her reaction. So she just tilted her head slightly and looked at him inquiringly.

"My reason is very simple. When we heard that the kings of the West were on their way, I sought out a man who knows many things. I asked him what are their weaknesses. For the King Elessar, he could not say. But of King Éomer he was very clear: even the prostitutes in the taverns of Minas Tirith know he loves his wife very dearly... if his queen were harmed, he would turn around and race back to Rohan, leaving King Elessar hanging out dry. _You _are his weakness", he explained. His voice was disturbingly pleasant and soft for the topic at hand, but again Lothíriel kept her emotions to herself.

"I admit I made a miscalculation when I did not take to account your unwillingness to receive injury. I have never seen a woman fight like you did", Agon said, and now she could almost swear there was something admiring about his tone. Whether it was genuine or not, she couldn't tell.

Be it as may, she lifted her eyebrows and snorted softly.

"Well, I suppose you haven't met many women, then", she said dryly – certain Shieldmaiden came to mind at least.

"I knew women of the North are different, but you _are _Gondorian, aren't you?" he pointed out.

One corner of her mouth lifted once more.

"Even my Aunt Ivriniel would fight you back if you tried to harm her, with a knitting needle if she must", she said solemnly. She didn't doubt her own words one bit, but she didn't tell him that. Instead, she asked: "Tell me: do you have accomplices?"

Now it was Agon's turn to smile slightly.

"If I did, they will have long left your capital. After my failure, your advisers will have surrounded you with many guards... and I do not suppose you would be any more compliant to an attack than you were on the first time?" he said and let out a quiet, dry chuckle.

She eyed him with some suspicion and doubt. What was this man, really? Was he telling her anything that even vaguely resembled the truth? He seemed strangely unconcerned for someone who had attacked a queen and been captured in the very act.

"You do realise you will most likely be executed upon my husband's return, don't you?" she asked him and stared at him hard. Agon just smiled.

"I am not afraid of death, Queen Lothíriel. I have lived in its shadow all my life. But there is irony to how it comes to me at last. I would not wish your death, yet because I tried to cause it I must die. Your husband can go to the Void for all I care, but you...", he spoke and his voice fell very quiet towards the end of his sentence, until it faded away completely. Lothíriel decided not to ask him to continue.

"If you are trying to win my sympathy and mercy, you may rest assured your attempt is wasted. Even if I relented and asked for pardon, my husband will never let you walk free for what you tried to do", she pointed out doubtfully. Agon did not respond – he just looked at her in silence.

Eventually she sighed and decided she had heard enough. This man and her... they lived in worlds vastly different. She was only wasting her time talking to him.

So she stood up and turned for the door of the cell. Agon, however, was not yet done.

"You may be his weakness", he said in a low voice, "but he chose wisely where to place his vulnerability. It is a lucky man whose weak point defends itself so fiercely."

"You are wrong about one thing", Lothíriel said, looking over her shoulder at the man, "I am not his weak point. I am his Lioness."

* * *

_Late June 4, Sea of Rhûn_

It took some manoeuvring and a few spies in the right places, but eventually the forces of Rohan and Gondor were able to lure out their enemy into an open battle by the shores of Sea of Rhûn. Aragorn lead his Gondorian footsoldiers, while Marshal Elfhelm was in charge of half of the Rohirric Riders. Éomer himself led the other half, but he did not rush into the battle when it began: the Lord of the Mark would not enter the field before Aragorn and Elfhelm had engaged their opponents and had them tied into the struggle. The Easterlings did not know that, though – they saw the White Horse upon Green carried before Elfhelm, and so took him for the King of Rohan, thinking the force against them smaller than it was in truth.

The battle carried out the way Aragorn and Éomer had planned. The Easterlings came proudly against Aragorn and Elfhelm and the shores of the great body of water were filled with noise of battle; the King of Gondor and Arnor made a show of retreating and so fuelling their opponents, and some of the most enthusiastic fighters rushed to give a chase to the force of Gondor. But then Aragorn let his trumpets sing, and they were answered by Rohirric horns. The sound was quickly joined by the thunder of hooves. Éomer drove his riders as two wedges into the army of Easterlings, effectively driving them into the Sea of Rhûn. From afar Aragorn saw the white horse-tail helmet and a faint shimmer of silver, and quietly he hoped this battle would allow his friend to let out some steam which had been building inside him ever since he had heard of the assault against Lothíriel.

The rest of the strife was best described as slaughter, and it did not take long for the Gondorian and Rohirric troops to finish off the remaining resistance. But most were wise enough to surrender, for which Aragorn was glad – there needn't be any more death.

And so the clash of steel and yells quieted, and what sound came from arms was those of swords and spears tossed to ground, and war cries became the wails of the wounded. In the midst of the ruin of war a silver stallion slowly made his way, not charging anymore but not quite at peace either. Or perhaps it was his rider who was not at peace: he carried his sword bared in his hand and his eyes held the cold light of fury and lust of battle. As he rode, Easterlings threw their arms on the ground by his stallion's feet, and some bowed their heads.

When Éomer lead his stallion to Aragorn, his expression softened only a little. His tone was firm and resolute: "Let us wrap up this damned war."

"We will do that", said the older of the two kings, and suddenly he felt weary of all the spilling of blood.

The negotiations for peace took place in a tent which had been quickly raised for the Kings of Rohan and Gondor, and for the emissaries of Easterlings. Aragorn and Elphir acted as representatives of Gondor, while Éomer and Elfhelm spoke for the Mark. To them came four men of Rhûn, dark-haired and dark-eyed. Judging by the dents on their armour and sweat still pearling on their brow, they too had fiercely fought in the battle.

The atmosphere of the negotiations was somewhat stiff but polite, and Aragorn could see all parties just wanted peace. Things might have gone so smoothly, if not for one man among the company of Easterlings.

"My lords", he spoke when nearly all points had been discussed and agreed on, "my lords, I was wondering if you would be willing to make a show of good will towards us."

The two kings glanced at each other, and Éomer was the one to answer.

"We are listening", he said, crossing his arms on his chest.

"We understand one of our own people is kept as a prisoner in Rohan. We would like to ask that he should be released and returned among his own", spoke the same man as before.

His words had an immediate effect. Elessar could practically _feel _his fellow king tensing and his moderately benevolent mood turn into icy resentment.

"Absolutely not. The man you speak of has been apprehended for a grave crime he committed on the soil of the Mark, and thus he will also face Rohirric justice in due time", Éomer barked without a moment's hesitation.

"And what will that be, precisely?" asked another member of the Easterling party. The man who had spoken first stared at the King of the Mark with wide, shocked eyes.

"There is only one punishment for an attempt on the life of a member of the royal house. That punishment is death", Éomer said, his voice cold and stark.

"No! I beg of you – don't kill him – please spare my brother!" exclaimed the man who had spoken first. He took a step towards the Rohirric king, but Éomer's hand flew to his sword, and Elfhelm too shifted sharply as if to step between the two men.

"Your brother made his choice when he decided to attack my queen. I will not suffer such malicious intents in my realm!" snapped the Lord of the Rohirrim, and his fury made him grow taller than anyone else in the tent.

"Then do you mean to say you do no wish for peace?" snarled the assassin's brother.

"Gentlemen, please -" Aragorn tried to put in, but no heed was paid to him altogether.

"If your peace depends on the release of an assassin, then I will not have it", Éomer growled; now he took a step forward, and the company of four before him sunk back. He continued, "Just say the word, and all of the Riddermark will lay waste on your land!"

Now Aragorn could not listen any more, but he stepped forward and caught his friend by arm. Similarly, the Easterlings pulled the assassin's brother into the middle of them and spoke fast and quiet to him.

"Have care now, brother. We do not need this erupting into yet another battle", Elessar said quietly in Rohirric to his friend. Lightnings flashed in the eyes of his friend.

"You saw them outside. Do you think they would have any chance?" Éomer snapped back. He then shook his head and spoke more softly, "Their request is out of question. I cannot agree to it."

"I know", Aragorn sighed. He could not ask his friend to do such a thing, no matter the consequences. When he glanced at Elphir, Imrahil's eldest son nodded slightly; his face was grave and Elessar knew he fully agreed with Éomer. The House of Dol Amroth would not suffer attempts of harm on one of their own, either.

Meanwhile, the Easterling company seemed to have reached some agreement. The assassin's brother spoke no more, and his companions did not mention the prisoner either. The negotiations were brought to an end but it was in a far colder atmosphere than in the beginning. When the four men exited, Elessar did not miss the look of hatred on the face of the man who had tried to plead for his brother.

When they were gone, tension left Éomer's form and he seemed to diminish somehow. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair; if he had been on a dark mood before, now he had twice the reason.

"I would like to talk with Éomer in private", Aragorn said, at which words Marshal Elfhelm and Prince Elphir reacted right away. They bowed at their liege-lords and headed out – there was still much to be done, even if the battle were over for now.

Chairs had been provided in the tent, and the younger of two kings more or less collapsed on one of them. The only word to fully describe him was just _done. _

In silence Aragorn poured them some wine and offered a cup to his friend, who accepted it absent-mindedly. He took a long swig and then stared into the vessel as though it held an answer to all his troubles. Elessar took seat as well and looked at his friend.

"I fear that we may have already sowed the seeds of the next war", he said at length, and his words made Éomer lift up his face sharply.

"Then what would you have me do? Allow that villain walk unpunished, and let everyone know that the King of the Mark does not care what crimes are committed in his land and against his family?" he asked and the edge in his voice was unmistakeable.

"Brother, I know that. I do not blame you for what happened... it was an impossible situation", Aragorn said to console his friend. The younger man sighed heavily.

"Indeed it was", he muttered. Half-audibly, as if speaking to himself, he said, "Béma, I wish I was home."

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update! I didn't think I'd be posting this chapter so soon, but I had a sleepless night, and you know what happens then... anyway, this story thread took an unplanned and surprising route, and I can tell you we are far from being done with it! Perhaps it shows sometimes a king has to make difficult choices, and people are not always what they seem.

I hope you liked the chapter, and thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **I had fun indeed, though I couldn't fully keep the promise I wouldn't be writing anything. But you know me! :D Poor man is stressed out indeed, but like Ceolwen observes, it doesn't affect his leadership.

**brandibuckeye - **Thank you! :)


	39. Chapter 39

About a week later, a guard came to Lothíriel with a peculiar request. She was in the middle of playing with her son when one of the men of the King's Guard came to her, bowing as he halted before his queen and Prince. A slight smile visited his face as he glanced at Elfwine.

"What is it, Ceorl?" Lothíriel asked, balancing her child on her knee as he examined one of the toys his father had sent him from Gondor.

"My lady... it is an unusual request, and the lads said I shouldn't bother you with it, but... the prisoner asked to see you", he said gingerly. He didn't have to explain whom he meant.

She lifted her eyebrows and considered him, "What does he want?"

"To be honest, I don't know. He just said he wants to speak with you", Ceorl answered and frowned slightly, "Do you think he may be plotting something, my lady?"

"There is only one way to find out, isn't there?" she asked back and absent-mindedly ran her fingers through Elfwine's soft dark hair. She looked at Ceorl, "Make sure he is shackled. I'm not going to take any chances with that man."

"Will do, my lady", he said and bowed once more before leaving.

About half an hour later, when she had left Elfwine in the care of the little boy's nursemaid and picked up her blade (just in case), Lothíriel entered the cell of her attacker once more. She wondered what he had in mind and if she were being foolish in agreeing to see him again. However, she saw no reason to tell him no, either.

When she entered, Agon quickly combed through his hair with his fingers and smoothed his cheeks in an attempt to force down the beard that had grown on him since his captivity. She raised one eyebrow but said nothing.

"Queen Lothíriel", he greeted her and smiled slightly.

"I was told you were asking for me. What do you want?" she asked, wasting no time to greetings. But Agon's expression turned sheepish.

"It sounds ridiculous, really. But I was feeling lonely, and wished to have someone to talk to", he confessed and looked away. Lothíriel just stared: there was the man who had tried to kill her, telling he was lonely! Could life get any more absurd?

He saw her silent astonishment, and so he went on, "I do not get many visitors, except for that grumpy crippled man who asks many questions. He doesn't like me much."

"Can you blame him? You tried to kill his queen", Lothíriel pointed out.

"I suppose he is entitled to it, yes", Agon allowed. He then gestured towards the chair with one shackled hand, "Please, sit down."

"You seriously just want to talk to me?" she asked, feeling more confused by the moment. This man just... he went completely over her comprehension.

"Yes, I do. As I said the last time, I do not have anything against you personally. You are the only person here who has not treated me like I was worse than an orc", Agon said and settled down more comfortably again. He tilted his head, "Which is an enigma in itself, I must say. You are the last person I would have expected to give me such treatment."

"You are going to die for what you tried to do. That seems like a punishment enough to me", she pointed out somewhat grimly. His face darkened at that statement and somehow he seemed to diminish.

"Indeed I'm going to die, if all that I've heard of your lord husband holds true – and I have no reason to doubt it is. So, consider this the last request of a man who will soon meet his end", Agon said quietly.

Lothíriel stood silent for a while, uncertain of what she should do. But eventually she had to ask herself what ill could it do to comply. Strange as that might be, she bore no bad will for the man from east. And though he did not show it, she could understand if he were afraid of what lay ahead... and the grief of dying far away from home and everything he had known. After a moment of consideration she took seat before him once again. Agon smiled and looked like she had just given him some wonderful gift.

He spoke to her of his home and family, of the waves of the Sea of Rhûn, of the woman he had loved and lost to another man... his father had been a great man, a lord in the fashion of Easterlings, but his refusal to serve Mordor had cost him his life. It would have cost the lives of his children as well, but his trusted men had been able to take them to safety. So Agon and his siblings had wandered as dispossessed, acting as mercenaries and healers and whatnot, but the ending of Sauron had raised them some hope of restoring their father's legacy. To disengage the Rohirric king from the campaign against Rhûn – and to kill the Queen of the Riddermark – had been just a part of it. Despite herself, she could not help but listen in wonder. Though the quest to find Éomer had opened her eyes to the world beyond the confines of the western realms, she still could not say she knew much of the lands in the east and south. Compared to homelessness Agon had known most of his life, and the dread of living under the power of the Shadow, her own childhood and adolescence had been incredibly sheltered and safe.

When he fell silent, neither of them spoke a word for a while. He regarded her with eyes darker even than Éomer's, yet the expression in them could not have been more different from that of her husband. Quietly she met that gaze – she knew she could not look away.

"Do you pity me now, Queen Lothíriel?" he asked at length.

"What would it matter if I did? I cannot change your fate, even if I wanted. Your own choice defines it", she pointed out. To herself she thought she should remember that. What sympathy she felt for him did not change the fact he would have taken her life, and in doing so Elbereth knew what would have happened... she shuddered as she imagined all the pain it would have caused, not to mention how it might have affected Elfwine.

"Indeed I did. But know that I now see how sad a thing my success would have been", Agon stated, shaking his head.

"Yet you only saw it because you failed", reminded him. He nodded but said nothing, and there was another long silence.

He ended it with a question she did not see coming.

"Lady Queen, do you think perhaps in another life we could have been friends?" Agon asked, looking at her with something that somehow resembled hope, though she knew he had none.

That was enough. Swiftly she stood up and turned for the door of the cell, and she did not mean to answer. But his voice stopped her.

"Please."

Lothíriel took in breath before she answered. She did not look at him, though.

"Do not ask such things of me."

* * *

At long last the forces of Gondor and the Mark reached Mundburg. Elfhelm was glad to see the White City; though it was not Astdun or Edoras, it was halfway home. They would linger there for a few days, attend the inevitable celebrations, and then head home at last.

"I don't think there's much to celebrate. Not when we all know it is not finished yet", Éomer muttered to Elfhelm as they made for the gates of Mundburg. His friend had been on a less than delighted mood for the better part of the campaign, and it had only got worse towards the end of it. Hopefully return home would cheer him up, especially when he'd get to see his family again. No one in the world was able to make him smile like Lothíriel and Elfwine.

"I know, but it's not like we can say we lost the war. After all, we _didn't. _Progress was made, and that is as good a reason to celebrate as any, isn't it?" Elfhelm pointed out. His friend grumbled half-audibly something, and the Marshal could not tell if the man agreed or not.

"Blast it. We all know they will challenge us again. We could have had a more lasting peace if not for me", Éomer said, frowning darkly.

"Stop that immediately. You did the only thing you could, and I fully agree with you. Anyone who means to harm our queen has no right to walk free", Elfhelm told him strictly. "Had you agreed to release him, it would have been quite the serious blow to the integrity and sovereignty of the throne of the Riddermark. Not to mention I can name a whole lot of Eorlingas who would be outraged."

"Rationally I do know that. I just keep wondering if there had been some other way", Éomer said and shook his head.

"Don't worry about it now. We have peace for the time being, and soon we'll be going home", said the Marshal in comforting tones. His king grunted and nodded, and they spoke no more.

The noise on the streets of Mundburg was deafening as they passed through on their way to the Citadel. It seemed that at least half the city had come out to welcome back the forces of Rohan and Gondor and celebrate their victory. Flowers covered their road as they made for the upper levels of the city, and by the streets and in the windows of houses Elfhelm could see many joyous faces. Yet there were searching eyes too, and some of them revealed fear; his heart turned heavier, for though the war had been victorious, they had not gained it without losses.

Still, even with these losses, he knew there would be much of feasting in the city tonight. Briefly the Marshal entertained the idea of slipping away to join one of those feasts. He knew better than to follow the urge, though – he was expected to join the celebration up in the Citadel with his king tonight. The thought of standing in ceremony did not particularly tempt him but he knew he could not abandon his friend to the courts. Maybe he could slip away afterwards, and even persuade Éomer to join him... he'd have to see about that.

In the Citadel a crowd of nobility was waiting, and Queen Arwen was there as well with her little daughter. She was radiant as ever and smiled brightly at her husband King Elessar. While she had always treated Elfhelm politely and respectfully, he still felt somehow intimidated by her. He wondered how one could ever get used to Elves – when he had asked about it from Éomer, who was friends with Legolas, the man had just shrugged: "The point is you _don't." _

The formalities were stiff and mundane as they always were in Gondor in Elfhelm's opinion, though Elessar at least spared no affection when meeting his wife and daughter. Even so Aragorn had got surprisingly good at handling the formalities since he had claimed his inheritance, and even Éomer maintained a solemn ceremonial face through it. The Marshal, on the other hand, entertained himself by counting the mountaintops. His captain, a fellow named Osbeorn, had to kick him in the shin towards the end of the speeches. No one seemed to notice that Elfhelm had not been paying much attention – a courtesy of long practice in tuning out the irrelevant noise.

Once it was all done, he quickly joined his king. Luckily they would have some time to bath and eat supper before the night's celebrations would begin. They would be lodging in the Citadel, just as Aragorn had insisted. Apparently Éomer even had permanent lodgings there for the times he'd visit the White City. Sometimes Elfhelm had to wonder how such a friendship could have grown between two men so different, but he was glad for it too. The great camaraderie between Elessar and Éomer was one reason the Mark had a living king.

Inside the Tower of Ecthelion they met a manservant, whose words came as very welcome: "My lords, your rooms have been prepared for you. A hot bath will be ready as soon as you wish. Moreover, there are letters from the Mark, and from your wives."

This news surely did please Elfhelm, and glancing at his friend he could see a first real smile on Éomer's face since... well, it had to be weeks. So he patted his friend's arm and grinned.

"See you later, old fellow", said the Marshal, and the younger of two men returned the grin. Truly, sometimes it amazed him how a mere promise of Lothíriel's letter could bring about that smiling, less burdened man.

His mind turned to his own family then, and he decided to read the letters before bathing and eating. He was escorted to airy chambers which, judging by their rich interior, briefly made him wonder if he had been brought to Éomer's rooms by some mishap. However the letters waiting for him on a table on the centre of the room bore his name. He thought of his surroundings no more but instead, sat down to read tidings from his home.

Ceolwen wrote about the recent events in the Mark, the matter of the assassin among them. She at least sounded like the matter was not so serious as Éothain and Éomer would make it, but he didn't wonder – as long as he had known her, her attitude had been down to earth. She spoke about Cenric too, telling her husband about their little son's antics, and those parts Elfhelm read most eagerly. He too had greatly missed his family and was more than happy to head home as soon as the inevitable formalities were over in Mundburg. In days before the southern campaign he had never thought he'd one day have a family, or that they would mean so much to him. Needless to say, he was happy for how things had turned out.

Reading his wife's words put Elfhelm's mind at ease, and he enjoyed the moment of peace as he bathed and readied for the night. He thought whether he'd have any time to visit the markets of Mundburg to find some gifts for Ceolwen and Cenric – he'd have to find out if any of his friends would fancy a trip with him.

He was on a fairly good mood when he joined his friend just before the start of the celebration in Merethrond. The Marshal expected to find his king on a similar mood, cheered up by Lothíriel's letter. However, the look on Éomer's face was nothing but. Worriedly Elfhelm wondered if she had written some ill news to her husband.

"What is troubling you, my friend? Has something happened in the Mark?" Elfhelm asked right away upon joining the company his king.

"Not that I know of. Just... I wonder if all is well with Lothíriel", said Éomer at length, looking ahead with eyes that did not really see the stone halls.

"Why wouldn't she be well?" the Marshal wondered out loud, but his friend did not seem to have any better knowledge than he did.

"I don't know. It's just the letter she wrote me... it is peculiar – she usually doesn't write like that. She didn't sound like herself", he said, frowning as he spoke. "I wish I could explain better... usually, she talks about things very straightforwardly. She speaks of Elfwine, of home and things that have happened there... but now she went on for two pages about right and wrong, and fate and choice. She sounded so confused..."

Éomer fell silent and shook his head, but Elfhelm reached to touch his friend's arm and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"Your wife is a tough lady. I'm sure she's fine – maybe she's just missing you. At any rate, we'll be going home soon, and that should cheer up you both", he reassured the younger man.

"Aye, that is true", agreed the King of the Mark. A ghost of a smile entered his face, "Thank you, Elfhelm. You are a good friend, and I am sorry for being so bad-tempered as of late."

"It's fine. You wouldn't be yourself if you weren't irritable", Elfhelm said lightly. His words had the wished effect, for his friend snorted, and humour appeared in his eyes.

"Well, what else can I be, having to deal with the lot of you on a daily basis?" Éomer quipped, and in the middle of this banter they made their way into the Great Hall of Feasts.

* * *

Sometimes Éomer was quite convinced his circle of friends consisted of sadists. Furthermore, he believed Elfhelm was the worst and the most cunning of them when his wife was not around to control him, seeing how the man had been able to change his king's mind like so.

He had fully intended to make it an early night, get some much-needed rest and rise up with the sun, but the blasted Marshal had possessed other ideas. The man also happened to be disturbingly good in coaxing his friend, and so in the end Éomer had joined him and a few other lads of the Royal Guard for drinks. While they had rather pleasant time and the King of the Mark had enjoyed himself – a welcome change, really – upon waking he did not feel quite so delightful. The strong Rohirric liquor Edelric had provided had left him with a headache and the taste in his mouth had him nearly throwing up. As he hauled himself up and searched for a pitcher of water with his eyes, Éomer wondered to himself why did his men always insist on making him drink like this when they were in Mundburg. The next time, he'd have to take Lothíriel along.

That was it, though: they had been on the road for too long, and the absence of loved ones could easily make a man seek the company of ale and liquor.

After washing and consuming a fair amount of fresh water he felt slightly better; soon as he was dressed he sent for breakfast (the idea of some bacon and eggs had never been more tempting). Not long after, there was a knock at the door. Briefly he wondered if Aragorn's household had somehow mastered the skill of inhuman speed, but opening the door he saw his Marshal. Noticing his friend was pale and sporting dark rings around his eyes, Éomer felt grim satisfaction knowing Elfhelm was not immune to liquor either.

"You smell like the stables. Did you sleep in your steed's stall?" asked the King pleasantly. Elfhelm grunted.

"There I was, provided with a perfectly comfortable bed, but where do I decide to lay my head?" he moaned and made way past his friend and into the room. He fell to sit on a chair, "Please kill me."

"I'm afraid Ceolwen would protest", Éomer said and held back his smile. He turned to pour a drink to his friend, "What brings you here?"

"I was hoping to get some breakfast. I know they feed you well here – after all, you are Aragorn's dear friend", Elfhelm said, leaning back his head. Éomer scoffed.

"Why am I not even surprised?" he asked no one in particular. Nevertheless, he said, "Breakfast is on its way."

Now his Marshal smiled brightly, "Bless you, laddie. I knew there was a reason you're my king."

The King of the Mark snorted and rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help but feel grateful. Elfhelm surely did know how to amuse him.

By the time the servants came with a loaded tray both men were feeling famished. The greasy smell of bacon seemed like quite the torture until the plates were laid before them. But the two would not be allowed to get on with their breakfast so quickly, because one of the two servants brought forth another object: it was a silver pitcher.

"My lord, I was told to bring you this as the courtesy of Lord Faramir. It is wine from Dorwinion – it is very special and rare, and I am told it is greatly favoured by the King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm", he explained.

While he appreciated the thought, at the moment all ideas of wine just made Éomer feel slightly sick – he was far more interested in the steaming cup of tea made of willow bark which was before him. He couldn't say he knew much of wine but if Faramir had picked it up for him, then it must be very good. Even so, it would have to wait for later.

"That is most kind. Give my thanks to my brother-in-law", he said, and at his gesture the servant left the pitcher on a stand nearby.

When the servants had gone, Elfhelm looked up from his plate, which he had been eagerly emptying. He made a face and muttered, "Are you sure it was a gift and not a joke?"

* * *

King Éomer of Rohan was a cleaner's dream guest. He always left his chambers very neat – Torion had once heard chambermaids joking that the man all but made his own bed. He supposed it had to do with the fact this northern king had been a warrior far longer than the Lord of Rohirrim. Professional soldiers usually were neat and orderly about their belongings.

Similarly, the King had left the breakfast dishes in tidy piles, and so Torion did not have much of a job in cleaning up after the foreign monarch and his Marshal had left to make whatever social calls they had today. Thus Torion also had time to think about the silver pitcher on a stand nearby. In fact, he had been thinking about it ever since the head cook had put it in his hand and told him to deliver it to the King of Rohan. He had always wanted to taste the famous Dorwinion wine: if even elves like King Thranduil liked it, the stuff could not be anything but legendary. But it was hard to come by, especially with servant's earnings.

The thought grew in his mind: surely it wouldn't matter if he just took a little taste? No one would notice anything, especially if the King of Rohan had not yet touched the gift. The man would never know.

The temptation was too bad. This could be his only chance ever to taste the famous wine...

Torion made his choice. Fast he grabbed an empty cup and poured some wine in it, just enough to cover the bottom. He admired the rich, purple colour of the liquid and breathed in its smell, almost tasting the full aroma on his tongue already.

He brought the cup to his lips and drank. This was truly a drink fit for kings.

* * *

After a meeting with Aragorn, Éomer headed back to his chambers to get changed; he'd then join Éowyn and Elboron in the house that belonged to the Steward's family. He had been looking forward to spending time with his sister and nephew, whom he saw much more seldom than he'd have liked. It couldn't be helped, though – both siblings lead busy lives, and the fact of the long leagues between their homes were something they could not conquer.

He was still thinking of Éowyn and her son when he entered his room, but all thoughts of her left his mind when he saw what awaited him. On the floor lay a man he recognised as a servant, his face a sickly shade of purple, and his expression frozen into a grimace of pain as though a ghost of the agony he had felt on his last moments. Éomer had to look at him just once to know the poor bugger was dead, and the reason occurred to him fast as well: the cup on the floor and its spilled contents spoke very clearly of why this man had died.

He turned back sharply, returning to his guards at the door of his chamber. The two on duty looked at him curiously.

"Go and find guards. Tell them to alarm their captain and also King Elessar. I imagine Lord Faramir should be summoned too", he said calmly; for one reason or the other, he did not feel shocked or even very alarmed. The strongest feeling he could muster was bitter weariness... along with the regret that an innocent man had died because of him. This knowledge reminded him of things he already had to live with.

Pushing those thoughts from his mind for now, Éomer looked at the other guard and gave him a humourless half-smile, "You should probably stay here and watch over your king. Someone appears to be of the mind to end me."

The eyes of both men widened, but they reacted fast enough, and one of them half-ran to make an alarm. The other halfway unsheathed his sword, and spoke, "Perhaps I should check your rooms before you enter again, my lord."

"Be my guest", said Éomer and shook his head. Wryly he thought some of that wine would have suited his mood now, except he didn't want a permanent solution it would offer.

In five minutes the place was swarming with guards, though he ordered them not to touch anything in the room. Aragorn arrived with Faramir as well, and both were looking rather startled.

"Are you all right?" the King of Gondor and Arnor asked right away when he saw his friend.

"I would be more worried about him", Éomer said dryly and gestured at the body laying on his floor. Aragorn and Faramir shared a grave glance; then Elessar crouched to examine the body, and the Steward, who had rightly realised the reason for this scene, picked up the cup on the floor. He smelled it carefully.

"There is no smell of any poison I know of. It must be something subtle", he said solemnly.

"Do you have any idea of who did this?" asked Edelric, who had arrived as well and stood with his hand on his blade.

"Unless Faramir has suddenly decided to get rid of me, it is not so hard to guess", Éomer said and sighed. The recent campaign to the east was causing him much more headache than he had ever imagined possible.

His brother-in-law blinked, and quickly the King of the Mark explained how he had received a pitcher of Dorwinion wine on the morrow.

"I did have some of it in my cellar, but I do not recall sending for any as of late..." Faramir said, looking worried and grim. He looked at his liege-lord, "If you will allow, I would like to go and investigate this matter presently. If the wine came from my house, then maybe someone in my household knows something more about what has happened."

"Please do", Aragorn said empathetically, and Éomer knew what he hoped: perhaps, if they moved fast, the culprit could be caught.

Examining the body told them very little. Aragorn named a few poisons which might have been used, but he couldn't say for sure. Carefully he closed the dead man's eyes and settled his hands on his chest. Then guards lifted him on a bier and covered him, and regretfully the two kings watched him carried out.

"Poor bugger. If he hadn't tasted that wine, I would not have known to suspect anything", Éomer muttered and shook his head.

"This is very unfortunate. I do not like the fact even my own household is at danger in the very heart of the Citadel", Aragorn said, his face dark and foreboding. He lowered his eyes, "I will have to find out if he had any family."

"You must tell me what you discover about his kin. I would pay them my respects as well", said the younger man. The two kings glanced at each other, and Éomer frowned, "If you ask me, we might just as well march back east."

"Would that we could. In the minds of our men the war is already won. All they want to is to go home. Though we can't know for sure yet, this could just be an act of desperate few... the family of that man who attacked Lothíriel come to my mind at least. You saw how his brother was after you made it clear the assassin would not be released. In any case the majority of Easterlings were just hoping for peace, and we can't punish them for what one man's kin has done", said his friend, and he knew Elessar was right.

"I'll be damned if those blasted Easterlings come to harm my family, or yours for that matter", Éomer said in low, dark tones.

"It is useless to blame yourself. You gave them the only answer you could... we cannot let assassins and poisoners to rule ourselves", Aragorn reminded him. What he said was true of course, but it didn't make this any easier to bear. He sighed and wished for the moment all of this would be over.

"I must send messages to the Mark. I will not have those miscreants taking their revenge on my family."

* * *

**A/N: **And here's an update for the weekend! Hope you liked it. :) I must admit, this current story thread has grown much bigger than I first intended, but perhaps that's not a bad thing! At any rate it seemed to me that Agon's family wouldn't just let the matter be. The bit with poisoned wine was inspired by **Ginga2Sam**'s review to the last chapter, so big thanks for that! Still, I have a feeling this might not be the end of it. Also Lothíriel is finding the man who tried to kill her is much more complex than she imagined.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Thalia - **It's good to have you back, though! I know, spring can be a very busy time. :)

**Jo - **They may not have many ideas of how to free him, but they surely are trying to avenge him. I'm glad you liked it!

**Ginga2Sam - **I confess, your review inspired this chapter's events with the poisoned wine. Thank you for inspiration! :) I don't think any ambushes would be very successful - after what happened in _ALTE, _Éomer should be very careful as to not let it happen again. But that doesn't mean there aren't other ways to get to him.

I'd say Lothíriel and Éothain generally get along very well. But after an attempt on her life, his nerves are understandably tight.

**brandibuckeye - **Thank you! I'm happy to hear you enjoy it. :)


	40. Chapter 40

_July 4, Edoras_

"Your father is coming home today."

The smile on Elfwine's face was a beaming one when he saw his mother on a fair day of July. The child was already awake when she came to see her son on the morrow. Dark, glimmering eyes met her own and she smiled; her son had Éomer's eyes.

"Ma", he chirped and reached his little arms towards her, and with a soft laugh she lifted him up. When she kissed his cheek, his happy giggle made her heart swell in contentment. She had her son and her husband was coming home today. Hopefully with his arrival the troubled tidings of late would soon pass and life would go back to normal.

He had written her letters from the road, and reassured her all was well with him – he had more guards about him though, and Elfhelm insisted to check all food and drink that was brought to him. Faramir had not been able to find out much: though the wine had certainly come from his household, it remained unclear as to when the poison had been added to it. According to the man who kept the Steward's cellars, a servant of the Citadel had come to request a bottle of Dorwinion wine, and somehow it had ended up in the chambers of the King of Rohan. Later on, another servant had been found dead in the stables, stripped of his uniform. As a stroke of bad luck the wine had been delivered by the very hands of the servant who had died of the poison, and so much more could not be discovered. However, in his letters Éomer had stated he had no doubt of who had machinated the affair. On his orders the already strict security of Edoras and Meduseld had been brought to another level entirely. Even Amrothos, come to visit his sister about a week ago now, had a small incident trying to enter the capital: the guards at the gate had not known him, and he had spent nearly half an hour arguing with them until Ceolwen returning from a ride had intervened. Amrothos' presence had cheered her up somewhat, because his spirits could not be smothered even by assassins.

As for Éomer, there had been no more attempts on his life after the poisoning incident. Nevertheless a close watch was kept in the camp every night, and all strangers were strictly questioned about their intentions. Altogether these past few months had been the most stressful time ever since the Kin-strife, and Lothíriel was hoping it would soon end. At least her husband would return – in his presence, things would hopefully be a bit less tense.

She pressed her cheek against Elfwine's soft hair and spent a moment just breathing; it would be a long day before Éomer would arrive, and she'd be busy making sure all was ready to welcome him home. But today was the day he'd come back, and she ached for the moment of his arrival. Her horselord had been away far too long, surrounded by far too many dangers.

"Da?" Elfwine asked, bringing her musings to a close. Lothíriel smiled to her son.

"Yes, he'll come back to us", she told her child. "And he will be so happy to see how much you have grown."

After breakfast with Amrothos and leaving her son with the nursemaid, she was joined by Osythe, to oversee the preparations before the King's arrival. Judging by the amount of foodstuffs and ale she had ordered to be prepared in the kitchens, the chatelaine was expecting there would be a proper feast in the Golden Hall. Lothíriel's query just made her lift up her eyebrows and comment, "Trust me, my friend. You'll be happy all this will be ready tonight."

Well, perhaps it was not a wonder at all: Rohirrim were a people of warriors, and their king's return from victorious battles was surely going to put them into a festive mood. Not that she had anything against it – she was just as glad as anyone to have Éomer home, and was eager to make him know just how deeply he had been missed.

In the middle of day's labours Lothíriel barely noticed the passage of time, and by the late afternoon a Rider came to the Golden Hall, saying that the King would soon reach the capital. Her heart leapt at this news and thought of going to get Elfwine, so that Éomer could see them both as soon as he arrived. However, the child was still napping and he could be fussy when he had just woken up – she decided both the babe and the father would appreciate a more calm meeting than the one there would likely be if she roused Elfwine now.

Her decision proved to be a good one, for Lothíriel was not prepared for the reunion that took place. She knew not to expect the fathomless joy that filled her heart when she stood on the terrace of Meduseld and spotted the standard of White Horse. There came her king, and Elfhelm and Edelric rode with him, all three of them the very image of fabled Riders from songs. Joy mixed with excitement when she looked at her horselord: he did not bear any sign of weariness or concern on his face, but rode with the fluid ease of a natural horseman and looked ahead with light on his brow and calmness in his gaze. The voices of people rose in cheers, for their lord was home at last.

The King's Company entered the courtyard of the Golden Hall, their spears gleaming in sunlight, their horses tossing their heads, and wind combing through their fair hair. But she admired them only for a little while, because a pair of dark eyes were searching hers, and she looked at Éomer as he dismounted.

_Oh, Elbereth. _

The next thing she knew was her husband striding fast towards her. His eyes were fixed on her, their gaze keen and dark and inviting. Her blood rose that very moment – somehow, after the months of being parted, the mere look of his eyes could make her want him madly. She felt her heartbeat quicken, her mouth run dry, and she flew to meet him... she met Éomer on the top of the steps of Meduseld and he grabbed her, one hand on the back of her waist and other in her hair, pulling her face close to him. His lips descended hungrily on hers and it was all rough edges and teeth clashing; she could taste the wind and the journey and his impatience in it. Eagerly she responded in like manner. He was there, he was in her arms, and he was kissing her as though the world was ending. _He was home. _

They were both all but gasping by the time the kiss ended, though he remained so close that his lips nearly touched hers. Lothíriel at least considered she would only be able to let go of him with great effort.

"Our bedroom. Fifteen minutes", he hoarsely murmured, making the air tremble against her mouth.

"Make haste", she was able to stammer. But he didn't let go of her yet.

"Elfwine?" he asked.

"Taking a nap."

"... make that twenty minutes", he said and kissed slightly her upper lip.

"I'll be waiting", she told him and flashed him an enormous smile. The look he gave her practically devoured her where she stood.

Lothíriel's heart was still hammering when she came into their bedchamber. She could only imagine what people made of the enthusiastic display she had made with her husband on the steps of Meduseld, but on the other hand she had many times heard that Rohirrim understood romance very well. In their eyes, such shows of love should be perfectly ordinary. Still, she had to wonder: was it strange that she would still be so passionately in love with her horselord?

Strange or not, she could think about that some other time. Now she had the much more pressing concern of being ready for when Éomer arrived.

Hastily she kicked off her boots, pulled down her leggings, and rid herself of her tunic. She more or less threw on a robe. Then she opened her braid and combed her fingers through her hair.

"Now where is that man", she grumbled to herself and checked her reflection in the mirror. After months of waiting every additional moment seemed like a waste now. She paced back and forth anxiously, until at last she could hear his voice from outside. _Finally!_

She met him at the door of the royal chambers, and the kiss went on from the one they had shared outside. It occurred to her in the middle of it that he was wearing far too much for this moment, which idea he seemed to share. She groaned against his lips as she tried to undo two buckles on his armour at once. Why did there have to be so many?

Plates and pieces of armour fell on the floor, and now there was only chain-mail and leaf-mail on the way. Their fastenings were less complicated, and soon Éomer was relieved of the last of his armour. She still kept wondering how he was even able to move with all that gear on him. But she didn't wonder for long, because without armour in way she could get a good tight grip of him, and her impatience was turning ever harder to bear.

In seconds he had grabbed her from under her knees, driven her to a table nearby, and pulled back only so much as she needed to unbuckle him. Then the last barriers were gone and swiftly he filled her; his intoxicating closeness finally undid the tension and anxiety of months-long parting.

When afterwards her mind came down from the dizzy heights of pure starlight, she had to smile when she thought they would both be on bruises, and slight bitemarks on Éomer's neck would probably cause quite a few knowing smiles. She at least bore these markings gladly, knowing what they meant.

"Do you see now how much I missed you?" he murmured softly against the skin of her cheek, moving his lips to her earlobe in a lazy kiss.

"Mm. I think I have an inkling. You may need to remind me later, though", she purred, running her fingers over the hot skin of his back, where she had somehow slipped her hands at some point. He looked at her and his eyes were dark and warm and shining, and Elbereth did she love this man!

"Gladly, my queen", he replied and kissed her once more, though now it was slow and tender – the kind to take its time, unlike the mindless passion just moments before. Eventually she had to end it however, lest it grew once more. In that case she didn't think they would be able to leave the royal chambers before tomorrow morning.

"I believe we are making people wait", she told him, and he made a grumbling sound at the back of his throat.

"The only people I have interest in right now are you and Elfwine", he muttered and scoffed. "But I suppose we must be sociable."

He pulled back slightly and lifted his eyebrows. There was an unmistakeable glint in his eyes when he innocently asked, "You're not going to come wearing just your robe, though?"

* * *

The night was late when the royal couple finally were alone: like Osythe had predicted, people had been on a festive mood, and quite a few of them had wanted to meet their king and welcome him back. Lothíriel had not left Éomer's side, or perhaps it was the other way around. He had insisted to come along when she had gone to put Elfwine to sleep. After months of being away such a simple everyday thing seemed very important to him, and his soft humming had quickly lulled their son into sleep, even though the child had been on a boisterous mood.

They had returned the feast for the time being, but after a couple more hours they were finally able to make their exit. It was not to seek sleep, though – neither of them felt any desire for it. For Éomer was home, he was next to her, and the way he looked at her was a thing to savour. The cares and concerns of road and war had melted away from his face; instead, gentle light danced in his eyes and he looked relaxed. Every now and then he'd reach his hand to run fingers over her skin, through her hair, to caress her face, as if to make sure she was really there. In soft voices they spoke of this and that, but not of the matter of the assassin and what events had unfolded from the attack against her. Those were things that could wait for daytime, especially on this first night that he was home.

But eventually, as Lothíriel moved to lay on her side and leant her head on her hand, his eyes fell on the now healed scar on her forearm. Gently, carefully, he touched his lips to it, caressing the place where Agon's blade had hit.

"I'm sorry about this, beloved", he murmured against her skin before pulling back again.

"It's fine. It healed very quickly – I barely noticed it", she said dismissively and shook her head. He grumbled and kissed the scar again.

"Still. I kept thinking of what might have happened to you... had I been home, I might have killed him with my bare hands", her husband muttered. His brow creased as he continued, "And then those villains had the gall to request I release the assassin..."

"They must be very worried of him", she muttered absent-mindedly, remembering the things Agon had told her about his family. She could only imagine what it felt like to his kin to know he was going to die.

That line of thought was quickly disrupted by the sharp look Éomer gave her.

"If that is so, then they should never have sent him here. What did they expect to happen to their brother? That he would just be allowed to walk out of our very gate, no matter whether he succeeded or not?" he said, his voice suddenly cool and tight.

"Of course not. I wasn't saying that. I was just thinking of how sad it must be for him and for his family that they won't see each other again", Lothíriel replied and tried to smile at him. However, it did not seem to console her horselord.

"Lothíriel, that man tried to kill you", Éomer said, staring hard at her.

"I haven't forgotten that. But seeing he failed and will face justice, I don't see a point in being angry", she said and shrugged. After the conversation she had shared with Agon... well, it was difficult to keep seeing him as a heartless villain. However, Éomer everything but agreed; his face was dark with something quite terrible, and she knew she had entered some dangerous grounds.

"There is every reason! Have you any idea of what might have happened if he had succeeded?" her husband snapped and sat up, his eyes blazing. Now his annoyance stirred her too, because why did he have to be so stubborn about this? It wasn't like she had asked him to release the man!

"I know very well what could have happened! I have been listening to people rambling on about it for nearly two months! I just do not see what is so wrong about having pity for a man who is going to die far away from his home!" she shot back at him angrily.

The effect of her words was fast as it was unexpected. For a split second, he looked as though she had just slapped him across his face. Then he moved sharply away, his shoulders tensed, and he huddled at the edge of the bed looking profoundly sick. Seeing his reaction, Lothíriel realised what her words would suggest. The realisation instantly filled her with horror and self-disgust.

"I'm so sorry – I didn't mean to imply it's the same thing. Of course it's not! I shouldn't have said that", she stammered as she crawled closer to him, horrified at ill-judged words. "I'm so sorry."

"I know you didn't mean that, Lothíriel", Éomer said at length, though he was still looking unwell.

"Me and my big mouth. I should be thrashed for being so thoughtless", she grumbled and gingerly laid a hand on his shoulder. He had not looked like this ever since... it had to be some time during that first year. Worrying her lip, she asked: "Are you angry with me?"

"It is fine. I have enough of hatred for us both... and you are right. It is not wrong to have pity. In that your heart has the beauty mine has lost", said her husband quietly, at last looking at her. His eyes were shadowed when he went on, "I wonder if you understand how horrible it is to even think of something happening to you. I cannot forgive him for trying to... well, what he tried to do."

"And I'm not trying to argue with that. I know he must face justice for what he did and he deserves it... I just can't hate him", she said softly. Her heart felt heavy to bear, thinking she had upset her beloved, or that she had torn open some wounds that should have remained untouched.

She sighed and lowered her chin on his shoulder. Quietly she muttered, "I'm sorry. I've been waiting for this night for weeks and now I've ruined it."

He looked at her again, and though he still did not seem as relieved as one might have hoped, the worst seemed to have passed.

"Don't worry about it. I have thicker skin than that", Éomer told her and reached to brush hair from her face. She was able to give him a smile.

"I love you. Just... tell me I haven't upset you very badly", she said, searching for a sign of hurt in his eyes. However, he returned her smile. Gently he moved his hand from her hair to her cheek.

"Lothíriel... I look into your eyes and I see how distraught you are for the mere idea you may have upset me. When one sees something so genuine, how am I supposed to think you meant ill?" he asked her gently, and then pulled her into a kiss.

Later – much later, in fact – Lothíriel placed her head against her horselord's shoulder, and sleepily she considered the night was everything but ruined.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want to join us?"

This question Lothíriel presented to her brother on a rainy evening few days after Éomer's return. While she knew Amrothos was very capable of coming up with ways to entertain himself, she wanted him to feel he was a welcome guest in Meduseld, free to join even the royal family's private moments.

She wasn't terribly surprised when he grinned and shook his head, "Thank you, but I was thinking of finding out if Alger and Folcred might want to join me and seek the company of local maidens in some tavern."

Before she could say anything, his grin only widened, "Not to mention when you and Éomer aren't looking like newly-weds, you two and your son are so _domestic _that anyone else is going to feel like an intruder."

She snorted as a reply and told him to go and find that tavern, but when Amrothos had gone, Lothíriel could not fight back a smile. Despite his jesting words, she knew what was the real reason behind them: he wanted to give her some much awaited time alone with her husband and son. After months of Éomer's absence, she could very well appreciate it.

As she made way for the royal chambers, she fondly recalled evenings spent with Amrothos and Elfwine. Her son had taken an instant liking to his uncle, and Amrothos, himself a very large child, got along with the little prince very well. Crawling around on the floor with laughing Elfwine, her brother had grinned: "You and your family _must _come to Dol Amroth some time soon!"

She had come to her destination now, and quietly she entered to see Éomer and Elfwine sitting on the floor, and based on the multitude of toy soldiers in firm lines on the floor, he had been showing war strategies to the little prince. He looked up at her and smiled, and their son happily exclaimed _"Ma!"_

"I take it Amrothos is not joining?" asked her king. She gave him an answering smile.

"No, he's not. I think he didn't want to intrude... either that, or he felt he has been neglecting the maidens of Edoras", Lothíriel said wryly and crouched down to kiss Elfwine's head. Her husband laughed.

She sat down with them, and for a while her horselords were content in building their lines. But then Elfwine took his favourite toy, a wooden rider on a horse, and drove him through the groups of toy soldiers and sent them flying around. Éomer smiled brightly at Lothíriel.

"See? He already gets it", he said proudly. She chuckled.

"What else did you expect? He's your son, after all", she said fondly. He looked very pleased at that.

The night might have gone by just like so, had there not been a knock on the door a little while later. Her husband kissed her briefly before getting up on his feet and heading for the door, while she concentrated on playing with Elfwine. But then the voices from the door made her prick up her ears: "... they just arrived... asking about their brother... want to see you, Sire..."

Curiously she looked towards the door and wondered what this was about. When Éomer turned and closed the door, she searched his eyes inquisitively. Hss brow had creased and a sudden worry came to her.

"What is it?" she asked him, already going through all the evil things that may have happened in the realm.

"Everything is fine... I think. We just received some very unexpected visitors", he said and ran a hand through his hair. He sighed, "The assassin's sisters are here."

"They travelled here all the way from Rhûn?" Lothíriel asked in astonishment.

"So they claim, and the guards don't seem to think they are frauds. At any rate I don't see why anyone should come up with such an elaborate scheme or travel so far just to deceive me. I may as well as see them", said her husband.

"What do you think they want?" she asked him.

"I imagine it has to do with releasing their brother. I'm afraid they are in for a disappointment, though", Éomer said and shook his head as he pulled on his coat.

She would have liked to join him and meet these women from Rhûn, but she had already sent Elfwine's nursemaid home for the night, and she couldn't leave the child alone.

"You'll tell me everything afterwards?" she asked her husband after embracing and kissing him.

"Of course I will, beloved", he promised and gave her one more kiss. "I will see you later."

* * *

**A/N: **I told you this little story thread has now a life of its own! I would say there are going to be a couple more chapters with it at least. Even so, it is good to have our horselord back home again and with his family.

Also, as usual it is very entertaining to write about Amrothos!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **Yes, no one deserves such an end. It seems like they have peace for now, but who knows how long it will last!

**brandibuckeye - **I'm afraid one can't escape the drama when one is a king! :) Hope you like this new update.


	41. Chapter 41

Though the assassin's sisters had been disarmed upon entering the Golden Hall, Éomer decided caution was wise when dealing with the assassin's kin. For the same reason he and Lothíriel had silently agreed not to let them see the heir to the throne, not at least before he had found out more about their intentions. So, while his study would have been a more private setting for the conversation ahead, he decided to meet the two women in the Hall – with several guards watching their every move. While he wasn't scared of them, the last thing he needed was these foreigners trying to finish what their brothers had started.

Once seated on his throne, he gestured the pair to approach, but when there were some ten feet between them, Edelric spoke up: "That is close enough."

The two women stopped as in unison, and Éomer gave them a slight crooked smile, "You will have to forgive our mistrust. After all, our experiences of your family consist mostly of killing attempts."

"It is all right, King Éomer. You may rest assured we have no such intentions", said the woman on the left. They looked so alike they could very well be twins – even their expressions were almost identical. Both had long black hair, neatly braided at the back of their heads. They had the same dark eyes as their captured brother, but their faces had symmetry and delicacy his lacked. They were clothed in sturdy brown leather and a split skirts that slightly resembled the kind some Rohirric women used.

"In that case I welcome you to Edoras. I understand you are the sisters of man named Agon?" Éomer spoke, regarding the two women keenly.

"Indeed we are. I am named Asli, and this is my sister Nehir", said the woman who had first spoken.

"What brings you into my realm?" Éomer inquired, mostly for the sake of formality. The two women glanced at each other, looking like some silent message passed between them.

"My lord, we have travelled here for the sake of our brother, who is kept as a prisoner and facing execution. By now you must have realised how deeply we fear for him. King Éomer, we have come to plead mercy for him", Nehir spoke now for the first time, and he noticed her voice was deeper and lower than her sister's.

Éomer sighed. He knew he could only give them disappointment, which would sting all the more when they had made such a long journey to ask for pardon. But there was no way about it. He would not prevent justice from running its course, not even if these women had journeyed from the ends of the world and brought Béma with them to plead for Agon's life.

"I appreciate the fact you have chosen to approach me in a peaceful fashion rather than once again threatening me and my family", he said at length, watching Agon's sisters closely, "but I'm afraid I can't grant your wish. Your brother has broken our laws and tried to kill my queen. Such deed can't go unpunished, not as long as any justice dwells in this land."

"But my lord!" Asli spoke up heatedly, "You won your war! Surely you can afford some mercy after it?"

"Victory does not change what your brother tried to do", Éomer said firmly.

"He was just trying to -" she started, but he did not let her finish the sentence.

"He was trying to murder an innocent woman", he sharply reminded her. "I owe it to her and to my people to make sure he is treated accordingly. I am sorry, but from their point of view – and from mine – this is the only right decision."

Asli made a move as though to swiftly approach him, but Nehir stopped her by grabbing her arm. Nevertheless, Edelric stepped forward as well and half unsheathed his sword. Nehir said something quietly to her sister, and she remained motionless. However, there was a look on her face not unlike the one he had seen on her brother's face back in the east. Yet her hatred did not burn as hotly, and it was mixed with regret and grief.

"I'm sorry I can't help you. I do not blame you for what anger you may feel towards me. But you must understand this is my duty as king and as husband", Éomer said, his tone gentler and friendlier now. He could understand their despair, but understanding did not mean he would agree to what the two women asked.

"My lord", Nehir spoke then, her voice quiet and sad, "my lord, may we at least spend what time remains with our brother?"

"That I can grant you", he answered – this was not a plead he had to consider much. "You will see him tomorrow. For the night I insist you rest and eat."

Asli looked like she'd have protested, but again her sister spoke to her quietly, and it was she who responded: "Thank you for your hospitality, my lord."

He nodded as an answer and turned towards Éothain, who stood by his side. He asked, "Is Osythe still around? I need lodgings for my guests – in one of the guest houses rather than in the Hall."

"She should be in the kitchens. I'll send for her", said his friend and bowed his head before instructing one of the guards to fetch the chatelaine.

Indeed, he could be hospitable, but to trust these women would be foolish. He could not have them under the same roof as his family, not after the antics their kin had tried to pull off. While Nehir seemed level-headed enough, Asli appeared unpredictable... and far more likely to give into the temptation of some killing if she were allowed too close to Lothíriel and Elfwine. His queen should be able to watch out for herself and for their son, but when it came to the two most important people of his life, Éomer would not take any chances.

Once he had surrendered his guests to the care of Osythe, Éomer briefly instructed his captain a close watch should be kept tonight. The two sisters should be guarded as well, for he didn't want anyone trying to harm them for what their brother had attempted. Having seen to the comfort of his guests, and making sure the Golden Hall would remain secure despite their presence, he headed back to his wife and child.

She had already put their son to bed when he finally got back to the royal chambers. At his arrival, Lothíriel looked up sharply – he could see the anxiety in her eyes.

"How did it go?" she asked right away.

"It could have been worse", Éomer said and sat next to her on the divan. He explained to her what had happened, and she listened in silence.

"Do you think they mean to cause trouble?" she asked at length when he had finished the explanation.

"Would that I knew for certain. For now, perhaps not. But I don't trust them, and Béma knows what will happen once their brother meets his sentence", he said and cradled her hands between his. He gently kissed her brow and spoke softly, "Don't worry, beloved. They will not touch you or Elfwine, not as long as I breathe."

"I know", she murmured and reached to wrap her arms about him.

* * *

Even only half-awake Amrothos noticed the atmosphere in Meduseld was strange on the next morning. Usually, Rohirrim were a noisy lot, singing and laughing and yelling at any given time of the day. Few things could dampen their spirits for long. That was what he loved about these people, not to mention it clearly explained why Lothíriel was so at home among them.

So as he emerged from his chambers on that day and made for the Hall, he did wonder what was smothering the usual good cheer of the inhabitants of the place. Hoping to get an answer to that, he joined Edelric, Stándenu, and Éothain in one long table, which had been laid out for the morning meal. Alger was there too, leaning his head against his hands and looking just generally miserable. The men greeted him – Alger groaned – and Edelric moved to make him space.

"Had fun last night? Young Alger here doesn't seem to want to answer", Stándenu spoke – he was one of the older members of the Royal Guard, and reportedly unbeatable in the art of handling the spear.

"Yes, very much. The maidens of Edoras never disappoint", Amrothos said with a slight grin, and the three Rohirrim smiled knowingly. Even Alger showed a sign of life and sipped some ale carefully. A bowl of porridge was pushed before the prince, and he gladly accepted it. He spooned away, forming the question in his mind, when suddenly his eyes fell on something he had not expected to see.

In another table, which was mostly empty, sat two people he had never seen before. But he only needed to cast one look at them to know where they were from... and he was smart enough to put together two and two. After all, what or _who _else would cause a pair of Easterlings travel all the way here? His original question was now replaced with a thousand new ones, and he looked at Éothain.

"Who are those two women? What are they doing here?" he asked. While he could guess the general idea of their business, he still wanted the specifics. He glanced at the two women again and noticed how alike they looked. They were quite pretty as well, if he were any judge.

"They arrived last night. They are sisters to that man who attacked Lothíriel... they came to plead mercy for their brother", Éothain replied, frowning slightly as he stared down into his steaming mug of tea.

"You can probably guess what Éomer said to them. Though I must admit he was much more polite than I would have been – even offered them his hospitality", Edelric muttered and spread a chunk of fresh butter on a bread roll.

"Is it wise to let them stay? I don't think they are very happy to know they came here in vain", Amrothos pointed out.

"Ask your brother-in-law", Stándenu grumbled and glanced sharply at the prince. His opinion on the matter was clear without even having to speak.

"I think Éomer made the right call. It's not like these two have done anything wrong – they just wanted to help their brother. We can't treat them like criminals because of what he did", Éothain said firmly.

"Can you imagine? Travelling across the world because of your kin?" Alger mumbled, somewhat strengthened by ale.

"I can", Amrothos spoke quietly; he had not forgotten about Kin-strife of Rohan.

Others fell silent. Éothain and Edelric exchanged a look that spoke in volumes, and Alger blushed in embarrassment.

"My lord, I'm sorry – I didn't mean to suggest -" he stammered, but to finish the topic before it could start, Amrothos waved his hand.

"It's fine. I know what you meant", he said and glanced away, his eyes landing again on the two women from east. One of them had angry, blazing eyes, while the other... the other looked just sad and tired. He did not get to consider them for longer than that, though – they had finished their breakfast, and as they stood up, a guard moved along to escort them. As they walked, the sad-eyed one glanced at Amrothos.

He felt cold and shuddered.

_What if I had come too late...?_

* * *

Two weeks after Éomer had returned from war, an event took place in Edoras which was not often seen. Death sentence was not a usual judgement and it was not passed frequently – if he could avoid it, the King of the Mark did not execute the lawbreakers in the realm. But when the crime was such as Agon's, Éomer did not hesitate.

Lothíriel had not looked forward to the execution, but she kept that thought to herself. She knew her presence was necessary, not only for her king but also for her people. Éomer had hard time understanding her point of view, but as she emphasised she fully agreed with the death sentence, he could accept her different stance.

Perhaps it was odd, but his words on her view were something to make her smile for days.

"Woman, you are a puzzle I shall spend the rest of my life solving", he said with a slight smile and a shake of his head.

The day of the execution came with slight rain, drizzling softly on the plains like a grey veil. The general mood in the Golden Hall was solemn, and even Elfwine seemed to sense it – his usual cheerful cooing and babbling fell quiet as well. He watched silently his parents as they got ready, and occasionally Lothíriel would throw a glance at him to remind herself: _That man would have left my son without a mother. _

While she finished braiding her hair, Éomer stood by the window. He stared out and his expression was stony; yet the sternness of it added to the air of kingliness about him. His dark embroidered coat, the coronet on his silver-gold hair, his hand resting on the polished pommel of his sword... but then his little son waddled to him and reached a small chubby hand to his leg, and Éomer looked down. The severe look on his face melted away at the sight of the child and he lifted Elfwine up in his arms. Lothíriel smiled at the sight, almost forgetting about what they would soon have to face.

But then her husband looked at her and the grave look returned into his eyes.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Aye, I am", she said quietly, shaking herself. "Let's go."

Execution was not such a thing as to take place on the grounds of the capital. Rather, it would be outside the gates of Edoras and beyond the mounds of past kings of the Mark. At least in the courtyard of Meduseld this caused quite the hassle: horses of the King and Queen, and of the Royal Guard, were readied. Éothain and Amrothos were present as well, and so was Erkenbrand, who was visiting the capital for a few days.

Not much was spoken on the way to the site of execution. Lothíriel noticed the streets of the capital were emptier than usual – perhaps people had also gone down to the plains in hopes of witnessing the event, or had decided to keep the weather in their homes. She pulled her hood deeper; under the thick, resilient Rohirric wool, she was safe from the rain.

The grey veil of it hung heavily on the plains. Despite it, a crowd had indeed gathered about half a league from Théoden's mound, their voices falling and rising in murmurs as they waited. It did not take long for Lothíriel to spot the two sisters, standing with their heads bare in the rain, and both wearing a stony look on their faces. She knew they had said their goodbyes last night, and had not expected to see them today – how they intended to endure watching their brother die, she didn't know. She at least knew she could never bear something so horrible.

Glancing at Éomer, she saw the faintest crease pass on his brow, and knew he too had noticed the two sisters. But he paid no more attention to them, but instead moved his gaze over the crowd that had gathered today. There were much more of them than Lothíriel had expected. Then again, executions were not a common occurrence in the Mark, and the assassin had been the talk of the capital for weeks.

Their expecting silence broke when the culprit was brought forth. All kinds of obscenities filled the damp air suddenly, even the kind Lothíriel had not heard before, though she had seen her share of war camps. Riders of the King's Company held them back with their spears, and those still horseback remained alert in case the situation turned uncontrollable. It seemed to her only two people did not participate in throwing the insults: those two regarded their brother silently, and she saw him meeting their gazes... even smiling.

She swallowed. This was going to be even harder than she had thought.

"Eorlingas!" Éomer's voice carried over the noise and silenced it. "You all know the reason we are gathered here today. The crime of this man is known to you – some of you witnessed it with your own eyes. Though we are fortunate he did not succeed, such deed cannot go unpunished."

Quiet reigned over the scene when he fell silent. Gravely her king regarded the crowd before speaking again, "Our laws are clear on this matter. An attack against any member of the House of Eorl is an attack against the throne of the Mark."

He dismounted, and silence hung heavy; the tension of the atmosphere was nearly tangible. The guards pushed Agon before the King of the Mark and then down on his knees. To Lothíriel it did not seem like he was afraid, but on the other hand she hadn't expected he would be.

_I have lived in the shadow of death all my life._

"If you have something to say, now would be a good time", Éomer spoke, his voice low as he loosened his sword in its sheath. Even Lothíriel, who was close, had to strain her ears in order to hear, for the crowd was alive with noise again, and once more their insults filled the air – some of them so colourful it bordered absurdity.

"I would only ask you to let my sisters take my body back home", Agon spoke quietly, "and to give me a warrior's death."

"Very well", said the King of the Mark and unsheathed his sword as he moved around Agon and halted behind him. Grasping Gúthwinë's hilt with both hands, he looked up for a moment, his expression stony and his eyes without their usual glimmer. He had said he would pass the sentence himself, for he would not condemn a man to death unless he would be the one to deliver it. Lothíriel had heard one of the guards muttering it was only right, as it had been Éomer's own wife Agon had tried to kill. As he lifted his sword, the shouts of the crowd became deafening. But Agon's eyes were on his sisters, and he was smiling at them – the two were past trying to hide the tears in their eyes.

The blade fell, and a silence with it: the only sound was the sickening sound of steel cutting into flesh, followed by a gurgle of blood from Agon's mouth. He wavered on his knees for a second, until life left his dark eyes and he fell on the ground for the last time.

* * *

After the execution, things had happened in something of a haze. While Lothíriel had been able to maintain a cool and collected manner, she had felt vaguely sick by the affair. While she recognised what had happened was but fulfilment of law, watching a man die in such manner was just... it had been harder to witness than she had thought, even though she knew Agon only got what he had coming.

Éomer had ordered a few guards to help the dead man's sisters to carry his body, so that they could make necessary preparations for the long and bitter journey home – having seen to the justice, he could give them that much. Even then, she also knew the guard duties in Meduseld had been doubled to prevent all vengeful attempts.

Lothíriel at least was relieved to head back to Edoras and home. Hair at the back of her head was still up and standing, though, all the way to the Golden Hall. But if she felt troubled, she could sense her beloved was not quite at peace either, even if he too kept his expression firmly controlled. He might be able to fool others, but not her.

It was a question she spared for when they were alone once more, retired to their chambers to change from their formal attires. Soon as she had put away her cloak, she turned to look at her king.

"Are you all right?" she asked him gently, catching his hand in her own. He turned to face her and his expression melted into a faint smile.

"Don't worry, dear heart. It was unpleasant but nothing I couldn't handle", he told her and reached to kiss her brow. "I'm glad it's over."

"Me too", she said softly. With a sigh, she wrapped arms about him and rested her head against his shoulder. One of his hands idly ran through her hair and with the other he held her close.

"What about you? Are you still unwell?" Éomer asked then. A small half-smile tugged at the corner of her mouth: just as she could read him, so could he read her.

"I'll be fine. It's just... well, I suppose it's because I've never seen an execution before", shereplied and looked up at him. He looked surprised.

"Not even in Dol Amroth? Then again, maybe I shouldn't be surprised, knowing your father", he said.

"I don't think Father passed any death sentences during my lifetime. Even if he did, he wouldn't probably have let me see it", she said and shook her head.

"Why didn't you tell me you haven't seen an execution before?" Éomer asked with a slight frown.

"I don't know", she answered at length. "You've had a lot on your mind, and I suppose I didn't want you to worry about me."

As an answer he let out a low grumble.

"Impossible woman. What am I ever going to do with you?" he muttered. Even so, he tipped up her face with his fingers, so that he could kiss her.

"We are fine?" he asked at the end of it, keeping close to her still.

"Yes, we are."

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update for Monday! I hope you guys will have a great week. :)

This chapter was interesting to write. I think it falls in that same exploration of morally grey area which has been touched in last few chapters. Tolkien did not really write about Rohirric laws as far as I know, so I've taken some inspiration from real world traditional societies, in which death sentence has been a punishment for variety of crimes. Moreover, I think a warlike people like Rohirrim would endorse it. On the other hand, Éomer is not a kind of king who passes such sentence very lightly. For that very reason he also insists on doing it himself.

Also, while Agon's kin has caused a fair amount of headache to Éomer, I think he's fair enough to treat his sisters politely. After all, it's not like they have done something wrong. But politeness and hospitality don't exclude caution!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **He's a sweet child indeed, and dearly loved by his parents. :) Hope you like this chapter.

**brandibuckeye - **I'm glad you enjoyed it! :) I'm wondering if I should write more about Asli and Nehir.


	42. Chapter 42

_Late July 4, Meduseld_

_Six and a half years, _Éomer thought to himself on an early morning of late July as warm light flooded into their chamber and illuminated the face of his wife. She was still asleep, her long hair spread messily over her naked shoulders and the pillow, and she was puffing softly against his chest. Somehow the woman knew exactly how to melt his heart, and she didn't even have to be awake to do it. He had lived nearly to his fourth decade before knowing she existed, and she hadn't needed a year to consume his very core.

Six and a half years... sometimes, it was hard to believe so many had already passed since the night in Ithilien. Four of it she had been his wife, and nearly one and a half the mother of his child. Many more were yet to come: against such an overwhelming promise, past sufferings were a small, pale thing. Idly he thought of all the things they would come to see... their son growing up, scars of war fading for good, and his people living to witness a peace like generations of Eorlingas before them had only dreamt. And one day, perhaps, they would see Elfwine's children.

The morning was very early but Éomer was wide awake, enjoying this moment of calm and the closeness of his beloved queen. But eventually he disentangled himself from her embrace, wishing not to disturb her – she needn't yet wake up at this hour. So heavily his wife slept, she didn't stir as he quickly pulled on a pair of breeches and a linen shirt, and then gathered his hair at the nape of his neck by a leather cord. After he had dressed, he tiptoed out of the bedchamber and headed for the royal nursery to check on Elfwine.

His son was still fast asleep, sprawled on his bed with each limb pointing at a different direction. At some point he had kicked off his blankets. With a slight, fond smile Éomer regarded the child and pulled covers back on him again. Was there anything more innocent than a child dreaming?

On this early morning he felt a sense of calm: though the work of a king was neverending, and there was doubtlessly another war looming ahead in the near future, for now there was peace and prosperity in the realm. Though he had not enjoyed taking Agon's life, passing the sentence had also removed the need for retribution. No one touched Lothíriel and lived to tell the tale.

Few other people were up and awake when he made way through the Hall. Brilliant sunlight of dawn flowed inside, and specks of dust danced in bright golden beams, which contrasted with the shadowy corners of the space. He had always thought Meduseld was at its fairest in the early morrows, when the day was just beginning and the quiet of morning still lingered.

Éomer came to the twin doors then, and pushed them open; he was rendered blind for a brief moment as bright morning's light flooded in. He lifted his face against it, enjoying the life-giving warmth, and let out a soft sigh. But as he exited, he quickly saw he was not the only one outside at this hour.

On the stone steps of Meduseld some three feet from the top, two figures were sitting. One he immediately recognised as Amrothos, but the other came as a surprise: it was one of Agon's sisters. As Éomer had hard time telling them apart even face to face, he could but guess which one this was. What intrigued him more, though, was the fact she was sitting with Amrothos... and his hand was on her slightly shaking shoulders.

Silently Éomer watched this unexpected scene before himself, wondering how it had come to pass, and where it would lead. The question seemed all the more valid when she suddenly threw her arms about Amrothos' neck and sobbed in what could only be complete heartbreak.

The King of the Mark breathed in and out. He could sympathise with her: he knew the pain of losing a loved one, and he had not forgotten that terrible moment on the fields of Pelennor when he had seen Éowyn laying on the ground and he had thought he had lost her too. That was the hard thing, he deemed... seeing and understanding the both sides.

Éomer sighed, but the sound was lost to the pair on the stairs. He turned and returned inside, wondering what Amrothos was getting himself into, and just what might be her reason to allow it.

* * *

"Have you talked with your brother lately?"

Her horselord asked the question on the morrow a few days after the execution. He was already up when she awakened, the early morning bird he was. Now as they sat eating breakfast, he had Elfwine on his knee and was watching their son spooned his gruel properly into his mouth – though some had already ended up on the child's cheeks and his father's shirt. Instances like these, though perhaps perfectly ordinary, were some of Lothíriel favourites: the world knew Éomer as a fierce warrior and a firm leader of men, but with his wife and son he was nothing but a loving husband and a father.

At any rate his question made her look up and lift up her eyebrows with some surprise.

"I talked with him only yesterday. Why, is there something I should know of?" she asked.

"This morning, when I went outside, I saw him with one of those women from Rhûn. It seemed like he was comforting her... I do not know if he only happened on her, or if there is something more going on between them", he said at length, watching his son pensively. He glanced at Lothíriel then, "I don't mean to say it's my business who he spends his time with, but dealings with these women could be dangerous."

"Dangerous how?" she asked and frowned.

"They may have been peaceful until now, but if they decide there is a blood feud between them and us, Amrothos would be a good target", Éomer said darkly. Worriedly she looked at him.

"Do you think these two or their surviving brothers may still want revenge? That they'll try to harm our family again?" she asked him. Elfwine had fallen silent and stopped eating – he looked from his father to his mother, wearing a quizzical look on his face. He must have noticed the change in the tones of his parents.

"Perhaps not right now", he answered after a moment's consideration, "but that does not mean they won't in the future. The assassin's sisters seem more determined to grieve and to take their brother home... they can't take care of him if they are busy fleeing from my riders. Yet it's entirely possible they stand back now so that they can return one day and seek their vengeance."

Her troubled mood probably was clear on her face, for his expression softened and he reached over the table to cover her hand with his. He spoke gently, "You needn't be concerned, my love. No harm will come to you and Elfwine."

"I know that, Éomer. It's not myself I worry for", she said, intertwining her fingers with his. She considered their joined hands when she spoke again, "I will speak with Amrothos."

* * *

With their brother dead, there was nothing more holding back the two sisters in Edoras. They had prepared his body for the long journey home, making sure they would be able to bury him according to their own traditions. Lothíriel had said Éomer was sending some riders to escort them to the borders of the Mark, which in Amrothos opinion was very decent. Then again, he wouldn't expect anything else from his brother-in-law.

The day Asli and Nehir were set to leave was as any, but their preparations in the courtyard of the Golden Hall did not seem to possess the noisy bustle one would usually see in this place when riders came and went. Amrothos had come to watch them go, and quietly he stood on the stone steps. Both sisters wore those same stony faces which had been there for the most of their stay, and quietly they spoke to each other. He knew most people had difficulty telling them apart, but he had no such problem: Asli's face was fuller, her face more prone to turn into a frown. Nehir had a lighter step and though in this place she did not smile, Amrothos felt she possessed light that was not in her sister. Asli was bold and sharp, Nehir more quiet and considerate. Really, there were numberless things that separated the two sisters from each other, and he didn't know why others wouldn't notice it.

Yet he knew what people here in Edoras thought of them: while they might follow their king's lead and remain polite, ultimately Rohirrim were suspicious and mistrustful of the two women. Lothíriel was too, and she had made it very clear in the conversation she had shared with him. She had told him of things she and Éomer had spoken of, and they both seemed to think Agon's kin might not yet be done with their vengeance. To go too close to these two could be dangerous, or so she said... but try as he might, Amrothos did not feel any danger. How could he after those morning moments, when upon returning from the night's adventures he had sat next to Nehir and tried to comfort her? He had felt nothing threatening about her, just crushing grief... which he could understand very well. The idea of losing one of his own siblings was loathsome to even think of.

It was then a pair of dark eyes caught his, interrupting his thoughts: his quiet observation had been noticed. Silently Nehir met his gaze and did not turn away. Then Asli noticed him too and looked up as well, but her eyes held nothing congenial. She reached for her sister's arm and said something, making the other turn towards her again.

Suddenly, Amrothos realised: he would probably never see _her _again, not unless he acted now. So he flounced down the steps of Meduseld and hurried to Nehir. Her sister said something that sounded quite unfriendly, but she answered it sharply, and Asli turned away with a quiet huff.

"What is it, Prince Amrothos? How can I be of help?" Nehir inquired, carefully searching his face.

"I was just... well, I wanted to say how sorry I am about all this", he said and glanced at wagons nearby – the body had been covered, but he knew what travelled there.

"Thank you", Nehir muttered and looked down. She didn't seem like she'd add anything much to the conversation, but he was reluctant to let it end yet.

So he asked: "What are you plans now? After you have gone home, that is?"

"I suppose we will go on... without him. We _must _go on", Nehir replied softly and looked up again. Her eyes held a stark, determined expression.

"Then I wish you good luck", Amrothos said and moved his hand to pat her shoulder, but then in the middle of the movement he changed his mind – he didn't know if she'd appreciate it. He gave her a tentative smile, "But, you know, if you ever happen to have business in Gondor... well, I will be in Dol Amroth. You know how to find me."

Nehir watched him silently, and her expression was closely guarded – Amrothos had no idea of what might be moving in her mind. He let his smile grow wider, to show her how sincere his words were.

"I shall keep that in mind, Prince Amrothos", she said and looked away, and for a moment he thought that might be the most answer he'd get out of this woman. However, the conversation was not fated to end in such way: for suddenly Nehir turned towards him, and with both hands she grasped his face. Then she claimed his lips in a fast, almost bruising kiss.

Amrothos had never been one to reject a kiss of a woman such as her, and so he wrapped his arms about her and responded the kiss in equal enthusiasm. If many people were witnessing this sudden turn of events he was not aware, nor did he care much. For he thought he could taste in Nehir's kiss something spicy, and feel in it things he had never felt before.

He would have been content to let it go for longer, perhaps hours even, but as suddenly as she had pulled him to her, Nehir ended the kiss and moved back. Her wide dark eyes drew him, as though a flame might draw a moth, and he could not look away.

"Yes", she murmured, still holding his face between her hands, "I might visit you some time."

* * *

Amrothos was set to leave for Dol Amroth a few days after Asli and Nehir had departed. He didn't have to say the reason out loud: she knew it had to do with what had happened on the day two sisters had left Edoras. He had been easy friends with the Rohirrim from the start, but now a number of them were wary of him.

His spirits could not be dampened even by that, and on the morning he was set to leave home, he smiled slightly and shook his head when he spoke: "I understand them perfectly. You are their queen and they love you, just as they love Éomer. And though Nehir and her sister were innocent of what their brother attempted, it's not going to make Rohirrim like them very much."

He frowned then slightly and went on, "But I get their point too. I would probably go raving mad if something ever happened to you or our brothers."

There was not much Lothíriel could say to that. So she just hugged him tightly and murmured, "I wish you didn't have to go yet."

"And I would love to stay, but I feel a bit like I've overstayed my welcome, and you and Éomer have better things to do than to entertain me. It's high time I head home anyway – Father is probably wondering already if I've decided to settle here for good", Amrothos said and patted her shoulder as he pulled back from the hug.

"You must give him my love, and tell him we'll try to make it to Dol Amroth before Yule", Lothíriel said and managed a smile. But then she recalled the question that had been on her mind. With a faint frown she spoke it, "What will you do if she comes back?"

"I really don't know, sister. I guess we just have to wait and see?" he answered and shrugged. It did not particularly console her, but she knew it was pointless to preach. Her brother would do as he saw fit, and she couldn't blame him. After all, it was a quality she had as well.

"Just... be careful. Don't let anyone hurt you – not even her", she said softly and looked straight into her brother's eyes. His expression became gentle and soft.

"Of course not. Don't worry about me, sister. I can take care of myself", he reassured her, hugged her for one last time, and then was the time for goodbyes. Amrothos and the knights he had travelled here with mounted their horses, and suddenly the atmosphere of the courtyard electrified. Her brother lifted up his hand to bid farewell to Éomer, who waited on the terrace of Meduseld, and King of the Mark returned the gesture. To Lothíriel Amrothos grinned and bid farewell, and then his company sped forward.

Quietly she climbed the stone steps, those which she had climbed and descended a hundred times now, and stopped by the side of her horselord. He wrapped an arm about her and she pressed close to him.

"Do you think that woman will return?" Éomer asked at length as they stood watching the capital of the Mark – Amrothos was not to be seen anymore, and he had not yet travelled through the gate and into the plains.

"Would that I knew", Lothíriel sighed. "I just hope he doesn't get hurt. He can be hare-brained sometimes..."

"Perhaps some distance from her will do him good, and he will be able to think more clearly", said her husband gently.

"Let's hope so", she murmured and laid her head against his shoulder. Quietly she spoke again, "I love you."

"I love you too, my queen", he replied and the hold of his arms about her became tighter. She tiptoed to kiss him then, and when afterwards she pulled back again, she felt a bit better. Éomer never needed to do much to cheer her up.

He smiled now, as though he knew what she was thinking. He asked, "What would you say about a ride, dear one?"

She returned his smile, "That would be nice."

* * *

**A/N: **And here's an update for the new week! Asli and Nehir have exited the stage, but for how long that might be... well, who knows! ;)

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **I'm glad you liked it! I have to say, it was quite fascinating to write as well. Every now and then I think it's necessary to explore issues like that. :)

**brandibuckeye - **I tried to come up with a way to include more of them, but nothing I could think of really satisfied me - expect this. I hope it's not too much of a disappointment!

I have a feeling the death sentence was a matter where even Lothíriel wouldn't have been able to change Éomer's mind. He feels very strongly about his queen and son, and if anyone should threaten them, his answer will be without mercy.

**Thalia - **I think this is one thing where she can't turn his head. I also feel she knows that, too.

At this point, Elfwine is around one and a half years. I usually imagine him (not just in this piece) as resembling Imrahil, but having Éomer's eyes. Also, I think he has inherited more than just a pinch of his father's personality. So while he may bear likeness to his maternal grandfather, he definitely is his father's son. :)

**SarahWeasley - **Thank you for your review! I'm happy to hear you enjoy this story so much. :) And as a writer, hearing my stories have inspired someone else to write is one of the most delightful things to hear! I wish you all the luck with it!


	43. Chapter 43

_August 4, Meduseld_

Light tickled her nose.

Gently it warmed her face and danced against the tip of her nose, for a new day had risen and the sun would demand she wake up. But Lothíriel felt warm and comfortable under the blankets and against the chest of her husband, whose arm was securely wrapped about her; since after Pelargir she had grown accustomed to having him next to her at nights, and now she often found it difficult to rest if he were not close.

Sleepily she decided not to wake up yet and dozed off for a while, until at last she could feel a gentle kiss against the back of her neck. A hand slowly crept under the hem of the shirt she had been using for the night, and then moved slowly over her skin in a caress. A soft moan slipped from her lips before she even knew it, and she shifted to move more tightly into the warmth of his embrace. Judging by the low grumbling sound he made, her husband rather liked that.

Hoarsely Éomer murmured his love in Rohirric, and she smiled without opening her eyes; she liked it when he lapsed into his own tongue in this way, for she felt it made his words somehow much more genuine.

His fingertips passed over spots of her skin he knew to be sensitive, and she trembled in delight. Lothíriel turned enough to kiss him, and it quickly grew heated; she moved to lay on her back and pulled at his hand, and in seconds he rolled on the top of her. He came slowly, almost _too _slowly, and in impatience she lifted her hips, until she had him where she wanted. She let out a deep, shivering breath and pulled him into a kiss once more.

Slow at first, and very deeply, then with growing pace – until she felt her hold slipping. Oh, the scoundrel knew just what strings to pull! But two could play that came, and his final groan did not come very long after hers. When he lifted up his face to kiss her one more time, she saw that lazy warm smile she so loved.

"Good morning", Éomer murmured against her lips.

"Oh, it's very good", she answered, entangling her feet with his to keep him from moving away.

"Breakfast?" he asked, holding his weight with his arms.

"Maybe later", she murmured and snaked down her hand. When she saw the look on his face and he groaned something unintelligible in Rohirric, she could not hold back a self-satisfied smile.

"... I agree."

* * *

"Where is he?"

The question was a good one, Éothain had to admit: it was not Éomer's habit to make his advisers wait in the morning like this – especially when he had not gone to a ride, as the former captain had divined when he had seen Silfren outside the royal stables upon his daily climb to Meduseld. Not that he had expected such. The council meeting this morning had been arranged a few days before, and another thing Éomer did not usually do was arrive late to appointments.

Hygelac – the man who had just made the question – and the rest of the council members all looked at Éothain now, as though he had intimate knowledge of Éomer's comings and goings. Well, he was friends with the man, so he didn't wonder others would expect him to have an inkling.

Now he did not, though, and so he just shrugged.

"I have no idea. I can send a servant to ask for him", he said tentatively, and turned for the door.

Éothain had just entered the Hall and gestured at a servant to talk to him when a sound of muffled laughter made him prick up his ears and turn. He saw his king emerge with his queen, side by side, and both grinning and trying to suppress their laughter. Then Éomer stopped and stole a kiss from his wife, who didn't seem at all dismayed. She wrapped arms about his neck and tiptoed towards him, her chuckles fading into the affections.

The former captain smiled. Seeing such unburdened happiness, how could one blame his friend for being late? He had known Éomund's son long enough, seen the obstacles he battled, to fully appreciate the sight before his eyes.

When the two were finally able to break apart, Éomer's eyes came to rest on Éothain. The King of the Mark smiled, "Good morning, Éothain."

"Good morning to you as well, my lord. I was just wondering if something had happened and you couldn't join us in the council chamber", said the former captain – the lightness of his tone made it into a friendly query instead of an accusation.

"Forgive me, my friend – I seem to have forgotten about the passage of time. I didn't mean to make you wait", his friend apologised and gave one last quick kiss to his wife. She grinned at the two men.

"Have a good day, you two", she said and turned, her step so light one might have expected her to start to float any time now.

"Béma, I love that woman", Éomer muttered softly to himself. Then he looked at his friend, "Shall we, then?"

* * *

_My dear sister -_

_Thank you for your latest letter! It came to me as a pleasant surprise, though it was nonetheless much awaited. I have been hoping to hear from you and your family, and how things go in Ithilien. I had rather wished to be able to ask you that in person, but I'm afraid that visit will have to wait for some more convenient time. At any rate, I am glad to hear all three of you are in good health and your home is flourishing. One could expect nothing less from you and Faramir! Please give him my regards. _

_Also many thanks for the drawings you sent. Elboron looks like has grown much since I last saw him, and if the artist does him any justice, the lad grows more like you with each year. The pictures of your home and the new village came as a nice surprise as well, and we have spent hours looking at them – Lothíriel was very glad to see them. I imagine you will hear more about it in the letter she's composing for you. I must admit, I was surprised to read you have started to practice drawing. But more than that it's good to hear you have found something which brings you so much joy. You must show me your drawings when I visit you and Faramir. _

_In your letter you asked whether the assassin's kin still troubles us. No tidings of them has come to my ears at least, but then again I do not suppose they would make noise about themselves. For that very reason close guard is still kept in Edoras and strangers receive a more thorough questioning than usually in times of peace. While I don't like having to exercise this kind of mistrust towards travellers, I also can't risk the lives of my wife and son. Hopefully the flames of anger will cool with time, and Agon's kin will realise vengeance won't take us anywhere. You must remain careful as well, because I don't put it past them to keep from harming you, if they become desperate. I know you can take care of yourself and Faramir too, but I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you, Éowyn. _

_Even though this matter continues to haunt me – or perhaps just because it – Lothíriel and I were glad to hear the happy news from Mundburg. I'm certain you also have already heard that Arwen is with child again. Aragorn wrote about it to me, and he sounds so giddy it's hard to believe he was the one to compose the letter. Imagine that! Still, I'm happy for them, and also slightly envious. I do not expect Elfwine will ever have siblings in blood, but hopefully your children, and those of Aragorn's, will fulfil that role. _

_My son and wife are fine, though Lothíriel has been on a boisterous mood. No wonder, for we are soon to depart for Dol Amroth to visit Imrahil. It has been four years since she last saw her birth home... she tells me she's perfectly happy in Edoras, and most days doesn't even remember to miss Dol Amroth, but sometimes I can see the longing on her face. It's formidable to understand the things she has given up for me, and knowing I can never repay her in kind._

_Still, it's good to be travelling to Dol Amroth. Imrahil has been waiting for our visit ever since the Kin-strife ended, and it should do good to us both to get away from Edoras for a little while. I wonder, would you and Faramir and your son be able to make it to Dol Amroth as well? But please, don't take any pressure – I know you both have your own lives and are likely too busy to entertain your exacting brother. We'll have to see if we could travel via your home on our way back, and if I can convince my advisers they can let me out of their sight for a few weeks. _

_I'm afraid I must stop now – it is late, and Lothíriel is asking me to join her in bed. We have a busy few days ahead of us before we can begin our journey to Dol Amroth. In case we can't make it to Emyn Arnen, I hope all the very best to you and your family. May Béma keep and guard you._

_Write to me soon, sister!_

_Fondest greetings,_

_Éomer_

* * *

**A/N: **And here's an update! Is it ever a bad time for some sweet romancing? I think not! :D As far as I'm concerned, the world doesn't have enough of Éomer/Lothíriel cuteness.

As you can see by the latter part of the chapter, I wanted to focus a bit more on Éomer as a man with family. And a letter to Éowyn seemed like a perfect place to show you where the things are going now: Aragorn and Arwen are expecting, and Éomer and Lothíriel (and Elfwine) are going to visit Dol Amroth at last!

I'll be busy for the rest of the week, so I doubt I'll be able to update before Friday a week from now. Until then!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**brandibuckeye -** They may be off radar for the moment, but whether they are gone for good... well, wait and see. :)

**Jo - **That seemed like such a natural way to go, especially with a character like Amrothos. I'm glad you liked it!


	44. Chapter 44

The wind changed that night.

As soon as they had emerged from the shadow of the Dimholt road, it had been blowing from the east. But Lothíriel had eagerly looked southwards, though she knew it would be a couple of days before they would reach Edhellond and catch their first glimpse of the Great Sea. Four years had passed since her last sight of Ulmo's waters, and she had missed that vision more than she had realised. There was an urge to race forward until she came to the shores of the sea, but she held it back for the time being. Even so, though it was September and the sea would be growing colder, she fully meant to go for a swim each day as long as they stayed in Dol Amroth.

The time for the long overdue visit to her birth home had come at last: the day she had left it for Pelargir seemed to have happened in another lifetime. A princess had departed from that city – now a queen would return.

So she was anxious for more than just the sea, and they had travelled as quickly as it was possible with Elfwine and Cenric along. Elfhelm and Ceolwen were travelling with them too, for the Shieldmaiden had never seen the sea.

But on this night, about a week into their journey towards Dol Amroth, the sea finally came to Lothíriel in the wind. It was still leagues away and the sound of waves rolling to the shore could not possibly reach here, so perhaps it was just the memory that whispered in her dreams... softly reminding her of childhood days long gone.

She startled from sleep in the tent she shared with her husband and son, but neither of them became aware of her sudden awakening. First she was too disoriented to understand what had disturbed her so, but then the door-flap of their tent stirred and breath of air came in... it filled her lungs and she could almost taste the salt of the sea on her lips.

Swiftly she rolled from Éomer's embrace and climbed up on her feet. Then she threw on his cloak, which was the closest garment she could find. Lothíriel threw a brief glance to her two horselords, but they remained deep in their dreams, and she smiled fondly. They were of the Mark and the wind from the sea had not stirred them even slightly.

The Queen of Rohan tiptoed out, much to the surprise of the night guards. One of them looked at her curiously, "Is something amiss, my lady?"

"No, no. Everything's fine. I just wanted some fresh air", she said and smiled, and the guards bowed. She could see them relaxing, content in the knowledge their lord and his family were all fine.

Except for those on guard duty, the camp was quiet and the riders were fast asleep. Soft embers of the watch fire gave light to the late night, and the only sounds were snoring, the quiet voices of the guards and occasional nickers from the horses. On the ground, men wrapped in their thick green cloaks were sprawled here and there – she had to mind her feet, lest she stepped on some poor fellow's face.

Lothíriel came to a halt at the edge of the camp, where the light of fire faded into the dark blue of night and gave way to silver sheen of the Moon and stars. The wind shifted again and she inhaled... and there it was: the spirit of the sea.

For four years now she had breathed the air of the Mark, sometimes the gentler West wind, sometimes the brisk, chilly streams of the North, and from the east it came no more with fear. But that time had not made her forget _this, _or the countless little memories of another life. How young she had been, and how foolish!

She closed her eyes and just breathed, wandering the paths of recollection – and wondering how strangely life could shape one's fate. For the girl she had once been had not expected to leave the shores of her childhood, or to do so for a man of the Mark. But then, she had been conquered, just as much as he had been. And for him, exchanging Ulmo's waters to the sea of grass had seemed, and still did, like a reasonable sacrifice.

There were soft steps behind her, and then Ceolwen came to a halt by her side, shuddering against the sleepy chill. Lothíriel smiled at her friend.

"What is keeping you up at this hour?" she asked quietly, as though any loud noise might disturb the spell of the moment.

"I never sleep very heavily on the road", said the Shieldmaiden and pulled a cloak tighter about her shoulders. "I woke up to check on Cenric and thought to catch a bit of air."

Ceolwen glanced at her queen, "One could ask why you are up and about."

"The sea woke me up, I suppose. I could smell it even through the sleep", Lothíriel answered. The older woman lifted up her eyebrows and sniffed.

"I can't smell anything", she said dubiously, at which Lothíriel had to laugh softly.

"It's in my blood. Grandfather used to say our line had lived so long on the shores of the sea that we had some salt water running in our veins", she said, smiling at the memory of the old man. The stars and the sea had been his two passions; while even she would always love this wind from the south and the sight of the shores, she knew Erchirion was the mariner with grandfather's commitment to the sea.

Her comment was meant in jest, but something about it brought a solemn expression to her friend's face.

"I sometimes forget how much you gave up in leaving your home. I don't think I could do something like that, and leave the Mark to live somewhere else", Ceolwen said quietly.

But the Queen of the Mark reached to pat her friend's shoulder, and she smiled, "Sometimes one has to give up one thing to receive something else. Rohan is my home now, and while Dol Amroth will always have special significance to me, it was also a time I had to grow out of to become who I really am."

Those words brought a smile back to her friend's face.

"Yes, that does seem like a very good reason. And to be honest I'm glad you did choose the Mark", said the Shieldmaiden. She gave a one-armed hug to her queen and then stretched, "I think I will head back to our tent. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

"Hmm. You are right. I should get back too", Lothíriel agreed, and once they had returned to the firelight of the camp and bid each other good night, she entered the royal tent again. Her king and prince were still fast asleep, and quietly she put aside Éomer's cloak, shivering at the loss of its warmth. But before she sought sleep, she quickly made sure Elfwine was fine and warm under his blankets. The child never woke up as his mother pulled covers about him again.

When she settled down next to Éomer once more, he sighed deeply and turned towards her, wrapping an arm about her. Sleepily he muttered against her hair, "Were you meaning to steal away at night, my fay-woman?"

"Who would take care of you and Elfwine if I did?" she asked back, rousing a soft rumble of laughter from his chest.

"Indeed", he murmured and seemed to fall back asleep. She smiled to herself and relaxed against the warmth of her king, and soon dreams took her once more.

* * *

At last the escort of the King and Queen of the Mark reached the borders of the city by the sea. They had started early that day, much because of Lothíriel's ever-growing anxiety. Since their first sight of the sea, she had been tense and restless. But her husband and friends seemed to understand why this was, and so they had only acted patient around her. Still, it was probably because of this Éomer had the company on the move very early on the day of their arrival, and so it was at midday when they sighted the city of Dol Amroth: its proud white towers, the silver and blue pennants flying the wind that came from the sea, and the lush landscape which enjoyed milder weathers than the Mark in the north. The city itself was not as grand as Minas Tirith, but it too was built of pale stone, and bore the same hand-print of Númenóreans as the White City did. Dol Amroth had been crafted to endure the wind and the salt sprays of the sea, but also to retain some of the beauty of the lost realm of Men of the West, and to last beyond many generations of mortal men.

A lump rose into Lothíriel's throat as she regarded the city before her: after four years, she was finally going back. It was all she could do from urging her mare into a wild gallop, to just race through the streets of the city...

Then a gentle hand fell on her forearm, and she turned to see her king looking at her gently. He rode beside her, carrying Elfwine with him in the saddle. He asked: "Are you all right?"

She managed to give him a smile.

"I will be. It's just... it's bittersweet to be here at last", she told him in quiet tones. "I will probably be a weeping mess for as long as we stay here."

"It's fine. There is nothing strange about missing the time and place you grew up in", Éomer said steadily and briefly held her hand.

"And I'm starting to realise the reason for your mood. It's a very beautiful land", commented Ceolwen, who had moved forward to ride closer to her king and queen. As always on the road, she was arrayed in leggings, chain-mail, and leather jerkin. Her sword rested on her hip and a shield was hanging from her saddle. But her head was bare, and her hair streamed down her shoulders in thick braids: there was a sight to behold for the Amrothian crowds. They were not expecting battles, but King's Company never rode anywhere unarmed, and she guessed Ceolwen just didn't feel right without her gear. With a slight smile Lothíriel thought herself paled in comparison with her split skirt and riding coat of leather, though she too rode astride.

The gates of the city were wide open for the escort of the King and Queen of Rohan, and their arrival roused many shouts of greeting. As they neared the entrance of the city, the riders slowed down into a light gait. Usually the roads to Dol Amroth were full of travellers and merchants and all sorts of folk, but this way had been cleared for the arrival of the royal family of the Mark. Glancing at her husband and son, Lothíriel could see Elfwine's eyes were wide and full of wonder, and the child was fast babbling to his father about all that he saw. As she looked about herself, she could see the city had not changed. She might have as well as left yesterday. But then, Dol Amroth had stood here for many generations, and it would last longer than anyone who lived now.

The streets of the city of princes were packed full. Children of all ages, smallest of them sitting on the shoulders of their fathers, sailors from the harbour, fishers' wives trying to stretch their necks to see better, merchants and craftsmen looking like they had just left their workshops and stalls, fair young maidens giggling and smiling at the tall Rohirric riders and their male peers frowning in distaste... Lothíriel could not remember if she had ever seen so many people crowding outside in her birth home, and as the King's Company made their way through the city, she even briefly wondered if the spectators had come to see something else. Perhaps Aragorn and Arwen had decided to make a surprise visit to Dol Amroth as well?

It was impossible to pretend it was so, given the noise that their passing caused. Silfren seemed to understand the occasion too, for he trotted regally in the front of the Rohirric company: together with his rider, they were quite the sight. But then, it was not hard for the Lord of the Mark either to appear with the aura fit for his station. _Éomer the eighteenth descended from Eorl... one might have thought the distance was much less than that. _

Yet when she looked about herself and perceived the faces of the crowd, she could see that many of their eyes followed her, too. She wondered if she appeared very strange to them, riding and arrayed more in the fashion of the Rohirrim than of a Gondorian lady. On the other hand she knew Ceolwen earned her fair share of attention, and Rohan's queen even heard a child shout: "Look, Ma! A real Shieldmaiden!"

Glancing quickly at her friend, Lothíriel spied only the faintest shade of a smile on Ceolwen's calm face. She had to smile too – watching her friend in the Amrothian court would probably prove very interesting.

But then voices rose in the crowd, and it disrupted entirely her line of thought: "Queen Lothíriel! Welcome home!"

Her smile nearly froze at hearing that. The slight shock she felt was not for any dismay, but rather for something nostalgic and bittersweet. The people of Dol Amroth still considered her as one of their own... here she was before them, with her Eorling husband and son half of the north, her appearance more of Rohirric kind than of Gondorian, and they still held to a time she had left behind. For her, this was not a return home. While it would have been wrong to say she was unhappy in Edoras, the thought was still incredibly sad.

Even so, she was able to keep up her smile and lift her hand in a greeting. To herself she thought it had been right to surmise being here would render her a weeping mess.

The street began to climb up towards the courts of the Prince, and the palace of Dol Amroth loomed over them high and proud. With the climb Lothíriel's heart picked up pace as well. Though perhaps she had removed her home from this place, it was not made meaningless either – too many memories were embedded in the earth and stone of Dol Amroth.

One more gate they passed, and that was of the very palace of her father; Swan Knights guarding the way bowed their heads and moved aside to make way for the Rohirric company. And at last they reached the wide paved courtyard, and Lothíriel's eyes anxiously searched for familiar faces. On the steps of her old home they stood: her father, Elphir and Aredhel with their two children, Aunt Ivriniel, and Erchirion and Amrothos. Though in the courtyard there were other nobility from Belfalas as well, she barely noticed any of them, for her eyes were fixed on her Gondorian kin.

She more or less flew from the saddle, and then with a few strides she was able to jump and hug her father. He laughed as he caught her, and grabbed her tight, "Welcome, my dear daughter! It is so good to see you."

"Likewise, Father. It's been too long", she said in a wavering voice, but managed to hold back her tears. Once they had exchanged kisses to each others' cheeks she pulled back slightly, so that he and Éomer could greet each other. Her king came with Elfwine, who had spotted Amrothos and excitedly called: "Unca Amo!"

Éomer was smiling as he approached his father-in-law, supporting his son against his shoulder.

"Hello, Imrahil", he greeted the Prince of Dol Amroth, who was smiling brightly at his guests.

"Hello, my friend, and welcome! You and your family have been much awaited", Imrahil said, and smiled now at his grandson.

"Do you remember your grandfather and uncles, Elfwine?" Éomer asked the child, but the little prince hid his face in his father's shoulder. With a slight smile, the King of the Mark glanced at his father-in-law, "He's just being shy. He'll warm up and remember you once he gets used to this place."

"He has grown up so much since the last time I saw him. He looks just like Lothíriel", Imrahil said warmly as he regarded the little boy, who was peeking carefully from the safe place against his sire's shoulder.

They turned to greet her brothers and aunt, and Father welcomed Elfhelm and Ceolwen along with their little son. Many hugs and kisses were exchanged, and Elfwine too forgot about shyness when meeting Amrothos. Lothíriel had noticed a strangely solemn look on the face of her brother, but now it made way to a big grin as he lifted up his nephew. The two princes engaged in a tirade of broken sentences, and Amrothos was able to make it sound like he did not only perfectly understand the child's words but was also having a proper conversation with him.

"Yes, he's warming up already", Lothíriel said, grinning as her son's laughter filled the air. She looked at her brother hopefully, "Maybe you could be the one to give him a bath?"

There was laughter in the courtyard of the palace, and in the sound of that laughter four years were temporarily wiped away.

* * *

The room had not changed much from the last time Lothíriel had been there. At that time, most of the belongings she would need in Rohan had been packed already, and so the space was emptier than in days before, but it was still very comfortable. The hangings on the walls, the dark blue quilt on the bed, a book she had been reading before her departure... servants had kept the place clean and aired as well, and so the chamber of her maiden days looked like she had only just left. In a way she almost felt like that, too.

She could recall that day very well: the bustle of preparations, the excitement for seeing her bridegroom as he returned from war... Lothíriel had not expected to be away for long, and now, standing at the doorway of her old life, the past few years seemed like a dream.

An arm came to rest about her waist and instinctively she moved closer to him. Éomer did not need to speak to offer his comfort to her, and she let out a soft sigh.

"Do you ever miss Aldburg?" Lothíriel asked eventually, glancing quickly up at him.

"Sometimes", he answered at length, regarding the room before them. "But it happens less often these days. I suppose it's because there is so much life in Edoras now, and so many good memories. Aldburg belongs to a different time. The people who made it home for me are gone and the place holds the shades of the dark years before the Ring War."

Realising once more what different lives they had lead before their roads had come to join on a shared path, Lothíriel wrapped arms about her beloved and rested her head again his shoulder.

"I'm glad we found home with each other", she murmured, and her words made his grip of her turn tighter.

"I promise it will be one home you will never have to give up", Éomer said gently.

"I know."

* * *

**A/N: **And here we are in Dol Amroth once more! I imagine it is very bittersweet for Lothíriel. But she's also glad to be able to show her son the place she grew up in, even though he's too small to really understand what that means.

I was also missing Ceolwen, so what's a better idea than to bring a full-grown Shieldmaiden to Dol Amroth? :D

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **Thank you, I'm glad you liked it! :) Different POVs usually spice it up a little bit.

**brandibuckeye - **Thanks! I hope you will enjoy this trip to Dol Amroth.


	45. Chapter 45

For the second night of their stay, Imrahil had arranged a great ball to honour his daughter and her husband. Judging by the list of events he had happily recited to them during breakfast, Éomer's father-in-law had truly been looking forward to this visit, and wanted to make it unforgettable.

And to be honest, _unforgettable _was exactly how Éomer would have described the ball afterwards. Not the start of it though, because things went as usually in ceremony: he and Lothíriel spent too much time dressing up and making sure Elfwine would be fine for the night, Edelric came to hurry them up, and soon as the captain had whisked them to the hall, the herald announced them.

In the crowd of nobility to meet them there were many faces he recognised from previous trips to Gondorian courts, but few of their names he could actually remember. It looked like Imrahil had invited everyone and their cousins – suppressing a sigh, Éomer thought this would be a long night.

After some time, when Lothíriel had gone to snatch Ceolwen in order to introduce her to some distant relatives (his wife's grin probably meant she was waiting to see their scandalised faces), the man approached the Lord of the Mark. He recalled him by face and remembered the fellow was quite passionate about riding and horses, especially compared to his countrymen. This had lead to a few exhausting conversations in past times, because being passionate about something did not necessarily equal _understanding _it.

"King Éomer! It has been too long!" said the man, smiling enormously and bowing at him.

"Indeed", said Éomer and gave a tiny nod to the lord before him. He was trying to remember the man's name, but it kept escaping him. Whether his curt answer disconcerted this Gondorian, it didn't at least show on his face.

"I doubt you happened to notice me yesterday, when you and your family arrived here. But I must admit your entrance could not be missed! 'Tis a magnificent horse you ride now, my Lord. But pray tell, what happened to that grey beast you had before?" the man prattled on, apparently oblivious to the way Éomer's expression became stiff.

"He was slain in the south", he answered curtly; the memory of Firefoot was still painful, and probably would always be.

Now the lord's expression faltered slightly. At last Éomer remembered he was named Forgamon, and he hailed from Lebennin.

"I am sorry to hear that, Sire", he said hastily, and then went on, "But with the stallion you now ride surely makes up for the loss? Truly, he is one of a kind."

"Silfren is one of the _mearas, _like Shadowfax", said the Lord of the Mark, his brow creasing just slightly. This fellow could be enthusiastic about horses, but horseman he was not... not as long he thought a loyal steed was replaceable like a pair of shoes.

But then he noticed how Forgamon's face had lit up even more, and in the man's eyes there was a calculating look – either he had heard of the _mearas _before or thought there was somewhere in Rohan a place where new Shadowfaxes sprung from like mushrooms in rain. Nevertheless, Éomer could practically see the plan form in his mind.

"My lord, that is truly a priceless horse", Forgamon said excitedly, looking like he could barely contain himself. He went on, "I had heard you borrowed some stallions of your Rohirric stock to Prince Imrahil and King Elessar to strengthen the lineages of our Gondorian horses. I would have a similar plea, though I would only ask for one stallion. King Éomer, it would be truly an honour if you borrowed Silfren so that he could mate with the mares of my herd. I promise you would be paid back handsomely!"

Éomer stood a bit straighter, his body tensing with aggravation. He took a deep breath before answering, so that he would not end up snapping something rude.

"I'm afraid that is not possible. Silfren only mates with mares that live on the plains of the Mark. That is his choice, not mine", he said steadily.

"Surely it is only the matter of coming up with the right compensation? He is but an animal, my lord, and a mare is a mare", said the lord, his smile probably something meant to resemble congeniality.

"It was Béma himself who brought the _mearas _out of the West and taught them things no other breed in this world is capable of. And it was my people he entrusted them with, so that they may live free and in peace. Their strength and intelligence has empowered the lineages of our horses for many generations, so that we endured even the darkest of times when there was little hope in the world. The _mearas _are the symbol of the Mark just as the White Tree is the symbol of Gondor. What you are asking me is the same as if I asked you to cut down the Tree and bring it to Rohan", he said, now with an edge in his voice.

"But couldn't you just consider -" Forgamon tried, but Éomer did not let him finish.

"_No. _Do you not understand when you have crossed a line? This matter is not up to negotiation, and no price you could offer could ever make me change my mind", he snapped, glaring at the man before him. His frown deepened, "Now, are there any other ways you would like to insult me and my culture?"

Forgamon looked taken aback, his mouth open, and his eyes startled. It seemed that he had suddenly lost his ability to speak. But then, as the Gondorian lord still stood frozen and Éomer was still seething silently, the King of the Mark suddenly felt a hand on his arm. The only reason he didn't grab that hand was because immediately a voice spoke, and he recognised it as Elfhelm.

"My lord! Your lady wife was asking for you", said his Marshal, cheerful as he usually were. However, when Éomer turned to look at him, he could see the keen glint in the man's eyes, and knew this was not an interruption without a meaning. So he paid no more heed to Forgamon, and would not have cared if the man had just stood there frozen for the rest of the night.

"Is she fine? Did she need something?" he asked Elfhelm in their own tongue. His friend gave him a crooked smile.

"Oh, she's wonderful. She just sent me to distract you before you tore the poor idiot's head off. You have to control those mad eyes before someone soils their pants", said the Marshal, trying to sound stern but not quite succeeding.

"'Mad eyes'?" Éomer repeated disbelievingly. Now Elfhelm gave him a charming smile.

"Exactly. That kind of thing when you get angry and heads begin to drop?" said the older of the two men. The King of the Mark snorted at his friend's choice of words, though he was also fighting a smile. Once more, he could feel the tension leaving his muscles. But behind his smile, he hid darker things – he had not realised it like this before now, but apparently there was still left in him some of that beast which had come into being in the south and which Lothíriel had buried. And because she had buried it, he could shake it away just like _this. _

"You say the stupidest things, Elfhelm", he informed his Marshal anyway, which merely made the man chuckle. "But thank you."

"Don't thank me. Thank your queen and her hawk-eyes", Elfhelm said and shrugged.

"Where is she, anyway?" Éomer asked and looked about, trying to see his Lioness. It was much more difficult to spot her here than back home; in Meduseld he would have no difficulty to detect her dark-haired head among the blond crowd. Now that the thought of her had filled his mind, he hardly even remembered the conversation with Forgamon.

"The last I saw, she and Ceolwen were wreaking some serious havoc among the ladies of the south. I understand they had heard my wife arrived into the city wearing chain-mail, and that caused some slightly impolite comments", Elfhelm said, and his proud grin could signify only one outcome to those comments. Éomer let out a disdainful chortle.

"Only a fool would challenge that woman, be it in a battle of blades or words", he stated, and his words made the Marshal grin even wider.

"Don't I know that", the man chuckled. He smiled then, "Go and look for your wife, my friend. She has a way of dealing with your mad eyes unlike anyone else I know."

Unforgettable night it was indeed... because when the King of Rohan found his wife, and she took him out to the gardens... well, he really hoped Lady Ivriniel never found out how convenient the modelled bushes could be.

* * *

"You are all right now?" Lothíriel asked softly when they made way back inside. The night was a warm one for September... or maybe that was just the flush of their mischief in the gardens.

Her beloved glanced at her and smiled. Over the years, she had got very good at reading his expressions, and she could tell his mind was unburdened. Even so, one had to make sure.

"Don't worry about me, dear heart. You know me and my temper", Éomer said gently, intertwining his fingers with hers.

"Oh, I do", she said softly, holding tightly to his hand. "You just really frightened that man. I sometimes wonder if you know how terrifying you can be sometimes."

"It may be terrifying, but it's not... there's no danger", he said, looking ahead. For a moment, his expression became dark and she knew he was remembering.

"I know that. It's just other people may not be so good at handling it as I am. Although maybe that man deserved it", she said, shaking her head as she thought of what Éomer had just before told her. She couldn't understand how anyone could disrespect Silfren in such a way. It was no wonder her husband had got so angry.

He frowned now and stopped to regard her. Quietly he asked, "Are you ever frightened?"

Lothíriel smiled. She took both his hands in hers, those dear hands she knew so very well.

"I have never been scared of you. Not even in the beginning", she told him. Her words made the corner of his mouth briefly lift.

"Not all can be lionesses", he said, moving a bit closer.

"And they don't have to, because I _can_. Isn't that the whole point?" she asked him with a coy smile.

"Aye", he murmured, leaning closer to her so that his breath brushed her lips, "I think it is."

* * *

The days in Dol Amroth went by swiftly. There did not seem to be enough hours in the day for all the events and gatherings. With all the Rohirric guests, the halls in the courts of the Prince filled with the northern tongue and laughter. Their presence became especially entertaining in the feast on the first night of their stay. Such visitors were not frequent in Dol Amroth, and their idea of merrymaking could sometimes be different, though they were always charming. Even Ceolwen found herself welcome after the initial shock – or perhaps it was just after people noticed she would not tolerate anyone's nonsense.

But if Ceolwen received some raised eyebrows among the society, so did the Queen of the Mark, too: by joining a hunting party to the Prince's forests, not as a member of the escort but as a hunter.

"We used to do this sometimes when we were children", Amrothos explained to Elfhelm as they made for the woods. He smiled slightly, "I'm afraid it was usually up to our sister to bring down the game, because she was always the best archer."

Lothíriel had to snigger at that, "How do you think I got so good? I was always cleaning up after my brothers."

She didn't mention that was her only task when the had gone fishing – she might be the best archer out of the four siblings, but she was also the worst fisher.

"We weren't _that _bad", Erchirion claimed quickly.

"I'm afraid we were", Amrothos whispered confidentially to the Marshal riding beside him – the blond man was shaking with suppressed laughter.

As it happened, she was able to bring down a stag with her bow, much to the pride and delight of Éomer.

"Did you really have to kill that stag, my queen? The King will be boasting about it for a week", groaned Ceorl, a member of the Royal Guard. As an answer, Lothíriel just grinned.

Perhaps one of her favourite experiences was the picnic by the seaside. Elfwine and Cenric were both first bewildered when they first saw the beach, but they were soon in the middle of carefree games with Elfwine's cousin while Ceolwen and Aunt Ivriniel's keen eyes kept watch over them. When remembering their first sight of the sea, Lothíriel had to smile.

_"... Béma", _Ceolwen had muttered, half to herself, as they had reached a great hill and first beheld the Great Sea.

"I'm afraid he's not very helpful here. You may want to appease to Ulmo, or maybe to Uinen", Lothíriel had commented lightly.

"It seems unreal. And slightly terrifying", her friend had said, shaking her head. To herself, the Queen of the Mark decided Ceolwen at least would not appreciate an offer of a sailing trip. Still, she did not have to wonder why the Shieldmaiden kept such a close guard of the children so near to the water – for which she could not be anything else than thankful. Life as a queen did not often offer moments of leisure, but now she could just sit back and enjoy the sights and smells of her childhood days: the sunlight on her face, the salty wind, the sound of waves...

When Elphir and Aredhel's daughter Eleirien went off to show her cousin how to make sand castles, Lothíriel was quite sure Elfwine would have been content to watch her build them for the rest of the day. But eventually the little prince grew tired after all the excitement, and so he waddled to his mother; she spread her arms for the child, and he more or less just collapsed to sleep in her lap.

"Your son is much too adorable for his own good", commented Aredhel with a smile as she watched Lothíriel and Elfwine. The younger of the two women had to grin.

"If he takes after his father, he is going to cause so much trouble for the maidens of the Mark", she commented. Then she realised the implications of her own words and she shook her head, "Sweet Elbereth. Let him not take after his father in that matter."

Aredhel let out a silvery laugh and there was an amused glint in her eyes, "You would know, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, I do", said Lothíriel emphatically, gazing over to where Éomer was talking with her father. She sighed, "The man is a menace, really."

Her sister-in-law could only laugh again.

* * *

**A/N: **I have a feeling that while Gondorians might know about the _mearas, _they don't necessarily understand them or the special relationship Rohirrim have with them... but it's fortunate Lothíriel knows how to deal with "mad eyes". ;)

Hope you have a great weekend, and thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **We'll have to wait for a bit still to find out what is bugging him, I'm afraid!

**brandibuckeye - **Yes, it's both good and sad for her. Good, because she has missed Dol Amroth, but sad because she knows it's never going to be the same again.


	46. Chapter 46

One of the occasions Imrahil had prepared for his guests was a tournament. It had been a while since Éomer had seen one, and the last time he had participated it himself. This time, however, he would remain as a spectator.

The tournament took place on a wide field outside the city walls, and it had attracted not just crowd for the show, but also all kinds of traders and jesters. Air was thick with the smells of food and horses and smoke, and apparently Imrahil himself had provided drink and dishes for the occasion. The general mood was festive and glad, and though the day was not as high and warm as in summer, it was still very fair. Though it did not seem like anyone was on a belligerent mood, Imrahil's guards kept watch over the spectators.

The arrival of the companies of the King of the Mark and of the Prince of Dol Amroth roused some noise and cheering among the people who had come to watch the tournament. A smile crept to Éomer's face when he saw and heard how they called to the name of his wife – her face was radiant as she lifted her hand to greet them. She was rather lovely today, arrayed in blue and green riding gown, and wearing her hair as a crown of braids.

Imrahil got his fair share of greeting shouts: the Prince was widely loved and respected in his land. No wonder, as the man was the kind of person one could not dislike.

Upon reaching the field, the King's Company left their steeds behind the pavilions; two riders of the Royal Guard would stay back to watch over the horses, though Éomer suspected just leaving Silfren in charge would be enough. But in that light, the guards were there less to keep an eye on the Rohirric steeds and more to protect the potential thieves from the _mearh _stallion. Still and all, upon dismounting, he murmured in Rohirric to Silfren: "Keep an eye on things, friend."

His own people were not at all bewildered by this conduct, but he did receive a couple of odd looks from Imrahil's men. He returned them with a crooked smile, as he thought at this point it shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone.

Before they made their entrance to the pavilion where their seats were located, Imrahil reached to kiss his daughter and smile at her, "I didn't have a chance to say you look very beautiful today, Little Wolf."

She returned the smile and hugged him.

"Thank you, Father. You are kind to say that", she said, though Éomer thought it had nothing to do with kindness. It was an undeniable truth his wife was stunning.

"Shall we, then?" asked Imrahil when everyone had dismounted and left their steeds in the care of the guards, and together the company made way for the pavilion raised for the Prince and his guests.

Their arrival roused a round of cheering in the crowd which had already gathered around the field to see the combats. Imrahil lifted his hand to greet them as his entourage took their seats – as though in silent agreement, Lothíriel and her father left the centremost for Éomer. He nodded at his father-in-law, and the man smiled as an answer.

Rest of her family settled down as well, but of Lady Ivriniel and Amrothos there was no sight. Earlier, Lothíriel had reported her aunt did not approve of tournaments, and apparently her brother considered it his responsibility to hold up the glory and honour of House of Dol Amroth by participating the tournament, specifically the swordfights.

As they settled down and Imrahil moved to the edge of the pavilion to greet the crowd, Lothíriel whispered, "Where's Ceolwen?"

"She had something she had to take care of. She said she'd catch up with us", Elfhelm replied – he and Edelric were not seated, but rather chose to stand behind their king and queen like two blond trees. While it was not likely there would be attempts on his life here, Éomer knew his two friends could not be persuaded to give this extent of formality.

"I hope it won't take long. She said she has been looking forward to the tournament", said his queen, frowning slightly. What she said was true indeed, and the event at hand was perhaps the one Ceolwen had most wanted to see during their stay.

But then Imrahil raised his voice, and the crowd quieted down to listen to him.

"I welcome all of you today, to watch these games which now take place to honour our guests from the north: my daughter Queen Lothíriel, and her husband King Éomer, our dear friend and ally. I wish all the luck to the gifted fighters we are to witness today. Let the games begin!"¨

He took seat again next to Éomer as the crowd cheered once more. Quietly the King of the Mark evaluated the audience was to be counted in hundreds: this was an occasion to attract the interest of many.

"I must say, you keep outdoing yourself, Imrahil", he said to his father-in-law, who received the compliment with a smile.

"That is my pleasure, my friend. I have been waiting for your visit long enough to entertain ideas mad enough even for Amrothos", said the Prince and offered a glass of wine to the younger man, and Éomer accepted the drink with thanks.

"Every now and then, Father likes to prove he's no better than ourselves", Lothíriel quipped, making her husband chuckle. Imrahil laughed as well, and the glint in his eyes proved how much he was enjoying himself.

The tournament began with a group combat, from which the best fighters would continue to another round later on. There were Swan Knights of Imrahil's guard, sons of Gondorian lords, travelling warriors of various levels of finery, and even a few Riders of the King's Company, Alger among them.

"Look! Amrothos is there!" Lothíriel pointed at one warrior in blue – he did not wear a helmet, which would have seemed careless to Éomer if he did not know what talented fighters Imrahil's children were.

Edelric, however, did not have such confidence.

"It seems reckless he does not cover his head", said the captain, and then quickly glanced at Imrahil, "I beg your pardon, my lord."

"It's fine, Captain", said the Prince gracefully.

"He's just being vain. He wants the maidens to see him", Lothíriel snorted and waved her hand. She smiled at Edelric, "But don't worry. This is not his first tournament. In the years before the War of the Ring, Father would organise them for the celebrations of Midyear's Day."

"Have all of you participated in tournaments?" Éomer asked her, though he knew no matter what she replied, he wouldn't be surprised. She grinned.

"Oh, yes. Elphir and Erchirion entered a few times, but they stopped already long ago. I took part in the archery contest a few times, but I always had to come up with these ridiculous disguises so that I wouldn't be recognised", she answered. Her words made her father laugh helplessly.

"After the first time, I instructed my men to keep a close eye for her. But she always passed right under their noses. I suppose it became a game of sorts in the end, though I never won", Imrahil said and gave a fond little smile to his daughter. "And I imagine other archers were not very happy when the prize only left my treasury to be given to my daughter."

"I didn't win every time", she put in and smiled playfully, "But I did win enough to cause some serious complaints. To this day, I choose to believe Father ceased to organise tournaments just to make me stop participating."

Her words made the company laugh, but the sound was cut by the signal of trumpets, and then the combatants on the field before them clashed. The noise was near deafening: steel against steel, growls and shouts of the fighters, the cheering of the crowd... there was something intoxicating about it all, and Éomer found himself hoping against reason he had entered the tournament, too.

The most skilled of the fighters started quickly to reveal themselves in the fray. There was a Swan Knight Éomer remembered seeing around the palace, a young lord from Mundburg, a couple of Riders and Prince Amrothos himself, who was fighting like some demon from the pits of the Black Tower. When the signal was sounded again, he looked slightly surprised, as though he had meant to go on just fighting. As for Alger, he had done very well and was wearing an enormous ring. The other Riders in the audience gave him a loud applause.

The winners of the first round would return later, but now they left the field to make way for the next batch. There were none Éomer knew, and so his attention was more on talking with Imrahil and less on the actual combat.

Next came the horseback combat, which the Rohirrim dominated, but that was no surprise to Éomer. He had to smile when he saw the prowess of his Riders, and made a mental note of having to compliment them afterwards.

"I'm so proud", Elfhelm said, his tone that of a deeply touched man.

"I know", said the King of the Mark. As the victorious Riders halted before the pavilion, he lifted up his glass to salute them, and they bellowed: _"Westu Éomer hal!"_

Béma knew what the native Amrothians thought of such display – he couldn't imagine them addressing to Aragorn in this fashion – but then again it didn't really matter. He at least knew he wouldn't take it any other way. Perhaps it was only fascinating to the Gondorians, to see the ways of their northern allies. But even he felt slight wonder (though perhaps he shouldn't) when the next shout came: _"Westu Lothíriel hal!" _

If his queen was surprised, it did not show on her face. She simply lifted her hand to answer the Rohirrim before the pavilion, and gave them a beaming smile.

"Uinen's mercy, my daughter is a woman of Rohan", Imrahil muttered next to him – the man's voice was half amusement, half bittersweet fondness.

"Not just any woman. She is _the _Lady of the Mark", Éomer said and turned to look at his wife. She smiled brightly at him, but by the glistening in her eyes he knew Elfhelm was not the only one feeling touched anymore.

While the Rohirrim had the advantage with their horses, the battle on foot of five men against five went to the Swan Knights. Amrothos was with them, once again fighting like he believed it was a serious battle. Éomer regarded his brother-in-law with slight concern, hoping the prince would not end up harming anyone. At least today fates were on his side and no one got killed, even though Amrothos seemed to give it his best shot.

"What is it with your son today, my lord?" Elfhelm asked Imrahil. Éomer glanced over his shoulder to see his Marshal's expression. Things like Amrothos' odd behaviour would not escape his notice, no matter how much he was enjoying the show.

"I do not know, Marshal Elfhelm. The boy has been on an odd mood lately", Imrahil replied at length. Glancing at him, Éomer could see the slightly troubled look on his father-in-law's face.

"Don't worry, Father. I'll talk with him", Lothíriel spoke gently, and Imrahil smiled at her soundlessly. It was probably her who had the best chance of finding out whatever was vexing her brother – if he were willing to talk, that was.

Wrestling came next, and the tall and robust Riders had the upper hand once more. Where Gondorians tended to be lean and sinewy, Rohirrim were broad and sturdy. This was quite helpful in the contest at hand, but it also made Lothíriel snigger quietly. For young Riders, wrestling was often their first battle-training.

"What are you laughing about?" Éomer asked his wife quietly.

She leant closer to him so that she could slyly whisper, "I don't think it was very wise to make your riders strip like that and then have them wrestle. You should know by now what you blond giants do to us poor Gondorian ladies. One ends up married and suddenly there is a little horselord around calling you his mother."

He had made the mistake of sipping his wine, and her comment nearly made him choke with laughter. Edelric helpfully hit his back until he had regained his breath, by which time both Imrahil and Erchirion were eyeing him curiously.

"Just a private joke, is all", said the King of the Mark while he wiped errant tears from his eyes. To himself, he made the mental note of having to make his wife pay for this later on, especially because that smug little smile she was wearing.

"Béma, where _is _that woman? She's missing everything", Éomer heard Elfhelm mutter behind his shoulder when the wrestling came to an end. The younger of the two men had to wonder as well – he had got the impression Ceolwen rather looked forward to the tournament.

Lothíriel had been talking with Erchirion for the latter part of the wrestling contest, but when time for archery competition came, she fell silent. She leant forward on her seat and watched closely the participants, as though she could discern their skills before they even took aim. Éomer heard her muttering to herself, "Hmm. Maybe I should have entered too..."

He reached to touch her hand, and she gave him a sheepish little smile before turning her eyes towards the field once more.

"At least now other people have a chance of winning, too", Elfhelm commented lightly. Lothíriel grunted softly and rested her chin on the open palm of her hand – if she registered the Marshal's words, it did not show on her face.

The contest had some rather impressive archers, while Éomer's wife provided her immediate vicinity with an absent-minded commentary. He didn't mind, because her observations showed only her expertise – something which seemed to cause bewilderment to her father. To himself, Éomer wondered if Imrahil had ever really understood what archery meant to his daughter.

To the general surprise of the audience, it was a ragged-looking travelling warrior who eventually prevailed. Lothíriel nodded emphatically.

"He's the best one. He deserves to win", she stated and sat back once more. She tapped her chin with her finger, "We'll have to see if there'll be time to talk with him for a bit after the tournament. I'd like to know where he learnt to shoot like that."

"Afraid of competition?" Elfhelm whispered to Éomer, making the younger man scoff.

"You are quite ridiculous", he informed his friend firmly. The Marshal chuckled as an answer.

Éomer's attention was then turned back to the field, because the archer had stopped before the pavilion, and he was bowing deep. When the man straightened again, he loudly announced: "Queen Lothíriel! I dedicate this victory to you, the fairest and most accomplished of high ladies!"

Lothíriel lifted her hand and she smiled politely, and her face showed no sign of anything but good will. But when the archer made his exit and she again leant closer to her husband, she muttered, "I changed my mind. I don't know if I want to meet him after all."

He gave her a half-smile and kissed the back of her hand.

"I'm relieved", he said dramatically. His wife laughed softly and patted his knee, and then turned to see the targets of the archery contest being carried away.

Only the last part of the tourney remained now, but it would probably take the longest: it was time for the single combats between the swordsmen. The herald announced their names, and the company of the Prince Imrahil was in for a surprise when came the shout: "Lady Ceolwen, Shieldmaiden of Rohan!"

But they weren't the only ones astonished, for a gasp rose in the audience as the tall woman strode in the ring. She was not arrayed in her usual gear, which explained why they had not recognised her before. In addition, she had worn a helmet, but now her head was bare and her long hair was in a thick braid. Ceolwen looked completely at home with the other swordsmen, who had been divided into four pairs of two.

"That's my wife!" Elfhelm exclaimed happily, his voice easily carrying over the noise, "Go Ceolwen!"

She must have heard her name, because she quickly glanced at the pavilion and grinned at her husband. Éomer glanced at his friend and saw him beaming proudly. He had to smile at his friend's reaction and he sat back, ready to enjoy the show they were about to witness.

"Damn it. Now I know I should have entered, too", Lothíriel muttered next to him, but judging by the look on Imrahil's face, her father at least was glad that she hadn't.

It did not take long for him to discern the most potential contestants among the fighters. Ceolwen quickly made her way through her opponents: her technique was often superior and she was as strong as many grown men. But several of her Gondorian adversaries also seemed to lose their nerve and focus when face to face with her. Now another absent-minded commentary was on, because Elfhelm was stretching his neck over Éomer's shoulder to see better, and he muttered quietly to himself: "... yes, that's very good, the man is not paying attention to his left side so well... you take him down, wife..."

When the Shieldmaiden disarmed her current opponent, the Marshal exclaimed in delight, "I taught her that move!"

Éomer and Lothíriel exchanged a silent glance. The sparkling of her eyes revealed the laughter she was trying to hold back, and he could not help but grin at her.

He was not particularly surprised that it was Ceolwen and Amrothos against each other in the final match to compete for the prize of the best swordsman. Somehow, the prince had been able to keep up the same mad pace through the combats, while Ceolwen had battled her opponents with calculated determination, quickly finding their weaknesses and using those against them.

"This is going to be interesting", Erchirion stated, pouring himself more wine.

"Oh, yes. The last time they fought together, poor Amrothos swam in the mud of the training grounds of Meduseld", said Lothíriel, shaking her head. "I don't suppose he has forgotten about it."

The signal was sounded once more, and the pair in the ring began to circle each other. There was Amrothos in his blue raiment and armour which had silvery sheen, his sweaty dark hair glued against his head. Opposite him was Ceolwen, standing less than a half a head shorter than him, wearing a dark brown leather jerkin over her chain-mail, and the gold of her hair shining in afternoon sun. First met their shields, and blue clashed against green – Amrothos' fierce charge had Ceolwen taking stumbling steps backwards. The noise of the crowd rose, and Éomer could hear they were cheering for their prince. But judging by the resolute expression on Ceolwen's face, she had shut out everything except the combat, and she was able to retain her balance.

Over and over their blades and shields kept clashing, but it did not seem like either of them was really controlling the combat. The shouts of the audience grew louder and more demanding, shouting a hundred different things as to how Amrothos should defeat the Shieldmaiden. The look on the prince's face became more ferocious with each clash, until he started to add a little more force to his strikes.

"What are they doing?" Éomer could hear Lady Aredhel asking.

Lothíriel answered the question before anyone else could.

"She is trying to wear him down. Amrothos is stronger than her, she knows that, so she's testing his endurance", said the Queen of the Mark. She didn't seem to know which one she was supporting.

"That's my wife", Elfhelm said to no one in particular. Though his voice still held pride, it also had some concern now.

"She's already got herself a great deal of glory, Elfhelm. She has got this far, and she is holding up against my brother very well. No one else who entered that ring can say the same", Lothíriel pointed out.

"But why doesn't our brother realise what she's doing?" Erchirion wondered out loud. That was a good question indeed – at least to Éomer it seemed that his brother-in-law was becoming more unhinged as the fight continued, trying to overwhelm the Shieldmaiden with the sheer force of his charge. However, she met it firmly and surely, but not quite engaging in a similar show of power.

He could see the point where Ceolwen's strategy began to pay off. Amrothos' blade did not swing so high or fast anymore, and a time had come for the Shieldmaiden to really show her skill. She had been saving her strength, and now in that aspect the two were more or less equal. After for years of peace she was still a formidable swordswoman, and motherhood had not softened her one bit.

"You see now why I made her my captain?" Éomer said to Imrahil, who was watching the battle with slightly widened eyes.

"Shieldmaidens", Edelric put in smugly.

"Ceolwen", Elfhelm stated, grinning like an idiot.

"Sweet Elbereth. I live in an insane world", Imrahil said half-seriously, shaking his head.

Smiling to himself, Éomer turned to watch the combat once more. Now it looked like Amrothos had finally figured out what his opponent had been doing, and from somewhere he found some resource of strength he had not yet used up; with the strike of his blade, Ceolwen's already much-abused shield split in two. She threw the pieces away and gripped her sword with both hands, her face flushed and fierce in her determination to fight until the very last breath.

The loss of her shield seemed to encourage Lothíriel's brother, and he went on with renewed vigour. However, it cost him some in focus, and with the same trick as before Ceolwen was able to disarm him of his sword. It fell on the ground some two feet from him, but Amrothos was not dismayed. He threw his own shield at her in an attempt to buy the few precious seconds he needed to fly and get his sword.

But it was too late, for even as he was reaching for his sword, the gleaming blade of Ceolwen's weapon descended to threaten his neck, while her boot-clad foot pinned Amrothos' own on the ground.

The Gondorian crowd had fallen quiet. But Éomer thought that was quite all right: in the seconds before the trumpet burst out signalling the end of the combat, the Rohirric attendance made enough noise for an audience or two.

It was a wonder Elfhelm did not fall from the pavilion, what with his ridiculous victory dance.

_Béma, _Éomer thought to himself as he sat back again after his standing ovation, _they are going to drink so much ale tonight. _

* * *

**A/N:** Here is a new chapter! I must say, this chapter was really fun to write. It practically wrote itself! Moreover, I continue to have my one-sided affair with the idea of Shieldmaidens of the Mark. Please forgive me - I just couldn't resist the idea of Ceolwen kicking some butt in a tournament! :D I think Elfhelm is so proud of her he might just burst from the sheer emotion.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **Maybe this gives a little more, but hopefully we'll be addressing the matter some time soon. Elfwine is adorable indeed, and I love to write about him! I'm glad you liked that part!

**brandibuckeye - **Thank you! It's really just inevitable that Éomer should lose his temper where the matter of horses is conversed. :D He knows not everyone can be so knowledgeable about horses as Rohirrim are, and that's not what irritates him. Rather, it's the lack of respect Forgamon shows that makes him react so.


	47. Chapter 47

As Lothíriel had known to expect, Rohirrim were on a festive mood after the tournament, and at the dinner table Éomer whispered to her that apparently there would be a party in the barracks.

"Elfhelm insisted we at least make an appearance. What do you say?" he had asked, and she had grinned right away.

"A Rohirric feast in an Amrothian setting? Do you even need to ask?" Lothíriel had asked back, making him smile as well. Not to mention she really wanted to participate Ceolwen's celebration – her friend had been exhausted after the tournament, but had still got smiles to the people who had swarmed around her, and promised she would speak with her queen later on. Having made it through as a winner, most the Shieldmaiden had wanted was to see her son, take a bath, and rest for a little while. Elfhelm had fluttered about her, all the while beaming like he were the sun.

Lothíriel left Elfwine with her father and aunt that night – after his initial shyness, her son had eventually taken a liking to his grandfather and grand-aunt, and she knew they both prized time spent with him. Smilingly Father ushered her and Éomer on their way, reminding her that he was perfectly capable of looking after a child – he had raised her and her brothers, after all.

"Raised", Éomer whispered to her when they made their way out, "or just contained."

She snorted at him as an answer and lifted up her nose in a show of indignation, but the way he was smiling made it impossible for her to pretend for long. Lothíriel had not forgotten his bitter, unsmiling moodiness or the shades of his imprisonment lurking in his eyes – against those memories, this happy and content man was a gift every day.

When they arrived to the barracks where the most of the King's Company was staying, there was already the noise of singing and cheerful talking.

"Oh my, they're on a very good mood", Lothíriel commented to her husband before they stepped in.

"Of course. Rohirrim take tournaments very seriously – especially when we get to show off. They are very proud of Ceolwen. After all, she was able to beat one of Imrahil's sons on Gondorian soil", Éomer said. He was proud of her too, the Queen of Rohan could tell, and no wonder. Though Lothíriel had seen the disappointed and slightly disturbed look on her brother's face when he had realised he had been defeated, she could not help but feel glad for Ceolwen.

The arrival of the King and Queen of the Mark was noticed right away as they stepped into the barracks. The company was not just Eorlingas, for there were plenty of Amrothian attendance, perhaps both curious about the Shieldmaiden who had won the sword-match, and also eager to participate some Rohirric feasting. A round of greetings and cheers rose, and many tankards were lifted for them right away. Ceolwen, who was currently in the very centre of the event, waved at them with a cheerful smile. The crowd made them way as they approached the Shieldmaiden, who stood up to greet the Lord and Lady of Rohirrim.

"Congratulations once more, my friend", Lothíriel said as she hugged Ceolwen, "It was quite the show."

"Thank you, Lothíriel. I'm still amazed I made it until the end", said the Shieldmaiden and smiled brightly. But then some doubt entered her face, "How is your brother? Is he very downcast?"

The younger woman smiled and shook her head.

"He'll be fine. It does him good to occasionally remember he's not invincible", she said steadily at first, and then she lowered her voice, "Whatever is bothering him is not because of you."

Her words seemed to console her friend, and Ceolwen turned to greet Éomer.

"I would also like to congratulate you again. You did very well, and I'm very proud of you", he said warmly and touched the Shieldmaiden's shoulder as though he might greet a brother-in-arms. His smile widened, "I must ask, would you be willing to consider joining my guard again?"

Ceolwen's laughter was soft and gentle, and her clear blue eyes sparkled.

"If I were five years younger, I would gladly agree", she replied. She then spread her arms in a welcoming gesture, "Please, take seats! Have some ale!"

As though by some mute command, a mug of ale was pushed into Lothíriel's hand, and Ceolwen made her space beside herself. Elfhelm, who looked like he'd never come down from the clouds he was now floating in, gave a similar treatment to Éomer, who just about had a time to flash a smile to the two women before he was surrounded by his riders.

Not long after Lothíriel had sat down that a few riders and a couple Swan Knights came to congratulate Ceolwen, and then they asked her to describe the combat once more, though they must have seen it, too. The look on the woman's face revealed she had already told this tale several times tonight, but she was patient and indulged the askers. By the end of it, there was more toasting and cheering. The mirthful atmosphere was infecting, and Lothíriel was soon lifting her drink with the others – had Father been here now, he'd have seen more proof of her Rohirric inclinations!

A bit later, when the two women were left alone for a while, Lothíriel turned to look at her friend.

"Have you given any thought to how you will spend the gold you won at the tournament?" she asked. Ceolwen sipped her ale and shrugged.

"I was thinking of making some renovations at my holdings – maybe extend the stables. I might buy new horses for our herds. And perhaps purchase something nice for Elfhelm and Cenric", she answered and smiled slightly. "I would be thankful if you had time to accompany me to the markets."

"Gladly, my friend", said the younger woman, already looking forward to the event.

She expected the conversation to continue on similar pleasant paths, but Ceolwen spoke up then, and her question was one that had bothered the queen herself, too.

"What is it with your brother, really? The match we had... it wasn't the best he could do", she wondered out loud.

Lothíriel sighed and shook her head, "I wish I knew. Father is puzzled as well... I need to talk with him, but I haven't been able to catch him alone. I don't recall Amrothos ever being this way before."

Ceolwen seemed to sense how much it troubled her, and the Shieldmaiden laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

It was as though their conversation had summoned him. Lothíriel did not notice at first, but then the fall of the noise made her look up and around, and both she and Ceolwen turned to see Amrothos at the doorway. His arrival had attracted more attention than just theirs: many eyes were on the prince, doubtlessly wondering if this meant he had not accepted his defeat or something else.

She did feel slightly surprised, because her usually confident brother was looking uncertain, but then he seemed to brace himself. He made his way through the crowd, up until he stood before the two women. Quietly he nodded at his sister and then looked straight at Ceolwen, whose face was friendly but quizzical.

"Lady Ceolwen, I thought I should come and congratulate you for your win, as I didn't have a chance earlier", he said at last in a steady voice. Indeed, just after the fight he had been so dazed he had not been able to speak much. By the time Lothíriel had got to the field to greet her friend, he had already disappeared.

Amrothos' words brought a slight smile to the Shieldmaiden's face.

"Thank you, Prince Amrothos. I would thank you for the match as well, as one does not often get to try one's skill against a fighter of your worth. You remain a mighty opponent", she said and nodded in respect at Lothíriel's brother. Even distracted, he was not the easiest man to defeat in a ring.

He did not seem exactly happy, but his sister thought he did appear satisfied, as though he had completed some important task.

"As do you, my lady", he spoke then, "Without doubt, you are one of the best swordfighters I've ever battled with."

Now Ceolwen's smile widened.

"That is a compliment I know to cherish, my lord", she said and stood up to touch his shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. She then lifted one eyebrow, "Pray tell, when shall we meet in the ring again?"

Her question made him laugh, and gladly Lothíriel noticed it was real laughter. Humour had entered his eyes, revealing that same old Amrothos she knew and worried for.

"Perhaps not any time soon. I will have to wait for all my bruises to heal", he retorted, making Ceolwen laugh as well.

A few more light remarks were exchanged, but eventually Lothíriel's anxiety got better of her. So she got up on her feet as well, and she touched her brother's arm. She asked, "Amrothos, would you mind talking with me?"

"Anything for my little sister", he replied with a slight smile.

Once she had asked Ceolwen to inform Éomer of where she had gone, the two siblings made way outside. On their way, she noticed many of the riders nodding at Amrothos, and knew they appreciated his gesture.

The air outside was pleasantly cool and torches in the courtyard spread light. The noise in the barracks fell behind as the two siblings made their way in silence. As though by an unspoken agreement, they headed for the gardens of their father's palace, knowing it was quiet there and they could talk in peace.

As they walked, Lothíriel looked at her brother. His smile had vanished once more, and instead that same sombre look ruled his features. He seemed lost in his thoughts, and she wondered if he had already forgotten he had company.

"Amrothos?" she asked, making him recoil in sudden fright.

"Yes, sister?" he asked back anyway; they had now entered the soft shadows of the gardens, and no other soul was in sight at this hour. The moon and stars were the only light about them, but somehow, as always in her childhood, the palace's gardens remained a place where night embraced no other illumination than heaven's lights.

"I was just wondering. You have seemed so quiet lately, not at all like your usual bold self. Is everything all right?" she wanted to know, though she kept her tone gentle.

"I'm fine. Of course I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?" Amrothos answered a little too fast. She gave him a pointed look, the kind she had never needed to accompany with words. He seemed to know he had been caught, and so he sighed, shifting his gaze away from hers.

"It's just... how do I put this in words?" he said at length, staring ahead as though the shadowy gardens around them somehow held some great mystery he was trying to comprehend.

"You know you can tell me anything, brother. Just like you used to before", she told him, reaching to touch his arm.

"Sister, I never doubted that", he replied, and now his voice was soft too. He glanced at her with gentle sadness in his eyes. "Lothíriel, it's just... it's just life. It has got me thinking. What do I have in life? What purpose is there for me? Elphir has his family and the path of following in Father's footsteps. Erchirion has the sea. You have Rohan and your horselords. But I? I'm just the runt of the litter, floating aimlessly as the years go by."

He shook his head and looked at her straightly, "Do you remember that night in Ithilien? When you came to visit Gondor for the first time after the Kin-strife, and us and Faramir made our little trip to spend some time together? I never forgot what you said to me that night – we talked about fate, and you wondered where you would be if you had not met Éomer. I think I understand now what you meant then."

His words gashed deeper than she'd have known to expect, and what could she possibly say in answer? Her brother Amrothos, who had always found meaning and joy in the life itself! So she let out a small moan and wrapped her arms about her brother, the one she had always been the closest with.

"I'm sorry – I never meant to bring any pain to you, Amrothos", she mumbled.

"Of course I know that. I suppose it's... well, it's not wrong to say I envy you sometimes", he said quietly.

"I wish I could somehow make it better for you", Lothíriel said, pulling back slightly so that she could see him properly. Her brow furrowed, "Maybe you could come and stay with us in Rohan for a while? A change of scenery might do you some good."

Now there was a joyless smile on his face.

"To be honest, I don't know if that would help me. Rohan is kind of the place where I started to realise this", he said with grim humour, which was not like him at all. He probably saw the question in her eyes, because he went on, "You haven't forgotten about Nehir, have you?"

She blinked as the realisation hit her.

"No. And I take it you haven't either", she said warily. Her brother shook his head, but said nothing.

"Oh, Amrothos", she sighed. "Somehow, I'm not even surprised."

"I'm not either", he muttered and looked away. They had stopped walking by now, and darkness fell deep around them. The smell of coming autumn mixed with the salt of the sea – another summer and another year was growing old. But while it had brought life to some, others it had left with empty hands.

"What do you mean to do?" Lothíriel asked after a silence.

"What can I do, really? She's gone and I have no idea if she'll ever return. I don't know what it was, that kiss... but even if it meant nothing, I would give my hand to just see her again", he said, kicking a small stone on the pathway like it was to be blamed for Nehir's absence. Amrothos sighed, "Maybe it's stupid, pining after someone I barely even know. It's like... it's like she stands for everything that could be. An entire world of possibilities that I don't see here."

Wish as she might, Lothíriel had no idea of how to comfort or help him. The only thing she could do was wrap her arms about her brother and hug him tightly once more. She could very well understand the longing for something one deemed inaccessible... after all, for a while she had thought she might never have the child she had yearned for. Perhaps it was not entirely same, but at its core was the gnawing fear that one's deepest, most painful wish would forever remain unfulfilled.

"It's fine, sister. Don't worry about me. You should be enjoying the happiness you fought and struggled for so much. And I'm glad that at least one of our restless spirits found meaning in life", he said as he pulled back, wearing a sad smile on his face. But if his words were meant to console her, the effect was not even slightly close.

"Are you saying goodbye, Amrothos?" Lothíriel asked as sudden fear filled her heart. He blinked and quickly waved his hand, as though to make her implications dissolve faster.

"Of course not! I would never do that to you and our family. I just don't want you to lose sleep because of me", he said quickly, looking startled that such a notion would even occur to her. Well, perhaps it had been unreasonable, but this melancholy Amrothos was not something she was used to. She realised it was because he had always been one of the constants of her world: no matter how sad and dark times were, his view on life would remain optimistic.

"You are my brother. Of course I worry about you, if you are unhappy", she said to him, frowning as she spoke. She then sighed and shook her head, "I hope you find your own way, Amrothos. And I wish you all the happiness I know you are capable and deserving of."

* * *

Lothíriel's mood was not the same festive sort she had felt before her talk with her brother. Knowing it would probably have troubled him further, she kept up her smile until he took his leave of her, to go and look for their brother Erchirion. But soon as Amrothos was gone, she silently pondered the unquiet of his heart and how it might be easened. Yet wish as she might otherwise, what could she do to help him? In the end, she knew very well that no one could walk that road for someone else.

Upon entering the barracks she did not head back to Ceolwen. At any rate, the Shieldmaiden seemed to be having much more fun with a band of Riders about her, and she didn't want to burden her friend with any morose musings.

It was her horselord she made for, and Rohirrim on her way quickly moved aside to let her pass, until she was next to Éomer. When she reached for his hand, he moved sharply towards her, but seeing it was his wife his expression softened immediately.

Without a word, Lothíriel wrapped her arms about his waist and rested her head against his shoulder. It was true still, whatever befell: he was her rock. And he just had to exist.

"Is something wrong, love?" he asked softly, his own arms holding her tightly. The riders he had been talking with had turned away to give the two as much privacy as it was possible in this noisy scene.

"No, I suppose not", she said and looked up at her king. What to say, and how to explain all that moved in her heart and mind? She decided to go the simplest way, "I'm just glad that you are mine."

Her words made him smile. Éomer leant down to kiss her brow and she moved her arms from his waist to his neck. _This _was one thing she could always count on.

After a gentle, affectionate kiss, he looked at her quizzically, "Really, what is it?"

"I'll explain later", she said and managed a weak little smile. Then, as the idea occurred to her, she looked at him hopefully, "Do you want to stay here still?"

"What do you have in mind?" Éomer asked, having rightly noticed the shift of her mood.

"Would you be up to some stargazing?"

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update! We have now had some insight as to what really is with Amrothos. I would say his mood as of late is because seeing all his friends and family members go on with their life, and Nehir's lasting impact plays an important part in it. But whether he'll find any resolution remains to be seen!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**lena1987 - **I would say it was pretty ridiculous. :D But even if anyone told him so, he'd just laugh it off.

**brandibuckeye - **Thank you, I'm glad you liked it! :) It was really fun to write, too.

**Jo - **Indeed he is! I'm glad you liked her quips. :)

**Ginga2Sam - **Amrothos is a good fighter, but right now he isn't the most focused one. He was fighting more with his frustration than with his head, so it's not really that he didn't learn the first time, or that he has lost his touch.


	48. Chapter 48

_Late October 4, Edoras_

Though the long-overdue trip to Dol Amroth and subsequently to Emyn Arnen had been pleasant, it also felt good to return home. Éomer had fully enjoyed visiting family members and having some leisure as opposed to the busy life of Edoras, but at his core he was a man who could not sit back endlessly. At the time of coming home, he felt energised and motivated. So was Elfhelm, who was practically brimming with good cheer for the entire journey to the Mark. With a wry smile, Ceolwen had said, "He can't wait to tell everyone about the tournament. I'm afraid people will hear about it to the point of exhaustion."

"If I were you, I wouldn't be surprised to find him gagged and bound one of these days", Lothíriel had sniggered, making her friend and Éomer laugh as well.

It was also good to see his Lioness retained her light spirit, even despite the hovering dark cloud on her mind which was called Amrothos. And as always, Éomer hated it when he could do nothing to remove the cause of her disquietude.

She had asked her father to look after her brother, and Imrahil had promised to do just that, but only time would tell how long the youngest of the three princes might let his uncharacteristic gloom keep him.

Their arrival to Emyn Arnen had cheered her up at least, and no wonder – the heartfelt welcome they had received could not do anything else, not to mention it was a general joy to see how well Elboron and Elfwine got along. Hopefully, in years to come a friendship would grow between them, and in the process the ties between the two realms would also become tighter. Éowyn and Faramir appeared to have awaited their visit just as much as Imrahil had, and Éomer knew they would have been glad to have his family as guests much longer than just a week. However, his realm in the north had its demands on him and so they had turned homewards once more, though they had stayed as guests to Aragorn and Arwen for a few days. Though he fully appreciated the hospitality of family and friends, it was still good to come home after the lengthy trip. And seeing the brief moment of relief in Éothain's eyes he knew he was not the only one to feel so.

They had gone to bed early that night, and when after lovemaking Lothíriel was dozing off in his arms, Éomer watched the play of light and shadow composed of embers in the fireplace and felt enveloped in the familiar sights and smells of his home. All was well in his corner of the world.

Life in Edoras was busy but gratifying. For Elfwine was growing fast, learning more words as weeks passed, and also discovering his first budding friendship with Getrúwian. Éothain was pleased by it as well, and smilingly he said: "I swear, my son would spent all his time in Meduseld if he could decide. I'm not going to be surprised if he ends up captaining for your son, too."

In October, after trips to the east and north of his realm, he left Edoras for almost two weeks: he made a short stop in Harrow – Déor and Hlísa were expecting yet another child – and continued to the western villages. It was the last longer trip he intended to make before the winter came.

On his way back, he visited Eadgyd and Heming on their farm, and spent a couple of days in the Hornburg. He met with Gimli in Glæmscrafu to seek his help in rebuilding the markets of Edoras. After all, no one could work metal and stone quite like dwarves, and perhaps this would both inspire new building projects in the Mark and also strengthen the alliance between Rohirrim and Durin's folk. The work would not begin until next spring, but he had decided to try and negotiate the terms with his friend, so that the project could begin as soon as the weathers allowed.

Gimli was as interested in Éomer's offer as he had hoped, and by the time he left they already had an agreement about the project next spring. After such a prolific trip it was good to head home again, and familiar sense of expectation filled him as his company raced for the capital once more. As always, he let Silfren speed ahead and let go of the reins, allowing the stallion to decide the pace and rhythm. This feeling of complete trust was something he could not put in words, nor the freedom he felt each time Silfren picked up speed and flew over the plains.

He slowed down before reaching the mounds of past kings of the Mark and bowed his head – the gesture came as though second nature. His riders reached him then, and they were received with cheerful greetings from the guards at the gate of Edoras. Éomer lifted up his hand to answer them, and the company began the climb for the Golden Hall.

Once they had reached their destination and a stablehand had come to look after Silfren, Éomer glanced about himself, and he saw Lothíriel coming from the stables. He guessed she had been with her filly, whom she had at last named Frost. The sight of her made him smile, but quickly he noticed there was something off about her: the usual sparkle of her eyes was suppressed by what he had learnt to recognise as moodiness, and the shadows under her eyes betrayed how tired she was. At once he wondered if she was sick.

Even so, the sight of him did make her smile slightly, and she reached her hands and arms towards him, "Welcome home, beloved!"

He pulled her into an embrace and a kiss, after which he replied, "Thank you, my queen. Is everything all right?"

Winding her arms about his neck, she smiled a little wider, "Of course. Why wouldn't everything be all right?"

Before he could ask anything more, she gave him a quick kiss and then turned, "Supper should be ready in a little while. I'll just go and make sure everything's running smoothly. And Elfwine should already have woken up from his nap."

Half an hour later, when he had dismissed his riders and talked with Éothain, Éomer joined his family again. Elfwine was glad to see him as usually, and Lothíriel seemed to be on a slightly better mood. So he thought she had just been neglecting sleep and working too much, as appeared to be her wont when he was away. While he wasn't glad about it, he could understand her: had he been the one to stay behind, he would probably have been just the same.

However, not long after they had sat down to eat dinner in the royal chambers, Éomer's suspicions rose once more. They were having lamb pie with onions and carrots, and his wife was usually quite fond of pies prepared in the kitchens of the Golden Hall. But now she was just picking at her portion, and there was a tiny crease between her eyebrows as she considered the dish before her.

"Not hungry?" Éomer asked and glanced at their son – Elfwine was eating with a good appetite, though his handling of the spoon was still clumsy.

"I am, but the taste..." she muttered and took a careful bite of a piece of lamb meat covered in thick, dark sauce. She cringed and shivered in disgust. "I think the meat might be spoiled."

He lifted his eyebrows and took bite as well, carefully savouring the dish. However, he could not notice anything unusual about it, though he knew his portion was cut from the same pie as hers. Not that he had expected such – Meduseld's kitchens were famed throughout the land, and he could not imagine spoiled meat escaping Osythe's notice. Even in thinner years, she and her cooks had been able to take pride in every meal they served in the tables of the Golden Hall.

"It tastes fine to me", he said at length, and the frown on his wife's face deepened. She lifted up her fork, though she seemed to pale a little, and pushed it into her mouth. Her grimace was even wider now, though she bravely tried to chew and swallow. Worriedly he noticed her colour was turning greenish.

"I think I'm going to throw up", she faintly managed, jumped up, and went running for the washing chamber. Seconds later, there was a sound of vomiting.

His concern only grew, but he put it aside for the moment. Éomer got up on his feet and poured some fresh water to her, and then picked up Elfwine, who had made clear of his plate.

"Ma sick?" asked the little boy and looked at his father quizzically.

"Don't know, son", he replied and held the child against his shoulder as he picked up the glass. Then he made for the washing chamber.

Having emptied her stomach already, Lothíriel sat on the floor. She was pale and sweat pearled on her brow. But she did not look nauseated anymore, and he noticed her eyes were wide and full of astonished wonder. He did not understand where such thing could come from.

"Here, have a drink. I'll go and get a healer", Éomer said warily, trying not to think of all the worst scenarios that were dancing at the edges of his mind.

"No... no. Not yet. I'll see one later", she mumbled, as though one awakened from some strange dream.

"Lothíriel, you just threw up, and you still don't look very well. Obviously you are sick and need to see a healer", he pointed out sharply.

She looked up at him and smiled incredulously.

"Éomer", she said, pronouncing his name with tender care, "I think I may be with child again."

For a second, all the world seemed to freeze. His breath caught in his throat, he felt a bit dizzy, and he only vaguely registered the sound of the glass falling and breaking on the floor as it dropped from his hand. Then laughter erupted from his lips, and tears of joy filled his eyes as he fell on his knees next to her. With one arm he held Elfwine and with the other he grasped Lothíriel, and she was grinning madly while their son laughed, wondering if this were some new game. Béma be kind, how could one's heart hold so much joy without bursting?

"Really? Are you sure?" Éomer asked when he had regained his voice and felt like he wouldn't die from sheer happiness after all. This... he had not thought to hear _this _again, and yet there it was!

"I will have to speak with a midwife and a healer, but I am fairly certain", she replied and reached to kiss tears from his cheeks. Then she smiled impishly, "I take it you are glad?

"More than I could ever tell you."

* * *

_Yule 4, Meduseld_

"_... and such was the end of a time hopeless_

_for home came Éomer and his Lioness!"_

Some people were just hopeless. Of this Elfhelm was fairly certain on a morning after he had arrived with his family in Meduseld; though it was only just morning, a group of some younger members of the royal household were on a very merry mood and were already singing in the Hall. Then again, it _was _Yuletide, and he would have been lying to claim he had never participated these little romps in his younger years, but that he kept to himself.

As he shambled through the Hall with a mug of willow-bark tea in his hand, Elfhelm miserably considered what a fool he had been to join several of the King's Riders last night. Ceolwen had told him this was exactly how he'd feel, and yet he had decided to defy the fates. And it was only the first day of the Yule festivities! He was getting old.

At last he reached the twin doors of the Hall and stepped outside to catch some fresh air. The day was a crisp one and he could smell some frost in the air, even despite his dulled state of mind. The sun was very bright though, even to the point of blinding him momentarily. Elfhelm shivered under his cloak and took a sip of hot tea, hoping it might chase away his headache some time soon. One should know not to join the bachelor riders for carousing, but for some reason he kept making that mistake.

"Hello there", spoke a soft, low voice as a pair of arms sneaked around his midsection. Ceolwen laid her chin on his shoulder and he leant closer to her. Even hungover, he was a happy man. She asked, "Feeling any better?"

"I'm working on that", he grumbled and took another sip of tea. Why couldn't this stuff work faster!

"You know it's your own fault for drinking the way you did", she said lightly. The damned woman had already been to the training grounds, and he thought of asking how many young riders she had made cry this time, but decided he did not have energy for it yet.

"Oh, I do", he muttered, hoping she might have shown him a little more sympathy.

"Did you have good time last night?" he asked anyway: Ceolwen had been with Lothíriel and Scýne, Béma knew doing what. In any case it did not seem to be ale-drinking, considering how fresh and hale she had been when he had first rolled out of bed this morning.

"Very much. Yuletide was my favourite even when I was a child", she said and let out a contented sigh. For a while, the two were quiet, just enjoying the closeness of each other on this fair, clear day. At length Ceolwen spoke again, and Elfhelm could practically hear the grin in her voice, "I wonder what Lothíriel will say when she sees what she's getting from Éomer."

Last spring, the King had commissioned a new tapestry for the Yule, to give as a gift to his wife, and some of the best seamstresses had been working on it tirelessly for months. Tonight it would be revealed and hung in the Hall. Elfhelm had seen it and thought Lothíriel would love it. On a blue-green field, where Ulmo's waters somehow merged into a sea of grass, the White Horse and the Silver Swan of Dol Amroth were depicted together. For years to come, it would commemorate the marriage which had brought about the salvation of the Mark.

"I imagine there will be a lot of kissing", he commented wryly, though he fully condoned the idea. It would bring joy and happiness to both his king and queen. He glanced at his wife, "She'll love it. I know she will."

As though the conversation had summoned her, Elfhelm could see the Queen of the Mark climbing up towards Meduseld with Scýne by her side. He guessed they had been to the Yule market, which was always one of the big occasions of the season's celebrations. At least the parcels their guards were carrying would suggest the two had been shopping. Both women were arrayed in fur-rimmed cloaks and their faces were flushed from the climb and the frost in the air. One of them must have said something amusing, as they were both laughing as they walked.

"She looks good. Very healthy. I hope everything goes all right", Ceolwen murmured softly.

The fact that the Queen was showing seemed to enormously please certain Eorlingas. Altogether the news of her pregnancy had got an enthusiastic reception, but Elfhelm had observed astonishment as well. After all, the general understanding had been there would be no more royal children after Elfwine. Personally, the Marshal could only be glad. As a friend to Éomer and Lothíriel, he appreciated their joy of raising a family as compared to their unhappiness before the trip to Lórien. As an Eorling, he was reassured to know the House of Eorl would be renewed once more.

"As long as she remembers to slow down, I'm sure it'll be fine", Elfhelm said steadily, refusing silently the possibilities.

"Do you think it'll be another prince, or a little princess?" Ceolwen asked and moved to stand next to him.

"I have no idea. Either way, she and Éomer will be happy", Elfhelm said, regarding the lady of the realm. She and Scýne had stopped to talk with Osythe's husband, who was also the head smith of the royal household.

"Éothain says little girls keep you on your toes. What do you say to that, O husband?" Ceolwen asked mischievously. Thinking of some of Elva's more noisier moods, the Marshal felt a pang of headache echo through his skull. He loved the girl like his own child, but she could be a handful sometimes – especially now that she was starting to grow closer to adolescence.

"Mercy, wife! It's much too early for me to be thinking of _that", _he moaned and downed the rest of his tea, which was now lukewarm. His wife, the sadist, let out a silvery laugh as she went striding down the steps to meet her friends.

Muttering to himself about Shieldmaidens and their general lack of human gentleness, Elfhelm returned inside.

* * *

_Late February 5, Edoras_

The face in the mirror was pale and slightly thinner than usually, Lothíriel noticed silently – the observation brought a crease to her brow, which made her look even less healthy. As a result, her expression became a proper grimace and she turned away. Perhaps she could take a walk outside, to get some sun and colour on her cheeks... she knew very well what certain over-protective horselord would say if he thought she was sick. She adored the man but he could be so hopeless sometimes.

Lothíriel sighed and rested a hand on her belly, which was slowly growing as the babe grew too. The child had been kicking all night and she had only slept for a couple of hours, but since morning it had been very still. Biting her lip, she wondered if all was well with the baby... a shiver ran down her spine as the worst alternative threatened to fill her mind. She and Osythe had been making an inventory of the holdings of Meduseld, but the work had not been especially hard, and she had been careful.

Heavily she sat down to slip her feet into soft ankle-boots – these were easier to put on, and more comfortable with her swollen feet. She sat there for a moment, rubbing the aching spot on her lower back. What work this childbearing was! She had thought it would be easier, as she had already carried and birthed one child, but turned out her second baby would not come into the world without some trouble.

Then she hauled herself up on her feet again... and suddenly felt a stinging sensation in her abdomen.

"Oh", escaped her lips, and then her feet gave in under her. Her head was swimming and she felt sick, but even more powerful was her terror: _no please no this can't be happening..._

Her first call of help came as a weak yelp, but then her distress gave power to her voice, and she yelled from the top of her lungs: "Help! I need help!"

Two guards rushed in: apparently something in her voice had startled them very deeply, because both had unsheathed their swords and they looked ready for battle. She could see relief on their faces when they saw she was alone, though there was nothing to be relieved about.

"What is it, my lady?" asked one of the two men positioned at the door of the royal chambers.

"I... I think I'm bleeding. I need a healer", she groaned from between her gritted teeth. The guards both paled: the severity of the situation had dawned to them as well.

There was a contraction and she let out a yowl – it was more in fright than in pain, but it seemed to startle the men even more. The older of the two, a man named Stándenu, fell down next to her and grabbed her.

"Please", she whimpered, "Éomer. I need Éomer."

* * *

The rebuilding of the marketplace of Edoras had made a good start and was progressing with the efficiency one could expect from Durin's folk. A number of Gimli's people had come to stay in the capital of the Mark and to supervise the building project, as had been agreed between the lords of the two realms. Even though Éomer had seen the handiwork of the dwarves in Helm's Deep and in Glæmscrafu, he still had to wonder and admire their skill.

He had spent a couple of hours already talking with the builders, inspecting their prowess so far, and discussing the plans for further work. The markets would be larger and more accessible once all was finished, and hopefully these changes would increase the trade in the capital, thus bringing wealth and welfare into the realm. As Éomer had also launched projects to fix and better the Great West Road and to build new inns on the way, he had high hopes for new commercial opportunities between the peoples of Middle-earth.

Éomer was so focused in these matters that when a young rider in training from the royal household came running to the markets, he did not at first notice the lad's arrival. He was talking with the leader of the dwarven builders when Edelric suddenly spoke up.

"My lords, I would not interrupt you like so, but there is a guard demanding to see the King. He says it's urgent", said the captain, making Éomer look up from the plans he had been considering. After he had apologised to Master Fláim, he turned around to see the rider who had asked to see him.

The look on the young man's face immediately alarmed him.

"What is it? Has something happened?" Éomer asked sharply.

"Sire, it's the Queen. She... they say she has miscarried", the lad squealed nervously.

The sensation of shock and horror felt a bit like someone had just punched him in his guts and knocked out his breath – and in the process, replaced his insides with something freezing cold. On a battlefield, Éomer was able to react and answer to sudden situations in seconds. Since he had been a young rider, there had never been a moment when he had frozen so that he was unable to act. But now, had this been a fight, his opponent would have been able to strike him dead where he stood, and there wouldn't have been a damn thing he could have done about it.

_No! Don't take this from me!_

Then he began to move, and was only vaguely aware of Edelric hastily speaking to Master Fláim, "He'll talk to you later."

The way back to Meduseld went by in something of a haze. He strode swiftly, paying no attention to whether his captain and guards were able to keep up with him, and what people happened to be on his path quickly jumped away when he came. The overwhelming grief of what he had just heard danced at the edge of his mind, but he could not let it enter, not yet, not before he had made sure Lothíriel at least was not under any immediate threat of death.

The twin doors of Meduseld were already wide open when he came, leaping up the steps three at a time. He hurried in, and when he saw the worried-looking Éothain, he barked, "How is she?"

"I do not know. The healers are with her now", said the former captain, and without a further inquiry, Éomer stormed past him.

He would have made all the way to the royal chambers, but on the doorway he was stopped by Osythe.

"Let me enter", he growled, but the chatelaine lay a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Please, Sire, you must calm down. You are not going to help her if you barge in like this", said the elderly woman, and all he wanted was just push her from way, but the inch of reason he still had left agreed she was right. The last thing Lothíriel needed was him behaving like a raving madman... he couldn't fall apart, not now.

Éomer turned from the doorway without saying anything. He more or less fell against the wall and took deep breaths, trying to calm down. There was a howl building up somewhere in his chest, but he didn't think it would've got far, what with the sudden choking feeling that made it all the more difficult to gasp for air. Such raw, burning sorrow... he had already embraced the idea of more children, let himself love the new life under his wife's heart, and welcomed it against all their expectations. Neither of them had expected her to conceive again, but when she had... it was just like when she had told him that Elfwine was coming.

But though it felt like someone had stabbed him in the heart and was still twisting the knife around, he knew there was not giving up. It was only a question of endurance.

As if to answer to this thought, Scýne opened the door and peeked out, "Is Éomer here?"

Then noticing him, she pushed the door wide open, "You may come in now, if you will."

He grunted something as a response and pushed past her and Osythe, and made his way to the bedchamber. There he saw Lothíriel seated on the bed, talking with a pair of healers in soft voices. He urgently sought for her eyes, and was surprised when he did not see what he had expected: though she was very pale, she did not seem badly weakened or out of balance at all. When she saw him, she even gave him a slight smile.

The King of the Mark frowned but made for his wife anyway, dropping on the bed next to her.

"Are you going to be all right?" he demanded to know. _Give me this at least – even if the child... _

She held tight his hand and her smile widened slightly.

"I think so", she replied and glanced at the healers, "Would you tell my lord husband what you just told me?"

"You may rest assured, Sire. Whatever was wrong with your lady wife seems to have passed, and she is not bleeding anymore. I believe there is no immediate threat on her life and health. She simply needs to rest and be more careful", said the healer. Éomer blinked, trying to understand – why weren't they taking this matter seriously?

"Don't worry, beloved. We'll be all right", Lothíriel said gently and patted his hand.

"The baby..." he managed in a muffled voice.

"The baby is fine. Oh!" she said, pressing her free hand against the side of her belly, "She just decided to kick her mother for causing such a fuss. Yes, she's quite fine."

He sat silent, trying to process everything that had just happened. While he was still trying to absorb the knowledge his near breakdown had been for nothing, the healers took their supplies and left the two alone – he did not even register it when they bowed at him and his wife and made their exit.

Lothíriel noticed something was still not right, as could be expected. She looked at him worriedly, "What is it?"

He met her gaze, feeling dizzy all of a sudden.

"I was told you miscarried", Éomer said – there was no reason to hide it. As a response, her eyes widened and she threw her arms about him.

"Sweet Elbereth! Who told you that?" she asked heatedly.

"Just a guard. He said you had lost the baby", he replied in a low hoarse voice, still distraught by the false alarm. "I believed him... already thought your life might be at risk as well."

"That's horrible", she said, holding him tight. "Are you all right?"

He had to smile at that, absurd as it seemed to him. In a way, he felt like a drunken man trying to make sense of something completely out of his comprehension.

"Dear heart, you're the one who was just bleeding. Don't worry about me – I'll be fine as long as you and the baby are, too", he told her.

"Maybe I shouldn't have called for you like that. I just... well, I was so afraid, and I thought something was wrong", she said with a small frown.

"No, no, don't think like that. Of course I want to know if you're unwell", he said, trying to keep his voice firm but failing. At last, in dizzy bursts, relief was starting to fill his mind. The baby was fine, and so was Lothíriel. The day would not end in tragedy after all...

The moan fell from his lips before he could suppress it, and he grabbed her into a tight embrace. She let out a small gasp of surprise before melting against him and winding her arms gently about his shoulders. Unspeakable relief took him, knocked him nearly breathless once more. He had already thought...

"It's fine. We're fine", Lothíriel murmured. "I'm sorry you were startled like that."

"It doesn't matter. Not at all", Éomer said and tried to calm down his heart. He didn't know if he wanted to cry or laugh, or perhaps do both. When he was finally able to pull back slightly and he looked at her, she was wearing an incredulous expression on her face.

"What is it?" he asked, searching her eyes.

"It's a little girl, Éomer", she told him in whispers, as though sharing a secret with him. He blinked and stared, and now he didn't even know anymore how _all this _could fit in his heart without making it burst. A girl! He was going to be a father to a little girl!

"How do you know?" he was able to stammer.

His wife smiled brightly.

"Because I saw her. When I was bleeding and I thought I was losing the child, I... I could see her. She has – will have – golden hair, just like you. I think she'll look a bit like your mother."

The tears came before he could do anything about it, erupting as an overpowering sob. What strange bliss this was, to travel so quickly from despair and grief to a joy so vast!

"It's true? Promise me it's true", he mumbled, only half-coherent in this storm of emotion. In her eyes, he could see the same giddy joy, mixing laughter with the same happy tears which flowed freely down his cheeks.

"It is. I promise. And I'll be more careful from now on. We'll have a daughter!"

* * *

**A/N: **Here's little something for Tuesday! Hope you liked it, my dear readers. :)

Lots of emotional content in this chapter, but I would imagine it to be so. After all, Éomer and Lothíriel didn't expect to have more children than Elfwine. But seeing they both have so much to give, and they have so much love, they are just thrilled to have another child. Elfwine should be happy to become a big brother, too! :)

Also, I have a feeling certain officious young rider got quite an earful afterwards. No one likes scares such as Éomer got, thinking Lothíriel had lost the child.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **Thank you! :) Hopefully Amrothos will return some time soon, but I don't know yet when that might be. We'll see!

**brandibuckeye - **Thanks! It's a difficult time for him indeed. But how that might turn out - well, wait and see!


	49. Chapter 49

"... but I still need to give Elfwine a bath."

Lothíriel's half-hearted objection came some two weeks after they had discovered their unborn child was a girl. Since his profound fright Éomer had been watching his wife like a hawk, even though he knew it had startled her as well and she was being very careful now as to not bring any harm to the babe.

He met her words with a stern stare – the kind which could be very effective with an unruly subject, but wouldn't fool her one bit.

"I am perfectly capable of doing that. You go and take a nap – king's orders", he told her, straightening his posture so that he towered over her as though a mountain determined to give baths to royal princes.

His wife smiled. She seemed to know the tone he used, and realised it was no use to try and argue.

Even so, she did tell him: "You are hopeless."

"And you are pregnant and you need to rest", Éomer answered firmly. His wife rolled her eyes and snorted, but in the end she couldn't stop a smile from entering her face. She gave him a quick kiss and then headed for the bedchamber, yawning profusely as she went.

Their son was with the nursemaid as Éomer entered the nursery. The maid bowed and hurried away when he requested water be heated for Elfwine's bath. Whether she thought it odd that the King himself would take care of such task, he didn't care. After the things he had lived through, he had learnt to take pleasure in simplest things.

A smile broke across Elfwine's face when his father lifted him up. Carefully Éomer settled the child against his shoulder, mindful of his gestures – Lothíriel was usually better at these things, and he did not feel like he could handle their son with similar ease as her. Before Elfwine's birth, he would never have guessed how good a mother she would make. But then, she took care of those she loved, always in the measure which was needed and sometimes even over it.

"It is your bath time, my prince", he told his son in serious tones. "I know, your mother usually does this. But she's tired and we must let her rest."

Getting the child undressed for the bath was bit of a struggle, because Elfwine didn't seem interested in helping out, and even getting to that point seemed like a major accomplishment. How did Lothíriel manage this so effortlessly? He would have to ask her.

Despite the challenges, the bath water was just about the perfect temperature when he sat his son in the small tub. He settled down next to it, crossing his legs. Now that he was in his bath, Elfwine seemed very pleased, and happily he splashed the water and giggled; a fair amount splattered his father, but Éomer did not mind. He could merely watch his son and feel his heart swell with a kind of warm contentment and gratitude.

That angry young rider, afraid to love anything lest it was taken from him... cautious to trust the morrow for the horrors it might bring... reluctant to show anyone after all he was just a man... all that had changed. And here before him was his son.

Who would have thought?

* * *

Éomer had been right: a nap was just what she needed. After an hour's sleep, Lothíriel felt refreshed and rested, and she smiled to herself as she stretched her arms. Sitting still for a while, she rubbed gently her belly; her daughter seemed to be faring well, too. After the day she had nearly lost her child, she had been paying careful attention to how she felt. Fortunately, she had generally been much better since then.

Clumsily she got up on her feet and made way to the royal nursery to check on her two horselords. She had to smile when she thought of her husband giving a bath to their son – he did not consider it below his dignity as a warrior king to perform such an everyday task. But then, she knew the south had made it very clear to him what was important.

She could hear him before she entered, and the sound of his voice and his words made her smile.

"... yes, you are going to get dressed, son – a prince can't go prancing about like that, what would your mother say... you're doing this on purpose, aren't you..."

Lothíriel stopped at the doorway to watch them. Éomer was trying to get Elfwine dressed, but the child seemed to think it all was some kind of a game, and he was wiggling in a most unhelpful manner while his laughter filled the chamber. His poor father had rolled up his sleeves, and by previous experience she knew just why his shirt was wet and his hair hung damply. Someone would have to mop the washing chamber once more.

Looking at her king and son, these two she loved more than she could put in words, she could only smile fondly. If the south had highlighted to Éomer what was important, so it had made her understand the significance of what she had before her eyes.

"Do you need help?" she asked good-humouredly, making her beloved look up at her. He gave her a lopsided smile.

"No, I will not admit defeat to this little beast", he said, feigning grim resolution. He looked at her inquisitively, "How did you become so good at this?"

She shrugged and gave him a slight smile.

"You just need more practice. I used to be helpless, too. But luckily I had Scýne to teach me", she answered and reached to kiss first Elfwine and then him. "You'll be perfect by the time Elfhild comes."

He made a low grumbling sound, closing the last buttons of Elfwine's shirt and lifting the child with one arm.

"I just wish she'll be more well-behaved. Then again, what hope does she have of that, having you for her mother?" Éomer retorted, making her laugh.

"If you wished for a quiet, calm life, then you shouldn't have married me. You knew exactly what you were signing up for!" she told him lightly. Now it was his turn to chuckle, and in his dark eyes there was a glimmer that did strange things to her heartbeat.

"What can I say? I enjoy a wild thing."

* * *

_June 5, Edoras_

"So, the realm has a princess once more. What do you say to that, laddie?" Elfhelm asked Cenric as they and Ceolwen at last sighted the capital after their journey from Astdun.

"What's princess?" Cenric asked his father, with whom he shared the saddle.

"Princess is like prince, but a girl", Elfhelm replied. He looked ahead and squinted his eyes, the way he always did when thinking of something deeply. He went on, "There hasn't been a princess in the land for twenty years."

"So Théodwyn was the last one? Whatever happened to her sisters? I recall she had two or three at least, and Théoden was Thengel's only son", Ceolwen spoke up. Having been raised in capital, Elfhelm was knowledgeable in the comings and goings of the royal house back in Théoden's day.

"I believe they all married into Gondorian families, and were not much spoken of after. I suppose Théoden and Théodwyn kept in touch with them, but they were never close to their Eorling nephews and niece. At least I've never heard Éomer mentioning any of them", he answered at length. He shook his head then, "They were all born in Gondor. Morwen raised them to be more like their southern kin, and they never really adjusted into living in the Mark."

"What made Théodwyn different, then?" Ceolwen asked; she had never met the woman, but had heard many stories. Just like her son and his princess after her, Théodwyn and Éomund had been the great romance of their time.

Her question had Elfhem shrugging.

"Number of things, I'd say. She was born in the Mark, grew up breathing our winds. She had more of the north in her veins than her sisters did", he said and moved Cenric so that their son sat more comfortably before him.

"I would imagine our new princess is like her grandmother in that matter. She is an Eorling", Elfhelm stated and smiled. He looked at Cenric, "And a lot more well-behaved and good-smelling than you are, son."

Ceolwen had to snort at that.

"You may be Elva's favourite person, but you don't really know anything about little girls, do you, Elfhelm?" she wryly commented. She gave him a wicked little smile, "Obviously we have to remedy that some time soon."

He gave her a wide-eyed look, "Is it strange that I'm both scared and excited at the same time?"

Éomer was there to welcome them once their company reached the courtyard of Meduseld at last. The man was smiling as he lifted his hand in greeting, and Ceolwen was glad; her liege-lord seemed generally happier these days, which she appreciated when remembering the rareness of his smiles at the time of the Kin-strife.

Having left their horses with stablemen, the family of three climbed up the stone steps to meet the King of the Mark.

"Welcome to Edoras, my friends. I trust your journey went well?" he asked them as they approached.

"It was fine, though Cenric here was of the opinion we should have ridden faster", Ceolwen said and smiled.

"He's going to load up Elfwine and Getrúwian with a year's worth of mischief. Consider yourself warned", Elfhelm muttered ominously to Éomer, who chuckled in answer.

Ceolwen had to smile at her husband's words as well. She looked at Éomer quizzically, "How are Lothíriel and the baby?"

"They are both very well. She's much better than after giving birth to Elfwine", he said; he seemed relieved by this. "The babe is strong and healthy. She has Lothíriel's eyes already, and she's quite adorable. Our son has been all over her ever since she was born..."

The Shieldmaiden hid her smile: the manner of a new child's father was one she knew, as Elfhelm had been very much the same after Cenric had come into the world.

"I already pity the poor buggers who are going to court her one day", Elfhelm whispered to Ceolwen as they entered Meduseld, and she had to bite her lip in order not to burst out laughing.

Éomer lead them to the royal chambers, where they saw his queen and children. Lothíriel was comfortably settled on a sofa and had just finished nursing the little princess; Elfwine sat next to them and was watching the pair curiously. At the arrival of his father and the guests, the little boy turned. A happy smile lit up his face and clumsily he climbed down, crying "Da! Da!"

His father laughed and scooped the lad in his arms.

"Do you remember Cenric, Elfwine?" he asked the little prince, turning so that his son could see the guests. He had grown much since Ceolwen had last seen him; dark billowing hair framed his face which resembled Lothíriel's, but the big keen eyes were identical with those of Éomer.

The two little boys regarded each other curiously, until suddenly Cenric gave a big smile, which, at least in Ceolwen's eyes, was a hopeful sign.

"Welcome, my friends. It's good to see all three of you", Lothíriel spoke up, smiling brightly at her friends. A brief scrutiny of her face confirmed what Éomer had said previously: judging by the healthy colour on her face and her energetic appearance, the Queen was recovering much faster than after the birth of her first-born.

"Likewise, Lothíriel", said the Shieldmaiden, "I hope you are feeling well?"

"Oh, I'm fine. This one did not make such a fuss when coming out", said the Queen of the Mark and looked at her newborn daughter with a gentle smile.

"May I see her?" Ceolwen asked and lifted her arms in a hopeful gesture.

"Of course. Sit next to me", Lothíriel replied and made room for her friend. Then, soon as Ceolwen was seated, she carefully placed the babe in her arms.

The weight of the newborn was light, lighter than she remembered. Then again, Cenric had been a fairly big babe, and now she held in her arms a tiny girl. It was too early to tell whether she'd take after his father or mother, and her eyes had fallen close.

There was a movement on her side, and glancing there she saw Elfhelm carrying Cenric had come to stand there to see the little princess. The expression on his face made her seriously suspect there would indeed be a conversation about the possibility of a small girl later on when she and him were alone.

"Princess", Cenric stated firmly as he too gazed at the newborn.

"Yes, that she is, laddie", Elfhelm said absent-mindedly. Then he smiled and looked at Éomer, "Hard to believe you have managed to create something so cute."

"I seem to recall Lothíriel had part in it as well", their king shot back.

"Please, don't tell me anything more", Ceolwen wryly commented, fighting back her smile.

"You are all precious idiots", Lothíriel informed them and cast a feigned look of suffering heavenwards. Elfwine and Cenric both looked at their parents with wide eyes, probably wondering what on earth they were talking about.

Once Éomer had sat down Elfhelm and the two were talking about something over mugs of ale, Elfwine and Cenric had decided they were acquainted well-enough to share the prince's wooden horses and toy soldiers, and Lothíriel had sent for some tea while she rocked her daughter in her arm, Ceolwen let out a breath she had not noticed holding.

"So, everything went fine?" she asked, though her friend did look very well.

"Oh, it was a very easy and fast childbirth. On the morrow, Éomer rode out, and when he got back the same evening, I could present him with his newborn daughter", Lothíriel answered and planted a kiss on the child's head. A slight crease appeared on her brow as she went on, "To be honest, I'm glad it went so. I know he was dreading it would be as difficult as with Elfwine. Now he had no time at all to panic while I was in labour."

"He didn't get to panic? He must be so disappointed", Ceolwen quipped, making her friend laugh. She continued to speak, more seriously now, "But I'm glad for you. I wouldn't have wanted to see you go through such an ordeal again... on the other hand, the second time is usually easier, or so I'm told."

Her face softening into a smile, she murmured, "She truly is a sweet child."

"She is. And I'm happy that we have her", Lothíriel said, looking at her daughter. A gentle look had come to her face, and she smiled; now, as a mother of two and as a true queen, she had grown into that promise which she had first shown during the Kin-strife.

Her eyes fell on the child once more. There was the Princess of the Mark, the first one in twenty years, sleeping quietly at the crook of her mother's arm... that place was just as safe as a child would expect it to be, for Éomer's children had Lioness for a mother.

* * *

_Early August 4, Edoras_

The air always felt different when Éomer was heading out for a battle. Lothíriel supposed it was something she could never quite get used to, no matter how many times she watched him go. And she could never stop wishing she could go with him. However, she knew how it was: as long as their children were young, one of them would have to stay behind to watch over the future of Rohan.

As always, the last things he'd do before his departure was kiss goodbye his wife and children. Elfhild was too small to understand, but Elfwine was anxious and kept reaching for his father, as though that might make him stay.

"I'll be back soon, son. You'll take care of your mother and sister while I'm gone, will you?" Éomer said to the child.

"Da back soon", Elfwine said forcibly.

"I promise", said his father softly and turned towards Lothíriel and Elfhild, who looked up at him with wide eyes. Both females got a kiss as well and a reassuring smile before he murmured, "Don't worry, love. Just keep the hearth warm while I'm gone."

"You know I will", she said soberly. "Be careful."

"Always", he murmured and kissed her one more time. Then, lest this goodbye became longer and more painful than it had to be, he turned and strode down the steps of the Golden Hall. Silfren was waiting for him, restlessly pawing at the ground with his hoof.

His Riders mounted their steeds at the same time as him, and then after his command the company rode out, their ranks moving with the easy smoothness of experience. Lothíriel silently watched them go, like she had so many time before. _Too many times, _she thought to herself and shook her head. Yet there would always be more.

"Ma?" Elfwine asked and she looked down at the child next to her.

She was able to give a smile to her son. With her free hand, she reached to tousle his soft dark hair.

"It's fine, sweetheart. Your father has orcs to deal with, but he'll be back soon", she promised gently. Elfhild made a soft little sound in her lap and moved uneasily – it was high time to feed her. She reached for Elfwine's hand, and as always, the feel of his small fingers inside hers brought her an overflowing feeling of love and gratitude.

"Come inside, son. It's time for your nap."

* * *

The near impossible happened: the orcs took them by surprise.

Reports which had initiated the expedition in the first place had spoken of a moderately small pack, some twenty of them wreaking havoc in the north-west of the realm. No doubt they had come from the mountains, where bands of those creatures had gone to hide after the fall of Sauron. Eager to put an end to the slaughter, and to find out the extent of the damage, Éomer had roused his men to ride and dispose of the orcs. Personally, Edelric was rather glad for some action. If he got to slay some orcs, even better.

Upon reaching the village which had received the attack, Éomer had sent half of his men to escort the survivors securely to Helm's Deep, which was the nearest safe location. He had sent a message to Edelric's father Erkenbrand as well to dispatch riders in case they would have to hunt for the orcs wide and far. At any rate, he was well-armed for around twenty orcs.

He was less prepared for the fifty creatures which fell upon them at nightfall of the next day. To make things even worse, several of the men who had stayed with the King's Company were out scouting.

The battle was a tough one, but true to his reputation and skill, Éomer lead it firmly. That was the thing with him, Edelric mused later on: his king never lost his nerve, not even in the most desperate situations. Or, at least he made it look like he didn't.

Yet even with his leadership it all might have turned out very badly, if not for the ounce of luck they had that night. As the orcs began to close on the King's Company, there was suddenly a shout in the darkness: "To the King!"

Then came riders, clashing against the backside of the orcish ranks, and in pale moonlight Edelric saw it was his father who lead them. Though Marshal Erkenbrand was not anymore as young as he used to be, he remained a formidable warrior, and by the mighty swings of his sword orcs fell like dry grass.

For a moment, the scene was overruled by chaos, horses neighing and men shouting and the inhuman cries of orcs; some of them tried to flee, having rightly realised that the odds had turned against them. Edelric was pushed away from his king in the fray as he took on a particularly nasty-looking orc, which could just have some uruk-blood in it for all he knew. By the time he pulled out his blade from the dead body, he became aware of something quite alarming.

He could not see the white horse-tail helmet anymore.

"Sire! Where are you? Sire! Éomer!" he yelled, but either his voice did not carry over the battle or his king did not near him, for no answer came.

Fear and concern filled him right away. No wonder Éothain was a pile of nerves sometimes – captaining for the King could be truly a disconcerting task, and it was acutely so when he forced his way through the fray in the search of his liege-lord.

He saw Silfren first. How the stallion had disarmed the orc, Edelric did not know, and he was fairly sure he would sleep his nights better if he never did acquire that knowledge. Nevertheless, the horse had sunk his teeth into the place where the orc's head joined with its shoulder and was shaking him around violently – he even managed to throw in a kick with his hind-leg that send another one flying to ground.

Riding towards the orc and the stallion, the captain of the King's Guard picked up a spear protruding from one creature's corpse and threw it. In seconds, the orc Silfren had been rattling around was pinned to the ground.

That was also the moment Edelric saw the horse-tail helmet. It shimmered in moonlight against the black, trodden ground; with his dark-coloured armour, the white horse-tail was the only thing to distinguish Éomer from the site of battle. That, and the large silver stallion rearing and neighing to warn everyone from coming too near.

"Peace, Silfren! It's just me! Let me see him!" Edelric exclaimed as panic began to take the place of the fear. The stallion got down again and his neighing quieted, but he was still tossing his head and nickering in a way the captain could only call _anxious. _

In a heart-beat, Edelric had dismounted and leapt to the unmoving body of his king. Dreadful possibilities ran through his mind, along with crazed prayers to whatever Powers might be listening: _please, no, don't take him like this, what am I going to tell Lothíriel, we need him still, his children __**need **__him... _

For a moment, he already feared the worst. There was so much blood, hot and wet and slippery on his fingers... but then, as his hand sought for the neck of his liege-lord, he found the pulse. It was weak, but it was there.

"Help! We need help!"

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update! And with a cliffhanger ending! Man, I've missed writing those. ;)

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **I think Éomer's irritation afterwards came mostly from the fact the guard just came and blurted the false tidings to him before anyone even knew anything for sure. The rider in question could probably have been more discreet.

And a little girl it is! :)

**brandibuckeye - **As always, I enjoy the knowledge I caused such a reaction! :D Fortunately, all went well in the end.


	50. Chapter 50

One of the few times Lothíriel could truly forget about her ever-present worry was when she was out training or spending time with her young mare. Frost was growing into a beautiful animal, lively and intelligent, and the Queen of the Mark was anxiously waiting for the day they could ride together for the first time. She was certain it would feel unreal, not in the way riding with Silfren had, but it would bear something similar.

It still amazed her some days, to know she had been given this precious gift. To ride a horse so closely descended from the _mearas..._ not many were graced with such an honour, not even in the Mark.

She was still smiling when she was leaping up the steps of Meduseld two at a time, planning to check on her children before holing up in the royal study with Éothain. Hopefully, she could make sure Éomer would not have so much work waiting for him when he came home, which should be any day now. He had already been away for one and a half weeks, and she did not think it would take him longer to dispose of the orc problem.

Lothíriel did not get as far as inside the Hall: the nursemaid was with Elfwine and Elfhild, sitting on the bench on the right side of the entrance. Guards had happily given up their seats for the little prince and princess and their caretaker. Elfwine was playing with a pair of wooden riders while his little sister was in the arms of the maid, but seeing his mother, the lad cried out happily: "Ma!"

"There you are, sweetheart!" she answered with a smile and approached her son, her arms wide open as he waddled to her. She caught him with a laugh and gave him a kiss, while Elfwine's giggles filled the air. The sound was something that never failed to lift up her heart. Looking at her son, she thought of another little prince who had recently entered the world: now Aragorn and Arwen too had one of their own. Little Eldarion had been born as the winter had turned towards spring, and there had been great celebrations in Minas Tirith, but with Lothíriel's own pregnancy so far along she had not been able to attend. Éomer had not gone either, which she knew was because of the day she had nearly lost their unborn child. He would visit the White City some time before autumn came but even so she would not be able to join the trip, not when Elfhild was so small.

Her son's voice interrupted her thoughts, bringing back her focus again.

"Look, Ma", he said and showed her the wooden rider, which she recognised as a new one.

"Oh, it's wonderful. Where did you get that?" she asked him as she examined the fine craftsmanship of the toy. During her time in the Mark, she had noticed Eorlingas had a passion for carving wood. Even ordinary folk were very good at it, as the wooden rider in her son's hand proved.

"Cer gave gift!" Elfwine explained and smiled. She had already gathered 'Cer' meant Ceorl, who was one of Éomer's riders. They were just as fond of their little prince as everyone else.

"That's nice of him. Did you say thank you?" Lothíriel asked, at which the lad nodded emphatically. She smiled and kissed the top of his head. The King's Riders were going to spoil him rotten, she just knew it.

Originally she had meant to just check on her little cubs, but Elfwine wanted to play with her, and so the two of them ended up sprawled on the terrace, engaged in a riding contest between their wooden horses. But then a guard reached to touch her shoulder briefly, "My lady. Riders are returning. They carry the King's standard."

"You hear that, son? Father is coming home", Lothíriel said to her son, who smiled just as brightly as she did, joyous in the knowledge Éomer was coming home. She glanced at the guard, "Thank you. Take a word to Osythe and tell her to make everything ready. The riders will likely require food, and my lord husband may want to have a bath after his trip."

"Right away, my lady", he answered and bowed before heading inside.

She got up on her feet and gazed to the plains, expecting to catch the flash of white horse-tail in the sun. But she did not, and quickly she noticed how slowly the company travelled. Usually, being so near to his home and family, Éomer would be speeding ahead of his company.

Lothíriel frowned, and then reassured herself: maybe they had injured riders with them, and had to ride slowly. Be it as may, the fresh excitement for his return had already made way for concern.

Their ascent to Meduseld took nearly half an hour, and by the end of that time Lothíriel was already pacing the terrace restlessly. She reminded herself Éomer would have sent her a word if something had happened, so there was nothing to worry about.

The White Horse was at last carried into the courtyard, but she glanced at it only very quickly. Lothíriel searched for the white horse-tail helmet with her eyes... but it was nowhere to be seen, nor was the tall figure of her king. Then she spotted Silfren, and when she saw his saddle was empty, her heart skipped a beat.

_No. This is not happening, there has been some mistake, they would not carry the White Horse if he were... _

She was striding down the steps before she could even think of it. Fixing her eyes on the grave face of Edelric, she barked, "Where is he?"

Her question was answered right away, but not by the captain. For as soon as the words had left her lips, she saw the bier carried between two horses.

She flew to his side in what seemed like one mighty leap. Her king lay there on the bier, pale and motionless, covered by green rider's cloaks. He did not stir when her hands reached for him, touching his dry, hot skin.

_He's not dead. Elbereth, thank you for bringing him home... _

"Éomer", she whispered his name, and still he remained unmoving. He really was out of it, because if he had heard her voice then, the dread and the need, he would probably have leapt up from the bier despite what had to be major injuries.

"What happened?" Lothíriel managed from between her gritted teeth. It was a wonder her voice did not break down in the middle of it.

"He was wounded in the battle. There were more orcs than we expected... they must have multiplied in the mountains and waited for their time... we were prepared to meet twenty, but there was over twice the amount", Edelric answered – his voice seemed to come somewhere afar.

She took a deep breath, tried to get a hold of herself. She had to stay calm, not only for him but everyone else as well. For many eyes were on her, and she knew a lot depended on her reaction now.

_He's going to be fine. He has to be._

"Take him inside. Someone go and get me Éothain and Scýne immediately. Ceorl, send a rider to Astdun – Elfhelm and Ceolwen must hear of this as soon as possible. And I need someone to get healers right now. Hurry up!" she ordered loudly. Somehow, her voice came out strong and steely, though that was the furthest from what she felt this moment.

The grave quiet of the courtyard subsided with her commands. A pair of riders, stony-faced and silent, busied themselves with unfastening the bier while others rushed to carry out their tasks. Anxiously Lothíriel waited by, and as she did, she glanced about. A crowd of spectators had gathered to watch in quiet this scene before them, and she did not miss the uncertainty and fear on their faces. A shiver ran down her spine – it was not hard to guess what they were thinking.

_It's different now. They can see he's alive still, and he has an heir. And I will die before anyone tries to deny my son. _

Lothíriel realised her mistake when they were climbing up the steps of the Hall and the two riders were carrying Éomer inside. For there stood her little son, his eyes wide as he stared at his unconscious father being carried on a bier. The realisation hit her like a punch to her guts, and she hurried to catch Elfwine in her arms... to shield him from this sight to which even an adult heart was not immune.

"Da sick?" Elfwine asked in a small voice, trying to see past his mother's shoulder.

"He'll be all right, son. He will", she mumbled, wanting so badly to add _I promise, _but knowing she couldn't. Not before she knew more.

"Want Da", her son said firmly and squirmed in her grip, but she knew she could not let him see anything more than he already had.

"Healers need to take a look at him first, Elfwine", she told him; however, her words had no effect, and he cried for his father, but received no answer.

Osythe apperaed as though from nowhere.

"I need you to take care of Elfwine", Lothíriel said in a strained voice as the chatelaine received the child, his pleads cutting her already aching heart.

"Whatever you need, my queen", Osythe said firmly. "Go ahead."

* * *

Evening had come at last.

Past hours seemed a bit like a nightmare, and Lothíriel was still waiting to wake up... to find her husband next to her, safe and sound. But that was just the childish part of her, the girl who did not want to face the truth. Even now, after all the things she had endured and seen, she could still feel so... so _powerless. _When she had first entered the royal bedchamber and seen Éomer laying silently, it had taken a serious effort not to collapse next to him and sob his name, to beg him to wake up.

People had come and gone, their voices sounding as if from far away; Edelric explaining what had taken place, the dark-faced Éothain promising he would see to the running matters for the day, and to help her in days to come as much as he could. Scýne had gone to tend to the King's children, and riders had been sent to Astdun and Minas Tirith. Healers had done what they could, but even they had no idea when and if the King might wake up.

Now it was quiet and she was alone with her beloved horselord, and it was like she had sat there a hundred years. How frightened and helpless she did feel, as though she had suddenly lost a limb!

A gentle hand fell on Lothíriel's shoulder, startling her from her brooding thoughts. Osythe stood next to her, wearing a serious look on her face.

"How is he?" she asked softly.

"Same as before. Healers could not do much... Erkenbrand's healer patched him up back in the Hornburg. There really wasn't much more ours could do, except make him comfortable", she said and looked at the still figure of her husband. A broken arm and some ribs, a few arrow wounds and a multitude of scrapes and bruises, some minor cuts...

She shook her head, "It's the wound on his neck that worries me. Why isn't he waking up already?"

Osythe squeezed gently her shoulder, and she looked up, fighting back her tears. The expression on the chatelaine's face was gentle and compassionate.

"He is strong and resilient. And he has much to live for, Lothíriel", she reassured the younger woman. A quizzical look came to her features, "What happened, if I may ask?"

"Edelric said they were ambushed at night by orcs. There were more of them than the reports had lead Éomer to believe... the battle was a tough one. Fortunately, reinforcements from Helm's Deep arrived in time and the orcs were beaten. Few escaped", Lothíriel went through the explanation Edelric had given her. She sighed then, "He said no one saw Éomer go down. It was very dark and the situation was chaotic. He was separated from my husband in the fray, but soon noticed something was off... found Silfren defending him while he lay injured. They took him to the Hornburg that very night, did what they could for the wounds. A few days later the healer said he was stable enough to be moved here."

"He's home now. He'll get better", Osythe told her gently, and Lothíriel wanted to believe those words so much. But what if she did, and they proved wrong?

"Is Elfwine all right?" Lothíriel asked then, pushing back the dread she felt.

"Oh, he is. He was asking for his father, but we were able to distract him for the time being", Osythe answered. She watched her queen closely, "Perhaps you would like to go and tuck him and Elfhild in bed? I'm sure they'd want to see you."

"I have to stay here, in case Éomer -" Lothíriel started, but the chatelaine did not let her continue.

"I can stay with him. Your children need you, my friend, and you must get some rest. There are difficult days ahead of us before your husband can take up his mantle again", Osythe said and her voice would not take any arguments. She went on then, more gently now, "Don't worry. I will send for you right away if there is any change."

"Very well then."

Scýne and the nursemaid was busy preparing the children for bed, but Lothíriel's arrival to the royal nursery seemed to distract Elfwine from all thoughts of sleep. His arms reaching for her, he waddled towards his mother.

"Come here, sweetheart", she said and lifted her son in her arms. Despite all, there was comfort in holding her child. Suddenly, she remembered something Éomer had said after their son's birth: _He is future. And he is Rohan. _

"Where Da?" Elfwine asked. There was tiny crease on his brow as he looked quizzically his mother.

"Your father is sleeping. We mustn't disturb him now, if we want him to get better", she said softly. "You should be in bed, too."

Her answer seemed to satisfy the child for the time being. At least he remained calm now, perhaps too tired to throw a fit.

Lothíriel lifted her son into his bed and tucked blankets around him... this precious young life she and Éomer had created. Yet their child was so much more than that. Past was not forgotten in the Mark: Elfwine was the guarantee that the throne was safe and Eorl's legacy would not be compromised again.

Once Elfhild was safely in her bed as well, Lothíriel sat between her two children. She was not as good a singer as Éomer, but she could hold a tune, and somehow... somehow she felt the consolation they needed was in songs rather than in spoken words. She picked one of her favourite songs – fair but sad, and yet strangely it was uplifting as well.

_"The leaves were long, the grass was green  
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair  
And in the glade a light was seen  
of stars in shadow shimmering..."_

* * *

Next morning after leaving her children in the care of the nursemaid, Lothíriel went to check on her husband. No summons had come during the night, and she hoped it was because there had not been any change, not because Osythe had thought she needed to rest.

Edelric had the current watch-turn. He was seated on an armchair next to the bed and was watching his king with a slight frown on his face. Lothíriel's arrival had him startling where he sat, half rising up to his feet until she gestured him to sit back down.

"My lady", he greeted her.

"Captain", she answered, nodding her head. "Any change?"

"None whatsoever", he said and shook his head. Indeed Éomer looked like he had not stirred an inch since last night. He was still very pale, his bare chest was a patchwork of bruises and linen, and his broken arm was tied inside a sling so that if he woke up suddenly and was disoriented, he would not cause it further harm. It was horrible, to see her energetic, active beloved like this...

Quietly she sat next to him on the bed and brushed his hair with her fingers. She couldn't even help him in any way now: there were no malicious tribesmen to fight or usurpers to face. But the possibility of losing him was very real, and just thinking of it made her insides twist and turn.

"I'm so sorry, my queen. It's my fault – I should have guarded him better", Edelric mumbled, his voice miserable.

"Nonsense, Edelric. I know you are a wonderful captain, and if there had been something you could have done to prevent this, you would have. But war does not ask whose life it threatens to take. Not even the greatest warrior is safe on the battlefield", she told him sternly, somehow finding the force she needed to convince him. At least he did not argue with her, though she didn't take that as a guarantee.

"My lady... I hope it will not anger you, but when we reached the Hornburg after the battle, I took the liberty of sending a rider to Dol Amroth... to tell your lord father what has happened", Edelric spoke carefully, searching her face for her reaction. But while she was surprised, she certainly wasn't angry. Father should know, Lothíriel decided. And sooner he did, the better.

She nodded at the captain.

"I'm not angry. Thank you, Edelric. It was considerate", she said and even managed to smile at him slightly.

A small smile, the kind without any real humour, touched his face as well.

"I'm glad you are here, my lady. If you weren't his queen... I would be a lot more worried. And a great deal more scared of what might happen", he said quietly.

"I do my best", she merely said, turning away her gaze so that he wouldn't see the tears glistening in her eyes. She wiped a hand across her face and spoke once more, "Go ahead and find yourself some breakfast. You must be hungry, captain. I'll sit with him."

"Of course. Do you need anything, my queen?" Edelric asked as he got up on his feet.

"No thank you. I'm fine", Lothíriel answered, her eyes fixing once more on the face of her husband. A tiny voice at the back of her mind insisted some food would suit her also, but she didn't really feel hungry right now.

Edelric ventured out and a silence fell in the chamber. Lothíriel sat quietly, holding Éomer's good hand in her own two, and watching as his chest slowly rose and fell. But he was just as pale as when they had brought him home, and just as unconscious. It was strange, she mused: he was right there before her eyes, she could touch him, and yet she felt like he was a thousand leagues away.

"Please", she mumbled in a thin, scared voice, "come back to us. We need you. _I _need you."

They called her Lioness, yet this moment she felt anything but. Was it absurd, then, that even back in south she had never felt this scared? Morosely she wondered if this was some kind of a payment... if past couple years she had been too happy.

_Este, look kindly upon this man and heal his wounds... _

Lothíriel might have sat there for the rest of the day had not Osythe made another appearance just then. As before, the chatelaine stopped to stand close to her. While the Queen of Rohan heard her arrival, she did not lift her gaze.

"I was wondering if you would like some breakfast", said the older woman gently.

"Maybe later", Lothíriel muttered, keeping her eyes on the face of her husband as though she might miss some small but significant shift otherwise.

"Lothíriel", Osythe spoke, more demanding now, "you have to snap out of it."

"Snap out of what?"

"_This. _You can't curl up into yourself now. Not when your people and your children need you", the chatelaine answered, her voice hard and merciless, and at last Lothíriel looked up at her. A part of her would have liked to disagree... but then, Éomer would probably have said just the same thing. He would tell her to look after their children first, be the queen Rohirrim needed her to be. She couldn't lose her sight here, no matter how hard it was to go on.

She looked up at last and gave her friend a sheepish little smile.

"I'm sorry, Osythe. I realise I'm being a needy little idiot. It's just... he is..." she said helplessly, but the woman next to her smiled.

"It's fine. I understand, Lothíriel", she said and patted her shoulder. Then she spoke again, her voice turning brisk, "What do you think of making an official appearance today? Hold an audience perhaps? I believe it would be good for the people to see you, and know that everything is under control. They would rest easier knowing their Lioness stands undaunted."

* * *

Wish as she might, there was nothing to be done about the shadows under her eyes or the paleness of her face. Lothíriel had taken nearly an hour to prepare, both physically and mentally. Eventually, having dug through half of her wardrobe, she had decided the traditional green was the best choice for attire. It was not only the colour of Rohan and its rolling hills, but also of Éomer. Perhaps small things such as this would reassure people... she could only hope.

"My lady? Are you ready?" asked the voice of Éothain from the doorway. She turned to look at him and was able to give him a smile. The man looked permanently worried now – this time of uncertainty was as hard on him as anyone else.

"I am", she said, smoothed the front of her gown one last time, and made sure her coronet was firmly in its place. "Where are Elfwine and Elfhild?"

"Right here, my lady", Éothain replied, making way for the nursemaid. She carried Elfhild while Elfwine trailed after her, but seeing his mother, the little prince waddled over to her. He too was dressed more formally than usually, wearing a fine green coat with golden embroideries. The colour became him surprisingly well, though he did not have his father's golden looks. They had agreed people should see him and his sister as well, to know the future of Rohan was safe and sound no matter what happened.

"Ma", he spoke, and she crouched down before her little son.

"It's all right, sweetheart. We'll show them everything will be fine", she said to the child, though those words were meant for herself, too. Éothain seemed to sense this, as his expression became gentler.

"Don't worry, Lothíriel. You will do well. I have all the trust in the world in you", he said warmly.

She glanced briefly at him and could not hold back her frown.

"That's what scares me", she said quietly. Then, before he could say more, she stood up again and took her son's hand in her own. "Let's get going."

Edelric announced her arrival before she and Elfwine stepped into the Golden Hall, his voice carrying over the quiet chatter of the crowd. Before she stepped forward, she took a deep breath and organised a collected look on her features. _They need to see their Queen stands undaunted._

The Hall was packed full. The faces she saw gathered there were grave and concerned, but she met their eyes steadily, if not smiling.

The throne stood empty, and she would not claim it now – it would have seemed wrong somehow. Instead, Lothíriel took seat next to it, and soon as she was settled, Elfwine reached his small arms towards her. She lifted him up in her lap, fully aware of how this would seem to the crowd watching them. Elfhild's nursemaid stayed behind her shoulder, and Riders of the Royal Guard stood about them, watchful and vigilant. Lothíriel looked at her son, whose very existence bound her to the throne of the Riddermark... whether Éomer lived or died.

To keep him entertained while the audience lasted, she dug through the purse on her belt and provided him with a small wooden horse – since she had become a mother, she had been finding strangest things in strangest places in her clothes.

She lifted up her eyes and looked around in the Hall, taking note of all the eyes fixed on her son. There was something unnerving about those looks, and she knew why that was... but for the time being, she had to ignore it.

"Let us begin", she spoke, and her voice came out stronger and more resolute than she would have thought.

The matters brought to her attention were of the everyday sort, some of them even not very serious, but Lothíriel knew what was the ultimate concern behind a great deal of them. However for one reason or the other, it took a while before one man, a goldsmith who lived in Edoras, dared to ask the question in everyone's mind.

"My lady, I thank you for your wise decision and guidance", he spoke after she had solved the quarrel between him and his neighbour (though it had felt more or less forced). The true reason for his presence this day was revealed in his next words: "I see we are in good hands. But please, may I inquire how fares the King? Will he heal?"

The question roused a soft chatter in the crowd, and Lothíriel felt their stares, if possible, had become even more intense.

"It's too soon to say anything for certain. Still, I do not think his injuries are fatal, and as always he will fight to survive. I believe he will be fine", she said, knowing she had to say these words. Somehow, she could form a slight reassuring smile on her face, "Do not worry, good people. I will do my best to tend to your needs, and those of the realm, while my lord husband recovers. With the help of the royal council and Lord Éothain, most trusted of the King's men, I will guard and watch over the Mark."

* * *

**A/N: **Another week, another update!

I imagine this should explain the last chapter's cliffhanger. I really wanted to explore the situation where Lothíriel needs to take Éomer's place as the ruler of Rohan. Moreover, I thought it would be interesting to see how she'd deal with the pressure and the possibility that her husband may not survive, not to mention what it would mean for her and her children. It's stressful and she has her moments of weakness, but she tries to hold the realm together the best she can.

The song Lothíriel sings to her children is _The Song of Beren and Lúthien. _It's one of my personal favourites from all the poems Tolkien wrote of and in his legendarium. It's beautiful and bittersweet and shows Tolkien's extraordinary talent with words.

Este, to whom Lothíriel prays to heal Éomer, is the Valië responsible for healing hurts and weariness. Her spouse is Irmo Lórien, the master of visions and dreams, and the other Valar and the Eldar living in Valinor often came to his gardens to seek for repose from the burden of Arda.

* * *

**brandibuckeye - **I'm glad you liked it! :) Really, I feel it's been too long I've got to write cliffhangers! :D

**Amanda - **Happy to hear that! Hope you like this new chapter. :)

**Jo - **The prospect of Elfhild growing up and having suitors should be worrisome indeed. :D


	51. Chapter 51

The days that followed were some of the most stressful, the most difficult Lothíriel had lived ever since the south or the events of the Kin-strife. The uncertainty and fear for the life of the King had infected the atmosphere in Edoras, and people went about their labours in quiet, as though speaking loudly and singing would somehow be obscene. Even Elfhelm, who had raced to the capital at her summons, was uncharacteristically grim. It seemed that the entire realm was holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen. Every now and then Lothíriel would hear someone muttering: "It's too soon. He's too young to die."

Silently she agreed, but Lothíriel knew she could not take part in these conversations. Hers was the duty of braving on, though she did not feel very brave at all. If she couldn't keep up the hope, then why should anyone?

During the hours of the day, she would try to make up for Éomer's absence as much as she could. While Éothain and the royal council were very helpful and supportive, she simply did not have her husband's gift for leadership, his experience, or his keen vision for the future of the Riddermark. At least it was a time of peace and she did not have to worry about ruling a kingdom in war, though she knew she could have surrendered the task of leading the Rohirric cavalry to Elfhelm and Deorwine. But war would have brought other concerns, some of which she was glad not to have to deal with right now. Meanwhile, Osythe and Scýne had taken over her other duties, for which she was thankful: Lothíriel knew she could not have handled the workload without their help.

In addition to the matters of ruling, she had two small children to tend to – they had their nursemaid, but Lothíriel was determined not to leave them without both their parents. Elfhild was too small to understand what was happening, but Elfwine appeared to be acutely aware of his father's absence, and would often ask about him.

"When Da better?" he would want to know; the look in his big, dark eyes would tear at Lothíriel's heart, because he shouldn't need to deal with this, not yet. But she could not lie to him either, no matter how much she wanted to make it better for her son.

"I don't know, sweetheart", she murmured and held him close. Though tears were burning her eyes, she held them back. _I need to be strong, for them all. Perhaps this is how it will be from now on._

Whatever free moments she had, she would spend next to the bedside of her husband. At these times her friends mostly left her alone, knowing she did not care for company when she watched over the man she loved. She would sing or read to him or maybe just talk about her day, though he would not respond. When one of the maids asked her why she would do that, Lothíriel looked away and spoke quietly, "I hope he will hear me. Maybe my voice will guide him back."

However, the unpleasant truth was that the longer Éomer remained unconscious, the smaller was the chance he'd wake up at all. And she couldn't think of that, not even when she could see it in the eyes of her friends and the members of the household. Those wondering looks... waiting, asking, looking at her as though they were thinking whether she could manage it if he _did _die. It horrified her to even think of such an outcome: the Queen Regent at the age of 27, left to live without her other half as decades of grief spread before her, and to raise two small children, one of whom was the Crown Prince of the Mark...

At least, she had Osythe to vent her fear and weakness; in these bleak days, she was irreplaceable support.

"I've seen how they look at my son. They're wondering if... if that small child will soon be their king. It's frightening – he's not ready. Elfwine isn't ready for this... he needs his father to teach and guide him..." she said to the older woman several days after the riders had brought Éomer back. It had been just a few days, but it felt like weeks had passed.

In the middle of a small collapse, Lothíriel buried her face in her hands, and she stammered, "I can't do this without him. _I can't. _I can't rule or raise our children alone..."

Osythe's arms came to rest on her shoulders, sheltering and comforting, and without a trace of judgement. Helplessly, like she were a child, Lothíriel leant into the warmth of that motherly embrace.

"Lothíriel. You will do whatever you need to do", Osythe. "Even if you are feeling scared, the truth is you are strong enough. Éomer knows that... he counts on your strength now. Just as he did once before. We all count on you, my Queen – for who will endure if not our Lioness?"

The chatelaine was right, of course. The only thing she could do was keep on going... even to her heart's breaking.

Yet if these days brought her uncertainty and dread, there was also unexpected comfort. For only three days after Éomer had been brought home, a guest arrived in Edoras: it was no one else than Lothíriel's own dear father.

She was in the middle of a meeting with the King's Council when a guard came to inform her of his arrival. In surprise, her head shot up and she lifted her gaze from the maps before her. She nearly bolted for the door and then through the Hall, but she _was _in the middle of a council meeting. So she glanced about and fixed her eyes on Éothain, as though he knew what she should do.

The former captain gave her a gentle smile, "Go ahead, my lady. Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth is no small guest, however unexpected."

Lothíriel flashed him a grin – the first one in many days – and then soon as she had apologised to the other council members, she went dashing through the space that separated her from her father.

He was about to enter the twin doors of the Hall when she came, just as tall and steady and reliable as she remembered him; arrayed in silver and blue, Father was always a vision to take her back to years of her childhood. His wind-blown, slightly shabby appearance spoke of the haste he had made on the road, and she knew he must have started for Rohan as soon as Edelric's rider had reached him in Dol Amroth. It was all she could do from just crying out _"Adar!" _and running into his arms.

Her last few steps did indeed become a run, and then her father's arms were about her, and Lothíriel felt just as she used to as a small girl. Oh, how she had missed him!

"Are you all right, daughter?" he asked softly.

"I'm fine", she mumbled, holding on tight to him – she felt she would not be able to unfasten her arms even if she wanted to.

"And Éomer?" asked her father, his voice even more quiet now.

"He hasn't woken up yet", Lothíriel replied. Her voice was close to breaking, and she _wanted _to break, if only for as long as Father held her. However, they were standing in the Golden Hall of the King and she had to be brave.

"I'm sorry for coming here unannounced. I was worried about you, daughter, and of your family", Father said, watching her closely. She knew he had heard the tremor in her voice and seen right into the dread and worry behind it. No matter how many years passed and what events they brought, Father could still see right through her even when others didn't.

"I'm glad that you came", Lothíriel said and was able to give him a smile. "Though I hope it doesn't inconvenience you or Gondor too much to travel so unexpectedly."

"Daughter, I once told you I would always be there if you ever need me", Father said gently, brushing hair from her cheek. "All is well in Gondor. Elphir rules in my stead in Dol Amroth, and Amrothos has gone to replace him in Minas Tirith."

"Amrothos? In Aragorn's council?" Lothíriel wondered out loud, even forgetting about her own troubles for a moment. Her question did not come from doubting her brother. Rather, it was just she had never known him to have great interest in politics.

"It gives him something to put his mind into, to feel useful. And Aragorn can keep an eye on him", Father said with a wry smile. He shook his head slightly, "But we can talk about the family later on. Please, tell me, is it very serious? Why was Éomer injured?"

She breathed in and out; the distressed tears, those which she had been holding back ever since she had seen her husband carried on a bier, would have to wait for a little while more.

"I'll explain everything. Let's get you settled down first, and I'll find you some food. I'll have to make sure your knights will be taken care of, too... and you must come and see the children. This is not really how I meant to introduce you to Elfhild, but I suppose it will have to do..."

* * *

"My lady! Please, my lady, you must do something!"

The abrupt shout, delivered on a midday when a week had passed since they had brought Éomer home, nearly had Lothíriel jumping in fright. She had been with her children and her father, and was now headed for the royal study to try and tackle some of the day's work, but the sudden yell interrupted with that line of thought.

Sharply she turned around to see one of the stablemen striding fast towards her. He looked flushed and startled, and his eyes shone anxiously.

"What is it? Has something happened?" she asked cautiously.

"It's Silfren, my lady – he's furious, I think he may just tear down the stables! We need you to come and calm him down!" said the stableman anxiously. He reached a hand towards her as though to grab and drag her along, but pulled back before touching her.

Lothíriel frowned; if the experienced stablemen did not know how to handle the angry stallion, what could _she _do about it? Not only that, Silfren was one of _mearas, _and while she might be Rohan's queen she was still not a native Eorling. She would only be able to ride Silfren if Éomer was with her...

The error of her thought occurred to her all of a sudden. She might not be of Eorl's line, but she didn't need to be. There was one of his descendants in Meduseld, unhindered by any injuries.

Quickly she turned towards a guard who had been with her. She spoke hastily, "Go and get my son. We have a need of Elfwine."

Less than quarter of an hour later, once she had ordered stablemen and her rather concerned father to stay outside, she and the little prince entered the royal stables. Rest of the horses had already been taken outside, lest the stallion's mood spooked them. She had heard Silfren's loud neighing from outside, and the sound had made her tremble – there was something unspeakably _wild _about it. She had never seen him in such a state and it was positively frightening.

However, she had to try, even though a small voice at the back of her head was starting to inquire whether it was wise to bring the heir of the realm so close to an outraged stallion. But _mearas _responded to those of Eorl's blood, and she had to at least try.

"Silfren! It's all right – please calm down!" she cried out as she stepped closer to the stall. Her words had no effect whatsoever. Silfren neighed and reared, kicking open the door of his stall, and Lothíriel nearly jumped into an empty one before he would stomp her and Elfwine to ground. Somewhere outside, she could hear her father's voice, calling her to come out...

But then her son exclaimed: "Fren!"

There was no fear in his voice, though presently the stallion would inspire just that. He even reached his hands towards his father's steed... and either by his voice or his gesture, Silfren quieted down and stopped rearing. Once more he tossed his great head, but he looked now like he had calmed down.

Warily she approached the stallion once more, and Elfwine in her lap was still reaching his hands towards Silfren. The animal's nostrils flared as he breathed in and out, but whatever had been uncontrolled about him just moments ago was now gone: before the little prince he was as mellow as a kitten. How tiny Elfwine's hands were against the nose of the stallion!

"Fren angry?" asked the little prince.

"I don't think it was about being angry, son", Lothíriel managed in a breathless voice. She looked into Silfren's dark, intelligent eye, which was facing them. Supporting Elfwine more tightly against her shoulder, she reached one hand to run it gently across the neck of the stallion. She murmured, "You miss him too, don't you?"

He snorted softly as an answer and prodded his nose gently against Elfwine, whose giggles had now replaced the violent neighing in the stables. Despite herself, she had to smile at the sight.

"Lothíriel? Are you all right?" came Father's concerned voice from the far door of the stables.

"It's fine. I think he has calmed down", she called back over her shoulder. She looked back to Silfren, who was watching her quietly now.

"I know. It's horrible. But we can't do anything except just wait", she spoke to him again. Silfren let out a quiet little nicker, and then he placed his great head on her shoulder, as though he too wished for comfort. Elfwine wrapped his arms about him and pressed his little face against Silfren's cheek.

"My lady", asked one of the stablemen from behind her. Seeing the scene had become tranquil, they had dared to enter the stables once more. She moved her head enough to cast a quizzical look at the man speaking to her.

"My lady, how did you calm him down?" he asked, gazing at the trio in wonder.

She gave them a small, bewildered smile.

"I didn't do anything. It was Elfwine."

* * *

The White City had fallen quiet with the night.

It was usually very busy these days, creating quite the contrast to how Amrothos remembered it in the days before the War of the Ring. Peace had brought prosperity and new life to the quiet streets of the decaying city, which had once been so beautiful – now it would be so once more. He sometimes wondered if he could ever get quite used to it.

In Minas Tirith, he would see yet another way how the world had changed – and how it had left him behind. So many of his friends, sons of the lords of the realm, had got married and started families of their own. Some had taken over their fathers' positions and were now mighty lords themselves. And the responsibilities that came with family and power had made it necessary for them to give up their boyish, carefree ways.

But Amrothos remained as the third son, alone and purposeless. Oh, Father might have arranged him to sit in Aragorn's council for the time being, but he knew it would not be forever. Sooner or later Father would return home, and then Elphir would be back in Minas Tirith.

For tonight, he had mostly forgotten about that ever-present, depressing thought. A friend had invited him to join a dinner party, and the youngest of three Amrothian princes had rather enjoyed himself for change: having laughs with old friends, he could almost pretend it was like in the days before. Strange, that he might actually miss the years before the War of the Ring!

But as he made way home that night, Amrothos' thoughts turned again to the things that usually were at the top of his mind. He wondered how things were in Rohan, and if Father would soon be returning. Had Éomer woken up yet? The prince hoped he had, because if he didn't... well, Lothíriel would be devastated, and Amrothos didn't want that heartache and anguish to his sister. Not to mention her little children did not deserve to grow up fatherless.

Damn, how he missed her! Lothíriel had been his best friend when they grew up; she didn't fit in with other daughters of noblemen, no one else understood his adventurous moods or mischief like she did, and no one could conjure up so much laughter like she was able. Elphir and Erchirion were always too solemn, and for them the path of life ran clear and certain. However, for Amrothos and Lothíriel it was a question that had no easy answers... well, she had found hers, and he did not have to wonder why she had fought for it so fiercely. Had he discovered something he loved so much as she loved her horselord, Amrothos knew he would have fought for it just as she had.

Be it as may, when he had first pushed her on a path that lead to Éomer, the prince had never realised just how much it would cost _himself. _

In the middle of these morose thoughts he reached inside his coat and pulled out a flask. It was strong Rohirric liquor which he had first got to know during the Kin-strife of Rohan. He knew Father wouldn't approve of the rate he was drinking it, but then again his sire was not here to scold him, either. As long as he could do his job in Aragorn's council, then his private life should not be anyone's concern. And Amrothos firmly believed that considering his circumstances and his earlier indifference towards politics, he was doing fairly well as Elphir's substitute.

He was starting to be fairly drunk before he was even halfway to the house of Amrothian princes in the White City. At some point, his step had turned unsteady and his ability to focus his gaze left for wanting, too. It occurred to him it might have been a good idea to take at least one guard along, but upon leaving his father's house, Amrothos had not thought such thing necessary. Minas Tirith was fairly safe these days anyway, so a lone drunken fellow could usually stumble his way in peace.

The steps behind were soft, almost too soft for him to hear. At first Amrothos did not pay attention to it either, as he was mostly concerned with staying upright. However, the quiet _pat pat pat _of following feet eventually had him glancing behind himself and squinting his eyes, trying hard to see clearly. It had been some time since he had last seen everything in two.

Hooded and cloaked, the stranger trailing him could very well be a man or a woman. Amrothos stopped and wavered on his feet, grasping at his side in vain. He had left his sword back at Father's house, and he had no other weapon on him. At any rate, he was probably too drunk to even handle a blade properly.

"You there", he managed to speak somewhat coherently, "I've got nothing in my pockets except some liquor, so unless you're looking to get drunk, I'm really not worth robbing."

There was a soft laughter, so low that at first he thought the stranger was a man. But the voice that spoke next was not male.

"Prince Amrothos", she said, sounding wryly amused, "you really need someone looking after you, don't you?"

He blinked his eyes once, twice, and then once more. Her voice was familiar... but his thoughts were too muddy to make the connection.

"I do?" he asked, focusing hard so that he'd not stumble over the words. "Are you offering to take up that task?"

"What would be your answer if I did?" she asked, pushing down her hood. There, in the shadows of the evening, stood none else than Nehir, sister of Agon and Asli.

Once more Amrothos blinked. Was this some eccentric hallucination induced by the Rohirric liquor? No wonder those northern riders were so mad.

He decided it didn't matter whether this _was _a hallucination. Because if it were, he could do anything, even the maddest thing he could think of.

"My answer? Oh, _yes."_

* * *

In little Elfhild Imrahil did not see so much resemblance of his own kin as he did in Elfwine. True, the babe's eyes were the same clear grey as Lothíriel's, but looking at his youngest grandchild, he knew she would grow to bear the likeness of Éomer's line. But time would tell if in mind she would be like her mother or her father; at least Elfwine seemed to have a spirit more of north than of south.

Both children were fast asleep now, safely tucked in their beds by the Prince of Dol Amroth himself. He had insisted to put them to sleep, to allow Lothíriel one quiet moment after another long, busy day. Minding small children was something he had not done in years, but he had not forgotten. He was rather grateful to experience it again with his daughter's children.

But it was more than just getting to indulge himself. It was one of the few ways he could help his daughter at this time when her husband's life was hanging on balance. Imrahil knew what heartbreak was waiting for her if Éomer did die. Time might heal that wound, but not completely, for it was one grief that never fully vanished. Though it had been many years since his own wife had passed away, not a day went by that he did not think of her. Elphir and Erchirion had not been so young at the time of her death, and Ivriniel had been there to aid him in raising his offspring, but Lothíriel... her children were small and who of their parents' siblings could bear the burden of raising the future King of Rohan?

He knew his fay-child would endure, somehow. She'd hold the realm together, fight for it if she had to. But she would grieve as well, just as deeply as she had loved the man she had married. _It's not like Lothíriel to give up on things she has invested her heart in._

With a sigh, Imrahil got up on his feet from the arm chair and crouched to add some food into the fire. He didn't want his little grandchildren to get cold while they slept, both so innocent and unaware of the grave situation and the possibility their father might never wake up. It seemed undue after all that had been sacrificed for peace and freedom... cruel even, when Imrahil remembered how his daughter had fought to save Éomer and then to help him restore his realm.

However, he had lived long enough to know it was not use to ask what was fair: the fates cared not whether the lots they dealt were due or not. Imrahil rubbed his forehead and straightened up again, deciding he'd check on his daughter. She had seemed tired earlier – he should tell her to go and catch some rest.

The Prince of Dol Amroth entered the royal quarters quietly. The name of his daughter was on his lips, but something held him silent as he peeked into the bedchamber. It seemed to go unnoticed by Lothíriel, for she did not turn to look at the door. So focused she was that his presence did not occur to her, and quickly Imrahil saw why. She was singing softly under her breath and brushed a damp cloth across the body of her unconscious husband, washing the piece of fabric in a basin every now and then and wringing it before resuming her task.

He backed away silently. He knew his son-in-law would not want Imrahil to see him like this, and Lothíriel too would have rued it.

His feet carried him back to the royal nursery, though he did not exactly take notice of where he was going. Still, as he halted to stand above his sleeping grandchildren, he wondered if their faces brought as much comfort and courage to his daughter as they gave him.

But then there was something else hovering behind everything else, and for the first time in many years, Imrahil of Dol Amroth felt well and truly _frightened._

_O Nienna, Lady of Mercy, let him turn back from the gates of Mandos, guide him to the land of the living... yet if he must pass, then give us the strength to accept that which can't be changed... _

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks to a glass of wine I got a bout of inspiration and you, my dear readers, can have an early update! Hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

Here's a little more of how Lothíriel deals with having to rule in Éomer's stead. She may have her moments of weakness in the presence of Osythe and her father, but ultimately it's just a relief valve to her to let out some steam. After all, there's a lot of pressure on her, having to rule and to be the one everyone counts on. Plus, she has to take care of two small children all the while knowing their father might not live. But like Osythe tells her, she is strong enough to endure.

It seemed like a good idea to also bring back Nehir - we'll see how things go between her and Amrothos, and what is her motivation for returning.

Nienna is another Valië. She is associated with grief and sorrow but also pity, mercy and courage. As for Mandos, the name is used both for the Vala responsible for death and also for the hall he dwells in.

* * *

**solar1 - **I'm glad to hear you're still on board! Hope you stick with me in the future, too. :) I will do my best to keep this worth reading!

**brandibuckeye - **Thank you! Lothíriel is only human, and so she has her moments of weakness, but in the end she is not one to give up. :)

**Catspector - **Thank you so much! I am glad to hear you liked it. :)


	52. Chapter 52

There was a voice singing nearby. Slowly, gently, it summoned him, leading him...

At first, Éomer did not comprehend much of the words, and he didn't need to – just listening to the voice seemed like a task to require most of the effort he was able and willing to give right now. He knew the tune, though, and with the recognition the words began to make sense as well. It was a popular ballad, one which spoke of lovers hoping to meet in a place full of flowers...

"_As I wander I will ponder  
On the happy by-and-by;  
Only summer over yonder  
Brought a joy to you and I;  
Do not borrow grief or sorrow  
In the hours that yet remain;  
We shall know a glad tomorrow  
When the roses come again..." _

He knew that voice. It was dear to him, and it had pulled him from dark places and nightmares more times than he cared to count. Even now it was calling him back from... from somewhere. He was too weary to try and figure out just where he had been. That became irrelevant anyway, because a hand took his own and held it tight, and he thought of how very well he knew that hand... how many times he had counted on its strength.

Quietly, keeping his eyes close still, Éomer wrapped his fingers about hers and squeezed them. Warm, reassuring firmness of those fingers was like an anchor to firmly bind him to awareness. _Yes, he knew this one. _

The singing had stopped. Why had it stopped? He could have listened to her for hours... it seemed very important that he did, because now he could remember thinking he'd not hear her voice again. But when and how and why... he couldn't say.

"Éomer?"

Perhaps he should wake up. She was calling to him and there was an alarming edge in her tone, the kind to demand an answer. _She is upset. Why is she upset? _It bothered him – he had to find out.

He tried to speak up, but all he managed was a low groan, as though he had forgotten how to talk. But she called his name once more, more urgently now, and the hand on his moved to cradle his face... he forced open his eyes at last, but unfocused he barely comprehended what he saw. However, he did not need to _see _to know who it was hovering over him.

His Lioness spoke his name again, her trembling voice pregnant with tears. He grew more concerned as he tried to understand why she was so beside herself.

"... riel", he grunted, his voice horribly raspy, but it made her sob audibly. Then she covered his face in kisses, mumbling sweet nonsense between each touch of her lips against his face. Slowly, her words became more lucid, and his comprehension more clear.

"... was so afraid, I thought I was going to lose you... how could you do that to us? Didn't I tell you to be careful? Oh, sweet Elbereth, I'm never letting you out of my sight again..." she stammered and he could see the tears in her eyes, which alarmed him. But when he tried to move, to wrap his arms around her, lances of pain went through his ribcage and left arm. This caused him to groan once more.

"Hold still, beloved. You were injured, you haven't healed yet", she told him, blinking tears from her eyes and made a movement as to shift away. However, he grabbed her hand with his right one, though even that did not come without pain.

"Injured? How?" he rasped, trying to remember but failing. Béma, his mouth felt like those accursed deserts in Harad! He was sure he could think more clearly if he just got a drink.

"I'll explain in a second. You should maybe drink something first", she said and left his side for a moment, but even that felt too long. _Injured in battle... _he could not recall such thing, but it had to be true, considering how beaten and battered he felt. His arm... was it broken?

He didn't get to wonder for long, because Lothíriel returned to his side with a glass in her hand. Carefully she lifted his head so that he could drink some water, and idly he thought he had never tasted anything so glorious.

When he was done and she had put the glass away, she looked like she might leave his side again. But once more he grabbed her hand.

"Don't go", he said quietly, his voice a bit clearer now.

"I need to go and get a healer. They should take a look at you, now that you're awake", she said warily. If she had been distressed only just before, she seemed calmer now. Well, that was just the way his wife was: once she had something to do, someone to take care of, she would put aside her own anxieties.

"Later. What happened? Why am I injured?" Éomer wanted to know. His wife seemed to hesitate, trying to decide between staying and fetching healers. So he held her hand a bit tighter and sought her gaze with a silent plea.

Her eyes softened and she sat down next to him, cradling his hand between her own two. He felt reassured and relaxed once more; he could endure some pain while she explained what had happened. It worried him that he could not remember the reason he had been injured.

Lothíriel began to describe the events leading to his current state, and he listened in silence. Flashes of memory did return to him with her words, but mostly it was a tangled, confusing mess. And he had let it happen!

Once more he groaned, as much in frustration as in pain. The noise made his wife shift restlessly next to him.

"You _really _need a healer. They should be able to give you something to help you relax... dear Elbereth, people are going to be so happy to hear you're awake..." she spoke and went before he could object. Éomer sighed; perhaps some poppy would be helpful with the aches and hurts all over him.

Her tears and relief upon his awakening... the darkness that was behind him like a black wall to prevent memory... _people are going to be so happy to hear you're awake... _

Something told him he was lucky to be alive.

* * *

"It's only a matter of time now, I tell you", Stándenu muttered grimly to the company of three other riders he was with. The man was not famed for his cheerful personality, but since the King's injury he had been on an even darker mood than usually. Alger watched him quietly as he forcibly carved a piece of cheese on the top of his bread, and then grumbled on, "He'd have woken up already, if there were a chance of recovery."

"You don't know that", Ceorl put in sharply and glanced around. He cringed, "And anyway you should not declare it so loudly. You don't want Lord Elfhelm to give you a thrashing, like he did that poor bugger yesterday."

Alger hid his grimace. He had been on guard duty when he had heard one of his peers muttering about how it was now just inevitable that their king would die. Unfortunately for the fellow, Marshal Elfhelm had happened to hear it. The man had dealt his deadly right hook right on the spot, and Alger had heard him growling he would not hear anyone spreading such wretched gossip. Right now, he was at least preoccupied talking with Lord Éothain about something, and thus was unlikely to hear the mutterings in the table. Even so, it did not go unnoticed that the usually good-humoured man had been snappy and short-tempered ever since his arrival in Edoras after the Queen had sent for him, and Alger did not remember seeing him like this ever since Éomer King had returned from the south.

_All men show their fear differently, _his remembered his mother saying many years ago. Funny, that he hadn't really understood that before now.

"She at least doesn't seem to think he's going to die", he muttered and looked down at his mug of ale. Even now, he still found it difficult to speak the name of his queen.

"The Queen sits next to him and sings. How's that going to help?" Stándenu asked glumly. "It's not any more useful than catering to a corpse."

"For the fifth time, Stándenu, he's not dead yet. Have some faith", said Folcred in a tired voice. He had been quiet up until now; in the past almost two weeks, he had not participated even once in the gossiping and guessing that went around in the capital. He was one of the men who had come to serve Éomer King during the Kin-strife, and Alger knew the two had become friends since then.

He took a long sip of his ale and briefly closed his eyes. Though he knew it was treasonous to even think of it, he imagined how it would be like if the King _did _die. While Eorlingas would be inconsolable, he was certain the Mark would endure, because the Queen would surely do her utmost to guard the realm until Elfwine Prince came of age. She would be heartbroken, though, she would require comfort... he had no illusions: she loved her husband fiercely, and someone like him could never replaced. But then, one could offer some warmth and solace without having to try and be someone else.._. _

It was mad, to even entertain such thoughts. He knew he shouldn't let his mind wander like that.

"Well, that's what I think", Stándenu muttered, disrupting Alger's line of thought, for which he was silently thankful. The older rider was staring at his roll of bread like it had personally offended him as he went on, "Mark my words. We should get used to the idea of having a child for a king. Let's just hope no one tries to make use of that..."

Alger held back his groan and instead drank some more ale. His mood was turning more brooding by the minute; he would have gone to seek some distraction from a local tavern, but he would have guard duty later tonight, and Captain Edelric had very little understanding for drunkenness while performing Rider's duties.

Movement at the edge of his vision suddenly caught his eye. Alger turned his head to see the Queen emerging from the corridor which lead to the royal chambers, and at once he took notice of how she looked like. Her enormous smile, the hope in her glance, the sparkling of her eyes... Béma, she was never more beautiful than when she looked like _that. _

He wondered if something had happened and watched as she hurried to Elfhelm and Éothain. Some silent words were exchanged between the three, and Alger witnessed the exact moment when the frowns on the faces of two men changed. Lord Elfhelm's roaring laughter filled the Hall, and he grabbed the Queen in a mighty bear hug, lifting her from the ground.

It could mean only one thing. _He's awake, then. _

For a moment it looked like the Marshal might be lifting up Éothain too, but apparently he got a swift rejection. Muttering to himself, the former captain limped to where Captain Edelric was sitting, likely to send riders to those it would concern. But Elfhelm strode through the Hall, bellowing as he went: "Cheer up, you miserable buggers! He's awake! That lucky oaf is going to be all right!"

* * *

After the healers had checked on him and changed the linens around his wounds and an hour's rest, Lothíriel told him perhaps he should not push his luck yet; he should receive visitors on the morrow, if he felt strong enough. However, she didn't object to his one request, which was to see his children. For one reason or the other, his throat felt tight when Lothíriel fetched them, but when he saw the faces of his children, his anxiety melted away.

She carried Elfhild, but Elfwine hurried before her as fast as his small feet would carry him. The beaming joy on his face made Éomer feel even more acutely how difficult these past two weeks must have been for everyone he cared about.

"Da! Da!" Elfwine cried out as he clumsily climbed on the bed and crawled to hug his father. While his injured ribs did not agree with it, Éomer held back his groan of pain and wrapped his good arm about his son's shoulders.

His son looked up at him hopefully, "Da better now?"

"Aye, I'll be fine", he reassured the child gently. Even as his ribs ached, he could only smile when he looked at his son.

"Careful, Elfwine! Your father is still healing", Lothíriel put in as she sat down on the edge of the bed. She smiled at their daughter, "Look who's here. Do you want to hold her?"

"Could you lift her?" Éomer asked, spreading his arm, from which Elfwine had moved to examine his wrapped, broken arm. Carefully Lothíriel placed Elfhild in the crook of his good arm, though she remained close in case his strength failed suddenly.

A sleepy little smile entered Elfhild's face as she looked up at her father. She had her mother's eyes, which he would often notice with a wave of affection... but there was something about her face which confirmed what Lothíriel had told him when she was still expecting their daughter. Elfhild would indeed bear resemblance to Princess Théodwyn.

"Thought you wouldn't be seeing this old face again, did you?" he murmured softly. Looking at his two little children made it all the more real: he had nearly made half orphans of them! Béma, it truly was a wonder that Lothíriel would bear with him, considering all he put her through...

"Da must better. Ma really sad", Elfwine interrupted solemnly.

Quietly Éomer looked up and met the eyes of his wife. She answered the gaze silently – didn't try to deny their son's statement.

"Don't you worry about that. I had everything under control", she said in any case and reached to gently comb back Elfwine's hair with her fingers.

"We'll talk later", he said to her and settled back once more. Even so, he did know this time could only have been very difficult. Attending to the matters of the realm, tending to two small children, worrying about her injured husband... he at least knew he'd have been beside himself with worry had it been her to lay wounded and unconscious.

As it was getting late already, it was not long that Elfwine fell asleep next to him, and Elfhild too passed out. Seeing their children were fast asleep, Lothíriel got up.

"I should get these little rascals to bed. I'll come and tell you good night afterwards", she promised and picked up Elfwine, who did not even wake up. Elfhild was sleeping safely in the crook of his father's arm.

"You don't mean to stay here for the night?" Éomer asked quietly.

She bit her lip, "I thought it would be easier for you to get rest if I stay with the children tonight."

He gave her a wry smile.

"You once said you don't sleep very well when I'm gone. What makes you think it's not exactly the same for me?" he asked her, and she said no more. She flashed him a brief smile before carrying Elfwine to the royal nursery.

As soon as she taken Elfhild there as well, she began to ready for bed. He watched her quietly as she opened her loosely braided hair, combed it clear, and changed into a night shift. But before joining him in the bed, she gave him an inquiring look.

"Is there anything you need? Do you want me to go and get something?" Lothíriel asked.

"I'm fine. Just get in the bed before I come and grab you", he growled, even though they both knew he probably wouldn't even be able to stand up right now. Still, she smiled and crawled next to him and pulled on blankets. Usually, she'd roll into his arms and curl up there, but now she just settled next to him and placed her chin against the shoulder of his uninjured arm. She let out a small sigh as she relaxed, and he turned his head so that he could kiss her brow.

"I'm sorry to have caused such worry", he murmured against her skin.

"Don't think about that. It's not like you did on purpose", she replied softly, intertwining her fingers with his. She went on, even quieter now, "I won't lie, though – I was so scared you might not wake up. I don't remember when I was last so afraid as I've been past two weeks."

He couldn't really do anything else except mutter his apologies again. But she looked up and smiled, and told him not to worry about it.

"Do you remember what happened?" she asked him then. He frowned, trying to reach back in his memory... but the events leading to his current state of being remained unclear.

"I recall we were ambushed. It was a tough fight, and I... I was thinking I might not make it", he muttered at length. "The next thing I remember is your voice singing to me."

He could feel her shiver as she took in his words.

"Edelric said no one saw you go down. It must have been a bad fall... otherwise it wouldn't have taken this long for you to wake up", she said, holding his hand a bit tighter. "I'm just glad you're awake now."

"As am I, love. As am I."

* * *

On the morrow after eating breakfast with Lothíriel, Éomer was feeling a little stronger already, and so they agreed he was well enough to have visitors. He expected to meet his friends, so that he could apologise to them for causing so much concern and to reassure them he'd get better. Yet while he felt better than yesterday, he knew the road to full recovery would take its time. But he did not get to say the things that were in his mind, because when Éothain stormed in, the former captain immediately filled the quiet with his angry voice.

"You! I have had it with your attempts to get yourself killed!" he growled as he limped towards the bed, waving his index finger as he came.

"Éothain -" Éomer tried, but he was cut short very quickly.

"Don't _Éothain _me, you idiot! What does it take to make you understand? How many years have I been trying to hammer it into your moronic skull, and still you don't get it?" his friend raged, oblivious to the others who had just entered the room and were now gazing at him in shock.

"I had no intention -" he tried again, but once more Éothain interrupted him.

"_It doesn't matter! _It happened and you almost got killed! Do you have any idea of what we've been through? What _your family _has been through because of you?" growled the crippled man as he lifted his hand, which had become a fist.

"My family -"

"Yes, your family! Didn't you learn anything from the fate of your father? Or is that what you were aspiring for? Go down with a great bang so that _your children _get to wonder why their father abandoned them in some idiotic display of foolhardiness?" Éothain bellowed now, and the entire chamber seemed to shake with his voice. He went on, even louder now, "You _know _what happened last time! Don't give me that face – we all know perfectly well it wouldn't reoccur. But it still doesn't change the fact your son is not even three years old yet, or the fear and despair the Rohirrim had to endure when they thought you dead! You nearly inflicted that upon them _again_!"

Éomer could only stare at him in mute astonishment as he went on, his voice rising still, "Béma, I can't do this again! I can't keep wondering whether you're going to make it or not! I'm too old for this! I'm done!"

Without another word, he turned around and limped to the door of the chamber, and then out, leaving behind a stunned silence.

* * *

Though he heard Lothíriel's soft footsteps, Éomer did not make a move or show her he had heard her return. Presently, he sat in the same position as when Edelric and Elfhelm had gone, and his wife had escorted them outside.

A pounding headache hammered against his forehead, which he rested in his good hand. There was a sick feeling as well, turning and twisting inside.

Then a gentle hand fell on his shoulder and he could not hold back his sigh.

"Are you very upset?" Lothíriel asked at length. He could feel her eyes on him, but was not able to meet her gaze.

Éomer didn't know what to answer, because how was he even supposed to feel like? Any odd stranger could tell him far more atrocious things and he would pass it with laugh, but Éothain... his words cut deeper even than he could ever have guessed. Perhaps it was because the former captain was completely right.

So he just made a vague coarse sound at the back of his throat as an answer, and apparently it was enough for her to pick up the necessary information.

"Don't be too hard on yourself. Éothain was just upset because he was so afraid of losing you, beloved. No matter what angry words he said, in the end you are his friend and he loves you", she consoled him and moved slightly closer.

"He was not wrong, Lothíriel", Éomer said at last, though he still wouldn't look at her. "It was my own fault. I should have been more careful... should have known there would be more orcs. It was irresponsible to endanger myself like that."

"But you couldn't have known. Edelric told me everyone thought there wouldn't be so many orcs – it's not your fault the reports were wrong", she insisted heatedly.

At last Éomer turned to look at his queen. Her expression was urgent but also worried. How could he tell her that the very concern in her eyes proved Éothain was right? He could only imagine how hard these past nearly two weeks had been for her. And she was not the only one who had suffered because of his carelessness.

"It's like he said. It doesn't matter", he said quietly and lowered his gaze.

"You know what _does _matter, though?" Lothíriel asked forcibly. "The fact you're alive. And you don't have to be perfect. We all know you are not a man to sit behind walls when people are being killed and driven out of their homes. You're not a relic to be locked in Meduseld, and anyway what sense does it make to hide away one of the finest war-leaders this land has ever known? In a flawless world we could all live in peace and there wouldn't be any orcs, there would never be danger, but this is not the flawless world. We both know that very well."

He had no idea of how to counter her words. Truth was, she had a point, too. He was not meant for idleness or standing back. He was a Rider, a defender of Men. It was who he was, like generations of his forefathers before him – it was in his blood. He had been a Rider too long to be content to give up the wide fields and the task of protecting them... and being one of the Rohirrim meant taking the risk every time one rode out. Like Lothíriel said, it was not a flawless world.

But that did not mean he didn't have to take responsibility for what he had nearly caused to happen.

"I am sorry for the concern and grief I've caused. I promise it won't happen again", he spoke at last seeking his queen's hand in his own. Lothíriel just smiled at him.

"It's fine. I've gone through worse", she murmured and reached to kiss him, and that was the end of the conversation.

* * *

**A/N: **Here comes an update! Éomer is back in the land of the living, but it was never going to be an entirely smooth return... I don't think many people were as affected by his accident as Éothain.

The song Lothíriel sings in the beginning of the chapter is a folk song named "When the Roses Come Again".

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **Thank you! I really enjoyed writing the part with Silfren. It's always good to bring him back, no matter how long he is off-screen!

**brandibuckeye - **I'll try to get back to Amrothos as soon as I can! :)


	53. Chapter 53

During his years as a Rider and a Marshal, Éomer had never taken a serious injury. There had been cuts and wounds every now and then, but it had been nothing to hold him back more than a couple of days – the most inconvenience he got from those injuries had been Éowyn's exasperation for not being more careful. At times, his prowess had made him arrogant. Now, however... now he could not risk such an attitude anymore.

Riders and Marshals were replaceable. Fathers and husbands were not. He ought to know that, yet it had taken Lothíriel and the children to really drive the point through his thick skull.

Due to his previously easy record of injuries, he was not well prepared for the most frustrating part of surviving: the recovery. It meant a thousand things he loathed. People were fluttering about him, asking at all times if he needed this or that. A lot of times he did need something, because it was not like he could do much when he wasn't even able to stand up on his own. That could get tiresome, because in his mind beds were good for two things, and lying down for an entire day was not on that very short list. Then there was the feeling like people thought him glass, and he might burst into pieces from a single careless touch. His mood was briefly eased when he was able to make peace with Éothain, and to promise he would not let this happen again. The former captain had accepted his apologies and said he wouldn't resign after all, but for a while their usually warm friendship was not as close or easy as before.

But no matter how frustrated he felt about recovery, Éomer knew he had no other option than to just wait and heal. It made him quite grumpy though - "Means he's getting better", Elfhelm said cheerfully – and it did not take long for Éothain to bring him reports and appeals to read. At least there was _something _he could do.

Lothíriel was most supportive, and she was the only person whose care did not come as burdensome. Then again, she had been taking care of him for quite a while now – and she was the only person allowed to – so he did not exactly find fault in her manner.

Truth be told, it was mostly _people _which had Éomer trying to get up by himself for the first time five days after he had woken up. He had told everyone he wanted to rest, which was the easiest way of driving away folks fussing about him. However, he had no such intentions as to sleep. Instead, he was going to get up.

He hated feeling so weak. It meant he couldn't fight, couldn't lead, couldn't be the man he knew he was meant to be. Fortunately, this was just physical weakness, and it was kind to heal – after the demons he had battled, it would be easy to overcome.

Slowly, with some effort, he was able to move himself to the edge of the bed. He took support of his good arm, while the broken one he slightly pressed against his chest in its sling. At least it was his left arm he had broken, not his right one, which was also his sword hand.

Éomer threw his legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the fur carpets under his bare feet. He sat there for a moment, just breathing deeply. How could something so essential, so simple as getting up be so hard? He wasn't meant to be like this, he should be out there riding the plains of the Mark...

The curse escaped his lips as though on its own. _You can only blame yourself__, you should have known there would be more orcs, should have... _

Gritting his teeth, Éomer laid his weight on his good hand and pushed, lifted himself with what felt like a mere effort of will. For a moment, his head swam and he was sure his legs would buckle under him, but something kept him standing.

For a while, all he did was breathe deeply. Eventually, he felt sure his feet would indeed carry him, no matter what injuries he had taken lately. He didn't exactly smile as he took careful steps from the bed, but he did feel satisfied. He wasn't going to lay in that bed any longer, if he could help it.

His line of thought was interrupted by the arrival of Lothíriel in the royal chambers. As soon as she saw him up and about, her eyes widened.

"What are you doing up!" she exclaimed and made a move as to hurry over to him, but Éomer was faster than that.

"Stop! I can do this", he said sharply, and she halted half-way to him. His wife regarded him with a doubtful expression. Still, she was willing to give him the benefit of doubt. That was something he rather appreciated, especially now.

"I can do this", he repeated as he slowly walked over to a chair close to the fireplace. When he sat down, he felt already drained. Even so, he _had _walked on his own.

At last Lothíriel hurried to his side.

"Are you all right?" she asked worriedly, searching his eyes.

"I'm fine. I'm just sick and tired of that bed", he told her sourly.

"Well, my back is rather sad to hear _that", _she replied cheekily, which made him chuckle under his breath. Béma, _there _was yet another thing he was sadly denied!

She shook her head and a more serious expression came to her face.

"I do get it, though. I'm just surprised you endured being bed-ridden this long", she said and gave him a thoughtful look as she sat down on the arm of the chair. "Maybe it's good for you to start move about a little. Just don't strain yourself."

"Of course not", he said smoothly, but received a pointed look from his beloved. He lifted eyebrows, "What?"

"You aren't exactly the best judge of when you need to stop", Lothíriel said wryly.

"... aye. You may be right about that", he agreed grudgingly.

She let out a small sigh and wrapped arms about him, though her hold was gentle and careful.

"Maybe I worry too much. You must tell me if I'm being overbearing", she said and placed an absent-minded kiss on his temple. It was on the left side rather than on the right, where a small wound was still healing. There was a flash of memory, of blood in his right eye, half blinding him in the already dark night... no wonder he had fallen. The recollection made him feel slightly sick, but he was able to mask his reaction. The last thing he wanted was her thinking her touch was not welcome.

"You are perfectly fine. Without you, I would already have lost it completely", he muttered and closed his eyes as he rested his head against her. She hemmed softly and ran her fingers idly through his hair.

"I love you, Éomer. I don't know how I would manage without you", she spoke after a moment of gentle silence.

"As I love you, my Lioness", he answered and looked up at her, searching her eyes. "You are still shaken by what happened?"

"... I suppose so, yes. I'm sorry – I know I shouldn't let it bother me like this. It's just... we got too good an idea of how it would be like if you..." she spoke slowly until her voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. He felt her shiver and to console her, he wrapped his good arm tightly about her midsection. The movement did not feel too good with his still healing ribs, but he felt it was necessary with her present mood.

She went on then, slightly stronger now, "I want to be a good queen, and with you I am just that. But I can't lead the way you do. And I can't teach Elfwine to be a king – I can't be the example he will need when he grows up."

"I promise it won't happen again. I will be more careful", he told her gently, running his fingers gently on her arm. "You seem to miss the obvious, though."

"What is that?" she asked with a slight lift of her eyebrows. He gave her a faint smile. To be a part of a single whole... it had been the medicine to heal his heart, and it had made him stronger than he had ever imagined.

"I can be a decent king because I know you have my back. Because no matter what happens, when all else fails, I can still count on you. And perhaps there are things only I can teach to our son. However, that doesn't change the truth: I can't teach him the spirit and the light which you possess."

* * *

"Calm down, Lothíriel. It's going to be fine."

It was the third time Éomer reassured his wife, but she still did not look convinced. The small crease on her brow did not disappear with his promise, and he knew she was trying to come up with something to change his mind.

However, he thought Elfhelm was right: people should see that their king was on the mend. His strength was growing daily and walking was not such a strain as it had been in the start. But Lothíriel worried, as was her wont. And he did not blame her for it.

"But what if -" she started to speak, but he reached for her hand with his good one and gave her a reassuring smile.

"I feel good enough, love. And Elfhelm will be there the entire time", he reminded her. She bit her lip and looked like she'd have liked to argue. She didn't, though, and nodded at last.

"Well, if you are certain", Lothíriel said slowly and tried to smile.

Getting dressed into something proper was not the easiest task with just one good hand, but his wife helped him with the more difficult garments. It would have been embarrassing and frustrating with anyone else, but Lothíriel had seen him in some far more exposed and vulnerable states, and in comparison this was nothing. Somehow, she could make a fuss without turning her help and care into bothersome. He supposed it had to do with all they had gone through during and after the events of the south: being helpless before her eyes, and vice versa, had only deepened their bond and forged them into being a part of each other in ways that could not be explained.

Dressing in a coat was not an option with the broken arm which was still in a cast, but Lothíriel wrapped a cloak about his shoulders and tied back his hair.

"There! You are ready. What do you think?" she asked as she gently pulled Éomer on the front of her mirror.

Though the time of being bed-ridden and recovering from his injuries had left him paler and thinner than usual, he decided he did look fairly well. It should convince his people too, that they could stop worrying.

"Could be worse", he said to his wife and leant closer to kiss her brow. She met his gaze with a slight frown.

"Just... don't strain yourself too much", she told him softly and wrapped arms about his waist. She was still being very careful with her hugs.

"Of course. Don't worry, dear heart", he answered firmly. "The worst is already over."

Elfhelm awaited outside the royal chambers, wearing a look more serious than he usually would. While he had not been angry like Éothain, it was obvious he had not taken the affair with orcs as a light matter. After his first merriment, he had grumbled to Éomer he had lost ten years of his life because of his king's antics.

"Really, old man. I'm not going to die on the spot", Éomer said to him wryly, but his friend did not seem impressed.

"Shut up", Elfhelm merely said and glared at his liege-lord. The younger man suppressed his sigh; though he kept telling people he was all right, no one seemed to believe him. But he did not complain, not even to Lothíriel. After all, he had got himself into this situation by his own actions.

They made way slowly, and Elfhelm remained hovering near his king's good elbow. Wryly Éomer wondered if his friend much looked like he was going to grab him any moment. His own step was not yet that usual firm and unfaltering kind, but he hoped it did not seem unsteady.

He kept his eyes ahead, sparing only a passing glance to those of his household who had stopped by to watch. Béma, how he hated to be like this!

The guards opened the twin doors for the King and his Marshal. Fresh air breathed in and he inhaled it deeply, relishing the feel and the smell of it: this was where he belonged, to the free airs and the wide fields of the Riddermark. He had never felt such a burn to go striding down the steps and into the stables, get Silfren, and then just ride fast and hard as far as eye could see.

Éomer pushed aside that urge, knowing he had no business riding just now. Looking around in the courtyard of his Hall, he could see the faces of people, and if he could read their expressions at all it appeared they were hopeful. Obviously, seeing him standing on his own feet was a welcome thing.

His eyes fixed on the woman at the fountain of Meduseld. Ceolwen stood there and she filled a cup with the cold spring water, which was said to give life to Edoras. Then, carrying the cup in her hands, she began climbing the steps of the Golden Hall. When she came to a halt before her king, a smile spread on her face.

"You look good, my friend", she said, wordlessly offering him to cup. He lifted his eyebrows at her statement as he accepted the drink, and Ceolwen let out a soft little laugh. "Well, _better _at least. I'm glad you're healing."

"So am I", Éomer said wryly and took a long sip of the cold spring water. He could imagine how it would look like to the people in the courtyard: if the spring was the life vein of Edoras, then him drinking from it would bring him back among the living. To himself, he thought, _She's still good at this. Pity that she resigned._

The Sieldmaiden gave him a stern look, "You are dearly loved by your people. I hope you remember that the next time you ride into a battle."

"Aye, I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

Lothíriel was brimming with energy as she stepped into the Golden Hall after an archery session in the training grounds. While she was not participating many battles these days, it felt good to keep up her skill and teach others what she knew. At any rate, it would have seemed like a waste to leave her Elven bow without use altogether, even if the times were now more peaceful.

During his stay in Edoras, she had also finally got a chance of showing her archery to her father, who previously had treated the matter in a curious fashion: he had allowed her training, but often it had seemed to her he was pretending he was not even aware of the matter. But after half an hour's session, she had seen the wonder and admiration on his face, and he had told her all of the talent in archery in their family must have gone to her.

The thought of Father brought her a brief bittersweet moment. He had departed a couple of days ago, as he had seen Éomer was on the mend and things were getting back to normal in the Mark. Lothíriel had sent him on his way with letters to family, a promise to visit him as soon as it was possible, and a dozen kisses.

She was heading for the royal chambers to take her bow there – it was one object no one else was allowed to touch – when she came across with one of Éomer's advisers. Leofric was his name, and he had served in the King's Council already in Théoden's time. The man looked permanently concerned, and his characteristic frown had cleaved lines on his face so that he'd seem slightly worried even when he wasn't.

It was nothing but right now as he strode to meet her, and she wondered what was on his mind.

"My lady! He is absolutely unmanageable!" Leofric cried out, throwing his hands in the air in a bout of frustration.

"What did he do now?" Lothíriel asked – she didn't need to be told the name of the culprit, nor the nature of his crime.

"He's on such an ill mood, and I can't get an answer out of him that isn't snappy!" he complained. But as she watched him closely, she could see there was more than just frustration in his reaction. He probably did not mean her to notice, but she could sense his uneasiness.

"It's just he's not healing as fast as he would like to. You know my lord husband – he loathes being so confined, and it reflects on his mood", she said gently and offered a smile to the man.

He huffed and still looked unhappy, and eventually he asked, "My lady, could you talk with the King? You seem to have a way with him like no one else."

"Of course. Don't worry about it, Lord Leofric", she said calmly and patted his shoulder.

When she had delivered her bow to the royal chambers, she headed for her husband's study. Her knock on the door caused him to more or less bark the command to enter, and she shook her head before opening the door. She did not wonder why Éomer's moods would occasionally unsettle those around him; the shadow of the south often did lurk in his sharp words or the glares he would give. While he had healed, the nightmare of his imprisonment had somehow left his ill moods dark and raw, often unsettling those who did not know him as well as she did. Indeed, it never did affect her. Lothíriel mused it was because she had seen what he hid behind those tempers. She did not dread his darker moods, just as she had never felt pity for him.

He was seated by his desk, staring at some parchment as though it had insulted him somehow and he was trying to set it on fire with his mind.

"What?" he asked, not looking up at her.

"Leofric said you were being cranky", she replied pleasantly. "Not that he called you cranky. My choice of word, but I find it correct."

Her horselord looked up, wearing an expression which was a strange mixture of frustration and amusement. Then he shook his head and got up, looking like he just wanted to get away from the desk as fast and as far as he could.

"Well, the man wasn't wrong", he allowed at last and frowned. "I'm sick of being imprisoned inside these walls. I keep thinking of how much I want to go for a ride, or to spar with my men until my hands are bleeding."

She approached him and wrapped arms about his waist.

"I know. I wish there was something I could do, but your body will heal in its own time. At least you are not confined to bed anymore", she said gently. Éomer made a grumbling sound.

"It's my own damn fault, and it's not right to take it out on anyone. Sorry for being like this", he muttered half-audibly. She pulled back and gave him a smile.

"I can handle an irritable horselord", she said and tiptoed to give him a small kiss.

"Aye, and you're phenomenal at it", he muttered when she moved away again. "Was Leofric very upset?"

"He called you unmanageable."

"He did? I must have really ruffled his feathers."

"Fortunately, I have arrived to _manage _you", she said in a low voice; it had already occurred to her how she should carry out Leofric's request, though her chosen method was probably not what the man himself would have thought and least of all suggested. Not that she had any intention of telling him.

Before Éomer had time to understand just what she meant, she had already grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pushed him against the wall – gently though, because she didn't want to upset his healing ribs. He let out a soft gasp of surprise, and then her hands were already on the buckle of his belt.

"This", she informed him with a wicked grin, "is your own damn fault, too."

* * *

"Éothain tells me your husband was on an outstandingly good mood when the council met after the lunch", Scýne noted as the two women were taking a break from the day's labours beside cups of tea – last year's harvest from the royal garden's herbs and leaves.

Scýne was making up for the absence of Osythe, who had travelled to Eastemnet to meet her newest grandchild. Meanwhile, Scýne's mother Aedre was looking after Elva and Getrúwian. Apparently it was quite the labour these days, because Elva was always finding ways to sneak away in order to go and watch the riders in training.

"Oh, he was?" Lothíriel asked lightly and bit her lip to prevent a smug little smile from entering her face. Her friend need not know about things like the look in her king's eyes, or how she would be in so much trouble once he was fully healed.

"Aye. Apparently it was remarkable, considering how irritable the King has been as of late", said her friend with a faint lift of her eyebrows.

"Hmm. While he is talented in all shows of sour mood, even he can't keep up that endlessly", said the younger woman and sipped her tea nonchalantly. It was very good – Osythe was absolutely unbeatable in her knowledge of preserving and mixing tea ingredients.

"I wonder what stopped him this time", Scýne said and gave her friend a pointed look.

Now Lothíriel could not fight back her grin any longer.

"I received some fairly ludicrous nicknames, but the work of the council continues smoothly once more", she simply stated and sat back in her chair, "and that's all I have to say about that."

* * *

**A/N: **Things are getting back to normal, much to the common satisfaction. Though I would imagine someone as active as Éomer would not quite pleased with how long it takes to heal. He's lucky to have Lothíriel to manage him! ;)

* * *

**Jo - **He is indeed, and he loves his rider, too. :) And yes, Éothain does have a point, though Éomer isn't as guilty as he believes. People make flawed decisions by misinformation all the time. Still, it has not been easy on either of them.

**brandibuckeye - **He's alive and kicking, yes! :D


	54. Chapter 54

Healing took its time. Though Éomer did his best to check his temper and impatience, he was grumpy more often than not. But just as often she'd remind herself she would probably be just as anxious had she been the one in recovery. Lothíriel could imagine how it was, when one's body did not quite keep up with one's mind, and when his broken arm would slow him down in everyday chores. However, it could not be helped. The only thing that would heal Éomer's injuries was time.

But if he were anxious for full recovery, Lothíriel could feel that his brush with death had also made him solemnly ponder many things. He would watch his children quietly, his dark eyes shadowed in deep musings, and she could only imagine what thoughts passed in his mind.

Eventually, he did speak to her what sounded like some kind of a resolution. The actual words he had already delivered to her in a number of forms, as he had apologised several times, but now she felt there was much more behind them.

"I promise this was the only time I leave you in that position. You won't have to bear the crown alone ever again", he swore to her gravely. And, realising now was not the right time, she refrained from pointing out they could not know what future would bring.

Be it as may, he was getting stronger with each day that passed, and after the recent misfortune there were more good news to be heard: Ceolwen was with child again. Cheerfully the Shieldmaiden reported to Lothíriel that apparently Elfhelm had been most impressed by little Elfhild, and was more or less praying for a daughter.

"I hope so too. Not only would I like a daughter of my own, but I imagine everyone would enjoy watching a little girl have my dear husband running and dancing at her barest whim", Ceolwen humorously commented, making her friend burst out laughing.

Then she frowned, and Lothíriel could never decide if her words were serious or not: "Say, do you think something could be arranged between our daughter and Elfwine? Otherwise, I don't think she's ever going to get a husband whom Elfhelm approves of."

But Ceolwen and her Marshal were not the only ones to expect an addition to their family: Éowyn wrote a cheerful letter to her brother, announcing that she and Faramir were also expecting another child. When Éomer had read the message and he was busy pretending he wasn't fighting his tears, he muttered, "Béma, you never get used to it, do you?"

Life took another step towards normalcy when the healers announced the King was fully healed, much to his own and general happiness – though it meant some arduous times for the riders of Edoras. After the weeks of having to check himself Éomer was dying to let out some steam, and to get back into his usual shape. As a result, one could see riders in Meduseld, nursing their bruises but looking generally relieved that their lord was again among them. With a grin, Lothíriel commented to her beloved, "I swear, I've never seen men who are more delighted to take a beating."

Her words made him laugh heartily, but in the silence of her thoughts she was just glad: being able to return to his ordinary routine had greatly improved his mood and with it, the atmosphere of Meduseld was also lightened. Still, Lothíriel did not forget for one moment how close it had been that they had lost _this. _

But if there were good news in the realm, and a promise of new life, there were some rather bizarre tidings as well. These came to Lothíriel in a letter from her father, which he had sent from Minas Tirith on his way home.

The letter had arrived midday, but she had been too busy to read anything additional, and so she had saved it for later. When her children were fed and bathed, and their father was playing with them on the floor, she settled down to read the letter from Gondor.

The first part of his message was mostly things one would expect to hear, though the tone was off and she began to wonder if all was well with him. At least during his stay in Edoras he had not given any sign of being unwell, and Lothíriel had not sensed anything strange about him.

However, halfway through the letter, she got all the explanation for his tone and more.

Éomer noticed fairly quickly that something in the letter had shocked her. She could but imagine into what kind of an expression her face had frozen as she stared at the sentence before her eyes.

"What is it?" he asked, reaching to touch her knee, "Has something happened in Gondor?"

"... you could say that, yes", she spoke at length, as it took a moment to find her voice. She looked straight at her husband, who sat on the floor holding Elfhild while Elfwine was busy building what looked like a stable for his wooden horses.

Lothíriel cleared her throat and glanced at the letter one more time, if just to make sure one more time that she had read correctly.

"Amrothos has got married."

* * *

_Late September 5, Minas Tirith_

The trip to the White City was Éomer's first longer journey after his recovery. His queen was jittery about the affair, though she didn't say anything. She too knew he had been postponing this visit far too long: he wanted to see Elessar's heir both as an allied king and as a close friend of Aragorn. Moreover, too much time had passed since he had last seen Éowyn and her family. Lothíriel understood all this, and she kept her silence, but in her gaze he could see her concern. And that was no wonder after all he had put her through.

Be it as may, she asked him to deliver some letters to friends and family in Gondor, wished him a safe journey, and kissed him goodbye.

When he pulled back fom her embrace, he had no idea it would be months before he would see her again.

As Edoras fell behind, Éomer wondered if it would ever get easier to leave behind his family, or if it would always tear at his heart so deeply. The years that had passed since the Kin-strife had not brought change, and as long as their children were still young, he would have to ride without his queen.

Fixing his mind ahead, to the prospect of seeing Éowyn and Aragorn, lightened his mood eventually. It would be good to see them again, and reassure them all was well. Éowyn's letters especially had been frantic – she had even been talking about travelling to the Mark, but he had done his best to console her and insist she needn't make the long journey. He knew Faramir would talk her out of it, remind her it was not safe when she was with child.

The road to the White City was just as long as he remembered, but eventually he reached his destination. The welcome he received from Aragorn was warm as always. The man smiled brightly as he approached his fellow king, his arms wide open, "Good to see you, brother. You have been sorely missed in the city."

"Likewise, Aragorn. It's been too long", Éomer replied with a smile when he had dismounted. Aragorn's stablemen never tried to touch Silfren – instead, there was one man to show way to Éomer's esquire, who would take care of the stallion.

When his friend reached to embrace him, the younger of the two kings noticed how careful his grip was. Wryly he looked at Aragorn.

"Really, I'm fine. There's no need to worry anymore", he told the man before him; as an answer, he received a sheepish little smile.

"Of course. I was just very worried about you", Aragorn said softly.

"I'm sorry. It was stupid and careless and it won't happen again", Éomer said, trying hard not to grimace but not quite succeeding – he wondered when he'd stop feeling guilty about the unfortunate affair. Yet these were words not between two kings, but between two friends to whom each other's well-being was not an idle matter.

"It's all right, brother. We all make mistakes against our best intentions", Aragorn brushed the matter away as graciously as could be expected of him. Then he insisted his friend get some rest and have a bath after his long journey, and Éomer allowed himself to be lead inside the King's House.

About an hour later, he was introduced to the Crown Prince of Arnor and Gondor. The child regarded the world with his mother's eyes, but in his nose and cheeks Éomer thought he could see more of the likeness of Aragorn himself. Even so, he felt like he could almost perceive Arwen's ancestry on the babe's face. He had seen many children these past few years, but none quite like Eldarion. While Elrond's daughter might have chosen a mortal life, in the veins of her children the ancient blood of Eldar ran strong.

Glancing at the proud parents, he could not miss how they beamed. Arwen seemed to fill the very room with her radiance, and Aragorn looked happier than Éomer had ever seen the man. As they spoke, their voices were full of love and light; often it seemed they existed in their own blissful world, which he was merely glimpsing through glass. On the other hand, he knew full well it was all more than deserved, and the long, troubled years which they had endured to come into this place.

He knew how much Lothíriel would have wanted to be here, too, and to himself he thought he would have to ask about that artist who had drawn Faramir and Elboron for his queen. Perhaps, if Aragorn and Arwen allowed, he could take a portrait of Eldarion and his older sister to Rohan once he returned home.

Their conversations travelled on relaxed paths, but also reached for the future: Aragorn suggested that once their sons would be old enough, perhaps they could spend a while in each others' capitals.

"Then they would learn to know better each others' peoples, their ways and traditions, so that the alliance between Gondor and Rohan may grow ever stronger. In time, our sons will hold this friendship just as dear as we do", Aragorn said, smiling as he spoke.

The younger of the two kings had to smile too: it was good to think that their sons might grow and live in a world much less harsh than they had known.

They stayed up late that night, talking and laughing over glasses of wine. Aragorn promised he would repay this visit next spring, and maybe then head north to visit Arnor for the first time during his rule.

"These past few years have been quite mad. More so than I expected, in fact", said Aragorn as he sat back after pouring more wine to their glasses.

"Aye, tell me about it", Éomer muttered and crossed his legs, "yet I'm glad to have lived them."

Aragorn met his eyes quietly, knew what he meant. A silent moment of understanding passed between them.

"Do you still have dreams about it?" asked his friend, his voice soft enough to imply an answer was not necessary, not if Éomer did not wish to give it.

"Occasionally", said the younger king at length. "But when I wake up, _she _is there, and I remember all the good and fair that has come into my life since we came home."

Elessar smiled.

"I'm glad to hear that, though I always knew you'd eventually overcome it", he said and settled back on his seat more comfortably. His words made the Rohir scoff softly.

"And naturally you would trust me even when I didn't trust myself", he muttered with a shake of his head and took a long sip of his wine.

His words only made his friend's smile grow wider.

"I know you, brother. And that means I never doubt you."

* * *

Éowyn and her family arrived in Mundburg the very next day. Faramir sent a messenger from Harlond, bringing to a close the late breakfast Éomer had shared with Aragorn and his family. Eager to meet his sister as soon as possible, he excused himself and made his way to the Court of the Fountain to wait for her arrival. His anxiety grew as he walked and sharply mixed with a realisation just how much he had missed her. It had been too long since they had seen each other.

Once their carriage arrived – a pregnant woman had no business being in the saddle – Éowyn more or less burst outside and as soon as her searching eyes had spotted him, she came striding to her brother. By her expression, he knew he was in trouble. Again.

"Brother! Why must you insist on tormenting me so!" she exclaimed in their own tongue.

"I'm sorry -" he had time to utter, and then he was grabbed in a tight hug.

In a litany of scoldings, he was informed just how stupid and irresponsible and hopeless he was, and he he got no chance to answer her questions on how didn't Lothíriel just lose her mind with him, and whatever had his sister done to deserve to be startled like this? He listened to her rant in silence, and eventually his lack of response made her slow down and fall silent.

Éowyn pulled back and looked at him, scowling as she did.

"Well? Aren't you going to give me some ridiculous and insane excuse, like you used to back when you were still a Marshal?" she demanded to know.

His smile was without humour.

"No. I'm not. I'm aware it was unwise and reckless. Yes, I should have been more careful, and I will be in the future. No, I don't know how she bears with me – but I thank the Powers every day that she does", he answered, meeting her gaze steadily. "I am sorry to have caused concern."

Éowyn said nothing in a long while. She simply stared at him, and if there had been anxious energy in her grey eyes, it was now long gone.

"Éothain already lectured you, didn't he?" she asked at last.

"Aye, he did", Éomer answered. Though they had made peace, the memory of his friend's outburst was not something he would forget... nor forgive himself the actions which had caused it.

His sister frowned briefly, and then reached to hug him again.

"Well, the important thing is you are all right", she said, her voice starting brisk but falling quiet towards the end of the sentence. After a moment's silence she spoke again, but now it was but a murmur, "I'm sorry for yelling at you like that, brother. I was just really scared, and... I don't think I could bear it anything happened to you."

"I know, sister", he said quietly, "I know."

* * *

On the second night of his stay, Aragorn organised a ball in the honour of his Rohirric friend. As he got ready for the occasion, Éomer thought wryly how odd it was to be partaking the ball without Lothíriel. But it also brought back memories of the time after Sauron had fallen, and he smiled fondly to himself.

In Merethrond there already was a crowd when he arrived a while later. He saw many familiar faces: men he had fought with before the gates of the Black Land, their wives and families, and those he had met during his visits to the White City. There were new, younger faces as well. These were the new generation of young nobility of Gondor, and some of them had been but children at the time of the War of the Ring.

When he joined Aragorn, he received a quizzical look from his friend.

"Is something amiss, brother? You had this strange look on your face", said the older of the two kings. Of course he would notice, the old fox!

Éomer gave a crooked smile to his fellow ruler.

"It's just bewildering to realise you're not as young as you used to be", he said and shook his head. "Then again, I suppose it's different for you. Time doesn't mean the same thing for your kin and mine."

"Be it as may, we are all bound by the time, and what has been will not return", Aragorn said quietly. Both of them knew very well how true that was. Éomer's mood might have become melancholy, but the arrival of another pair of guests effectively prevented that. The herald's voice echoed over the crowd, making him slightly tenser.

"Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth and the Lady Nehir!"

The couple that then came striding were like the moon and the sun. Amrothos was arrayed in the traditional blue and silver of his family, his attire as fashionable as always, but Lady Nehir's appearance blazed with crimson and gold. Yet though the colours she wore were bold and bright, the design of her loose trousers and tunic was very simple, and the only piece of jewellery on her was a plain golden chain around her neck. Really, the contrast between the two could not have been stronger.

Éomer's brother-in-law nodded at him and so did the woman by his side, but at first they made their way to greet Aragorn and Arwen, the royal host and hostess of the ball. Quietly the King of the Mark watched them and wondered what to make out of this unlikely match. Amrothos' face did not quite bear the good cheer he remembered from a time before, and Lady Nehir's expression was even more inscrutable. Usually, Éomer fancied himself someone with a keen ability to read people, but now he had trouble seeing what really was going on with his wife's brother and the woman from Rhûn.

Once the pair had seen to the demands of courtesy, they turned to approach the King of the Mark. Both bowed their heads to show their respect to Elessar's northern ally.

"Amrothos", Éomer greeted, and then looked at the woman beside him – somehow, it was difficult to think of her as Amrothos' wife, and even more bewildering it was to think they were now related through their respective spouses. Truly life was bizarre: here was his most recent kinswoman, and she was no one else than the sister of a man who had tried to kill Éomer's own wife! Be it as may, he offered her a smile, "Lady Nehir. I must admit this is not how I thought to meet you again."

"It was unplanned for me as well, my lord", she answered and glanced at the Amrothian prince by her side. While the glance lasted, a smile also lingered on her face.

"I trust you have been well since we last met?" Éomet asked – the question was more or less directed at them both. Though he was curious about the events which had brought Nehir to Gondor, he deemed it would not have been polite to ask about it so bluntly.

"Yes, we have been", Amrothos answered for them both, and Nehir was silent. The prince frowned slightly, "I'm sure you have heard this to the point of exhaustion, but I hope you have recovered well after... well, after what happened."

"Aye, I have. Thank you for your concern", Éomer replied stiffly. The prince had been right – he had got quite enough of this topic. His brother-in-law noticed that and quickly spoke again.

"How are Lothíriel and the children?" he asked, and this question made the King of the Mark smile again.

"They are well. Elfwine would have wanted to come along – he said he wanted to see his 'Uncle Amo'. I'm afraid he was rather disappointed with me when I told him he has to watch over Meduseld. And Elfhild is growing fast these days. She's already moving a lot, and if she's awake she seems to be always making noise."

He could have talked about his children for hours, but decided to tone down the amount of fatherly gushing for the time being. Nevertheless, his words made Amrothos grin, and suddenly he was just that same carefree prince Éomer had grown to know after the Great War had ended.

After exchanging pleasantries and the most immediate tidings of family, the Rohir looked at the Amrothian prince keenly, and he spoke the words he had been saving ever since his arrival in Mundburg: "If it would be fine by you, I would like to talk with you in private."

Imrahil's son glanced at his wife, who merely smiled and said she'd find out if Queen Arwen could share a few tales of her Elven kin, and striding lightly she left the two men alone. Out of a silent agreement they began to walk slowly, tracing the left side of the great hall with their feet. As they made way, Amrothos accepted a glass of wine from a servant and let out a soft sigh.

"Lothíriel asked you to talk with me, didn't she?" he said after a moment's silence.

"Aye. She was as surprised as anyone. And she was concerned if you are all right", Éomer replied.

"Oh, I am fine. Finer than in some time, to be honest. I know how this all must seem, and I didn't plan any of it, but... well, you must tell her it's all right. She needn't worry", Amrothos said and smiled slightly.

"She thought Nehir might be using you – try to get some revenge on you when you're alone", said the King of the Mark warily.

Now his brother-in-law chuckled softly.

"Believe me, if she had been looking for revenge, she would have been able to take it already multiple times. She's had plenty of chances. No, this is not about revenge – though it does have to do with her family", Amrothos said and shook his head.

Éomer lifted his eyebrows, and the question must have been obvious on his face, as the younger man went on.

"When Nehir came here, she said everything had changed with the death of her brother. It was all her living siblings talked about... she couldn't stand their anger and venomous spite any longer. She wanted to move on, live and enjoy the freedom Rhûn has now, but she quickly saw it would not be possible as long as she stayed with her kin. And she said she kept thinking of me..." he explained, and his voice became soft and warm. He glanced at where Nehir stood with Queen Arwen, like a brilliant flame of fire.

"Neither of us planned this, Éomer. But that night when she found me here in the city, it was just... I don't know. It made sense, you see? And among her people, when a woman shares a man's bed, sleeps next to him, and eats his food on the next morrow, it's considered they are a lawful husband and a wife", he explained and took a sip of his wine. His incredulous look did not escape Éomer's notice.

"Did she explain this to you as well, before she did all those things?" he inquired anyway.

"Oh, she was very clear about it. To be honest, I was a bit drunk when she did, but not too drunk to understand", Amrothos said lightly, and Éomer had to exercise a fair amount of restraint not to shake his head. Even Lothíriel on her most scatterbrained moments could not compete with her brother!

"And what does Imrahil say?" he asked. It was hard to imagine his father-in-law should approve of this. Least of all he should enjoy his youngest son showing his so called wife around in the court.

"Oh, he wasn't very happy when he found out. But he accepts it, even if doesn't approve", Amrothos said and shrugged, nearly spilling wine over himself, but he was able to steady his glass. "I suppose he was concerned about me too. Elbereth, would everyone just stop being concerned already?!"

"They are your family. They have every right to drive you mad with their fussing, and they are going to do it, whether you like it or not", Éomer said dryly, at which his brother-in-law snorted loudly. But then Amrothos let out a small sigh.

"In any case, Father _can _accept it. He already has his heir and his mariner son. He has his brilliant daughter who went and saved a kingdom. But me? I can be spared for such a marriage. Not to mention, Aragorn said he supports it. He thinks it could improve the relations between our people and those of Nehir's. So even if Father wasn't overjoyed to hear I had married her, he doesn't complain either", he explained at length and stared at his glass as though it held an answer to some great mystery.

"The point is", the prince continued, looking up at Éomer again, "I'm happy with her. Maybe this thing doesn't make much sense, but it does make me feel so much better than I have in past couple years. I finally feel like I have a purpose, even if it's just loving her."

The Rohir did not respond right away. He mulled over Amrothos' words, and he found he could understand them very well. Hadn't Lothíriel made him just the same, mad and love-sick and ready to make a woman he believed to be a commoner his queen just for the love of her? Hadn't loving her been his purpose for a time, the reason to try and stay intact when the ghosts of the south had still haunted him day and night?

Amrothos seemed to know he understood, even agreed in a way. The prince smiled.

"You ought to sympathise, no? You married my sister", he said humorously.

"Aye, I did. And it was the best thing that has ever happened to me", Éomer stated. Amrothos nodded.

"Then maybe Nehir will come to be the same thing for _me."_

* * *

After one one and a half week's time, the King's Company was preparing to ride back home. Time had passed by fast in meetings and with family – Éomer was especially glad for having a chance to catch up with Éowyn, and to get to know her son a bit better. But after a time road called him back home, and with his men he readied for the journey ahead.

However, on the night before his departure, Faramir and Éowyn insisted they eat dinner together, and the Steward's House filled with friends and family. Amrothos and Nehir were present, as were Aragorn and Arwen. Legolas had joined them as well: he had travelled from Ithilien with Éowyn and Faramir, and would accompany Éomer on his way back to Rohan. From Edoras, the Elf would continue his journey to Gimli's abode to visit his Dwarven friend.

To the King of the Mark, it seemed that the wife of his brother-in-law fit in this company remarkably well, and she laughed with others and occasionally took part in conversations, and Arwen especially made effort to include her in the socialising. He did not miss the fond looks she would exchange with Amrothos, whose expression was best described as smitten. If the two had seemed reserved in the ball, it was now all gone; perhaps all it had been about was simply their shared anxiety at appearing before a society which did not necessarily approve of their union.

At any rate, Éomer was now feeling he could tell Lothíriel not to worry about her brother. In their own curious way the pair seemed to be content, and he was sure she'd see that too. To further reassure her, he had invited Amrothos and Nehir to visit them in the Mark, and the two had promised to travel as soon as Elphir was able to return to Minas Tirith.

Altogether the evening was a very pleasant one, and Éomer hoped Lothíriel had been present as well. He thought of how unfair it was, that she was always the one to stay behind. Yet she never complained or tried to make him stay.

The thought might have turned his mood darker, but then Elboron climbed into his lap, and the child wanted to hear stories about heroes of his mother's birth land; this was a request Éomer happily fulfilled.

The night was turning late and he was in the middle of bidding good night to Amrothos and Nehir when the message arrived. From the corner of his eye he saw one of the servants approaching Faramir, and then Aragorn. A frown briefly visited on Elessar's face and he got up on his feet, following the servant outside. Éomer looked at Arwen and sought her features for any clue as to whether something was wrong, but her expressions remained difficult to read, even after past few years when he had grown to know her a bit better. Still, he could see he was not the only one who had noticed something was off: his sister and both brothers-in-law looked around each other just as tensely as he felt.

Aragorn did not leave them waiting for long. He returned to the hall, his face void of the good cheer of before.

"Has something happened?" Éomer asked his friend right away, knowing he was speaking out loud a question which was in the minds of all present.

"Yes, you could say that", Aragorn said, his voice grave and quiet, "A messenger just returned from east. Rhûn is marching to war."

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update for Friday! I hope you will have a great weekend, my dear readers. :)

I think it made sense both to Amrothos and Nehir to get together. Their decision to get married may be a hurried one, and maybe that will cause problems, but I have a feeling they have both felt misplaced and alone long enough to seek shelter with each other in such a way. Like Amrothos explains to Éomer, Imrahil hasn't tried to undo it because he doesn't really need to. But the more important reason is probably that Imrahil has watched how unhappy his youngest son has grown, and so anything that can bring back that old, carefree Amrothos is a good thing in his eyes. Éomer has his doubts at first, but he _is _the man who married Lothíriel, so he resolves he can actually understand it better than most.

As for the situation in Rhûn... well, let's just say it was simply a matter of time!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**brandibuckeye - **Thank you! :)

**Jo - **If they only knew how! But that conversation may have to wait, seeing there is another war coming now. Anyway, I'm glad you liked it! :)


	55. Chapter 55

_Early October 5, Edoras_

The night had been a cold one and there was still a chill in the air when Éothain climbed up the steps of the Golden Hall. On the edges of the canal running from the fountain of Meduseld he could see ice, and he wondered if the winter would be much colder than usually. He shuddered under his cloak – ever since losing his leg, there had been some difficulty staying warm during the winter.

He was up and about early this morning, and as he made his way from his home he noted mist had not yet cleared off the plains around the capital. The royal household had only just woken up, but the Doorwards, who had guarded the King's Hall for the night, were waiting to be released and seek their beds for a few hours of rest. Exchanging words with them Éothain learnt the night had been chilly one indeed, but the guards of Meduseld were kept warm by their woollen mantles and fires which burned through the night.

He did not have a chance to enter the Hall, for one of the twin doors was opened and his queen came out. Though she was clothed and clutching a cloak about her shoulders, her messy hair and the slightly glassy look in her eyes revealed she had only just got out of bed. But then Éothain noticed how pale she was, how troubled was the expression on her face. She always lost some colour during the winter, but that season had not yet properly entered, and the line of her mouth spoke of a deeply distressed mind.

"My lady?" he asked her, causing her to look at him as though she only just realised he was there.

"Éothain. I was hoping to see you", she spoke quietly, her voice still hoarse from sleep.

Now he could not hold back his frown anymore, and he inquired, "My lady, is something wrong?"

She turned away her gaze from him. A crease had appeared on her brow and she shivered noticeably. Then she spoke quietly, "Éomer."

Thinking this was just a case of her missing her husband, Éothain smiled and patted her shoulder. He knew very well how deeply bonded those two were... how unhappy she seemed whenever the King was away for longer than a week, even though she'd always keep up a brave face. Well, he didn't suppose two people could go through so many things without growing so attached to each other.

"He'll be home soon, Lothíriel. He said he wouldn't stay in Mundburg for more than a week or so", he comforted her. However, his words made her hake her head.

"No", she said and wrapped the cloak more tightly about her shoulders. "I had this dream. I saw him on a battlefield... Aragorn was there too. It was snowing, and it was so cold..."

She let out a sigh and seemed to brace herself somehow; her features became determined and hard. Whatever had been muddled by lingering sleep about her was now gone.

"War is coming."

* * *

_My dear heart,_

_I have been writing this letter in my mind since hearing we would have to ride to war once more. First of all, I am sorry I can't make a trip home – we are much too busy making preparations, and the task of mustering riders will fall on Elfhelm. I hate to have to say goodbye to you like this in a letter, but it can't be helped. I promise I will write to you as often as I can. Lothíriel, I know you will hate me riding to war so soon after my idiotic accident, but I can't let Aragorn down, and you know I'm fully healed. You mustn't worry about me, beloved. _

_Aragorn and I always knew that sooner or later, we would be in war with Rhûn again. The outcome of our last campaign was not as definitive as we would have hoped, and you know the affair with Agon the assassin left bad blood between our peoples. It seems his kin wield much power and authority among their lords and chieftains, and their lust for revenge has driven them to start a new war._

_Lady Nehir says she did not see this coming – while her kin had been bitter and angry about their brother's fate, she had not thought they would stir up a war so soon. Still, she wonders if her leaving them has impacted their decision to raise Rhûn to war. Moreover, Captain Edelric suggested perhaps it also has to do with my unfortunate injury when we rode against orcs. He wonders if news have travelled to Rhûn of myself being wounded, but not the further tidings that I have recovered. Lady Nehir said it is possible, and that her people are hoping to wage war while they think the Riddermark is not ready to answer the challenge with the usual vigour. If this is the case, they are in for a surprise – and it is all the more of a reason for me to join Aragorn. _

_At any rate, your sister-in-law means to ride with us to east, and though she fears her people will treat her as a traitor, she hopes to help with negotiating peace. There was some talk among my éored on whether she could be trusted, but I believe she is honest. To be deceiving us she would have to be masking it very well, and I at least have not seen any falseness in her. There are some who don't share my judgement, which she has noticed, and she has insisted we don't tell her of our plans any more than necessary. This way, Lady Nehir says, everyone can be certain she won't be able to betray any of our strategies. _

_Of your family at least Amrothos is going to ride with us, but your father has yet to answer if he'll send Erchirion and Swan Knights to aid with the campaign. Amrothos seems like his old self again, though he only today wondered if it's abysmal of him to be so excited about getting to ride to war with his wife (though he couldn't stop himself from commenting he wants to try it too, because apparently it did good things to your and mine marriage – he is a dear fool). Be it as may, he sends his love to you, and I gather he is presently writing you a letter._

_I have no idea whether our opponents will again try a similar feat as during the last war. But I will not take any chances: I have sent orders to Éothain to keep you and the children heavily guarded. No assassin will take us by surprise again, I promise that to you. It will probably frustrate you greatly, but please let them watch over you. I need to know you and our family are safe while I'm gone._

_We do not know yet what kind of a force we are going to meet, and how long this campaign will last, but we are not terribly concerned. The Easterling forces are unlikely to have fully recovered from our last meeting, and Lady Nehir confirms this as well. If her siblings are in any position of leadership, it may be their anger will make them reckless. I'm only worried about having to go to war in winter; Rohirirm can take it, as we are used to harsher weathers, but Aragorn's Gondorian troops may suffer from it more. But, if we are lucky, I will be able to return to you before Yuletide. _

_Don't worry for me, beloved. I promise to be careful – I will not let harm come to me. I have not forgotten what grief I caused to you, and I won't allow it to happen again. I go to war with a trustful heart, knowing you are watching over the Mark and our children. Still, you must remember to rest every now and then. Don't try to carry the burden all by yourself. Let Éothain and the council help you, and be kind to yourself. _

_Please, kiss the children for me, and tell them their father loves them very much._

_I miss you terribly. Write to me soon. _

_With love, _

_Your husband_

* * *

_Early November 5, Edoras_

Though the howling of the wind had not ceased outside, in the royal nursery there was a warm, safe cocoon. Both children slept calmly, with no knowledge of worries of the world. Lothíriel could not help but smile as she made sure both had their blankets to keep away the chill, and there was enough peat to burn through the night. Then again, if her little cubs took after their father, they were unlikely to even notice the drop in temperature. If the storm ceased before the morrow, Elfwine would doubtlessly be delighted to see the cover of snow all over Edoras and the lands around it.

It was the second time she had seen such a storm in Rohan, but this one came especially early: if the weathers continued as cold, the snows might remain until spring. The whole of autumn had been similarly cool, and with very few storms; at least until now, Lothíriel had been glad for it. Fewer storms made the journey to the eastern fields easier and faster, and so the riders between her and Éomer could travel more comfortably than if they were caught in the middle of elements.

Before returning to the company of Ceolwen by the fireplace, she sought Folcred – Éomer had left him in charge of the men of the Royal Guard who stayed behind to protect the Queen and her children – and made sure the guards on duty for the night would have hot tea and mulled wine to keep them warm, and their shifts not too long while the storm lasted. He gave her a fond smile and told her not to worry, and with a sheepish smile she wished him good night.

When she got back to her friend, the Shieldmaiden looked up quizzically.

"Everything fine?" asked the blond woman.

"All is well. I just don't feel right if I don't get to fuss a bit", Lothíriel said with a slight smile, making her friend laugh. Ceolwen had come to stay in Edoras for a couple of weeks – she too was missing her own husband, who had mustered riders and then journeyed east to join Éomer. Her pregnancy was advancing well and she was very healthy and energetic. Ruefully Lothíriel had thought some just had it easier than others – it didn't appear that Ceolwen had to exercise same amount of care and caution as she did during her own pregnancies.

Pushing that thought away, she knelt to add some peat to the fire and enjoyed the warmth it spread into the chamber. But soon enough her mind drifted, and she thought of her husband. She frowned to herself.

"I wonder how the weather is like in Rhûn", she said softly, rising up again and settling back on her seat. She hated to think of Éomer cold in the middle of a storm, with no access to such luxuries as shelter in a hall or a seat near a fireplace.

"Chances are they have all the clear weather they could hope for", Ceolwen consoled her gently.

"Let us hope so", said the younger of the two women and pulled her knees against her chest. Her troubled mood must be obvious on her face, because her friend reached to pat her foot.

"It's no use to drive yourself mad over things you have no control over. You did all you could and more when you sent them supplies for winter camps. Not to mention, Rohirrim are used to harsher weathers", said the Shieldmaiden, her voice firm but friendly.

Lothíriel made a sound at the back of her throat. Well, Ceolwen was right, but while her reason understood that, her heart did not.

"I wonder if I'll ever get over it. There are still times when I... you see, I can't forget how it felt like not knowing if I'd even find him alive. How much I feared I would never see him again. It comes back every time he leaves me. We have had peace for some years, yes, but I too was affected by what happened in the south. Not the way Éomer was, of course, but it would be a lie to say it did not change me. Some ways for better, some ways for worse", she spoke slowly, staring into the fire as she uttered those words.

"We all have to bear the scars and griefs life inflicts on us", Ceolwen said gently. "There is no choice but to endure."

"You are right, naturally", Lothíriel said and smiled at her friend. Wrapping her arms about her knees, she sighed softly, "I wish this storm will pass soon."

"I'm sure it will", the Shieldmaiden replied and picked up the piece of fabric which apparently would become a little dress for her daughter. She sniffed, "But I'm anxious for news, too. Everyone seems to be, really... I hope they will be able to come home before Yuletide."

"I hope so too", said the Queen of the Mark softly. Letting out a small groan, she murmured, "I miss him so much."

Glancing at Ceolwen, she could see the Shieldmaiden knew exactly what she meant.

"I know."

The next morning did see clear skies and bright sunlight, though the air remained cold. After breakfast, Ceolwen suggested they go outside with the children – "Besides, some fresh air will help you to focus on reading reports" – and once they were all warmly clothed, they entered the bright whiteness of the chilly day.

Elfwine and Cenric obviously enjoyed the chance to play in the snow, especially when they were joined by some of their peers – mostly children of the Riders of the Royal Guard. While Lothíriel could take pleasure in watching the unburdened joy of the capital's children, occasionally her eyes would still be drawn towards the plains... hoping to catch any sign of a messenger on his way to her. Letters were not only a means to bridge the distance between the King of the Mark and his family, but also to keep her updated on how the campaign progressed.

"You know, I occasionally wish I was riding with them, too", Ceolwen remarked, stopping to stand by her queen's side.

"It's frustrating, yes", Lothíriel muttered and shook her head. But that was more or less just a silly wish, and she knew she was far more useful in Edoras. So she tried not to think of the stone on her heart and instead concentrated on the fair day and the unburdened joy of the little Eorlingas, who knew not care as they ran in the snow and laughed. The sound of their voices cheered her up as well, and she could not help but smile.

By the time they were herding the children back to the Hall the Queen of the Mark had already given up the hope of receiving news as quickly as her impatience would require. She had half forgotten about it, too, because she had her hands full with her son. He was quite adorable, what with his eyes glimmering in delight, and his little cheeks flushed from the cold. Would that Éomer could be here to see this!

But as they stood on the terrace and she was brushing snow off his coat, a guard moved closer: "My lady, a rider is coming."

Lothíriel's eyes quickly turned to the snow-covered plains, and then she spotted the rider trudging towards the capital, his green cloak in bright contrast against the white. She glanced at the guard, "Make sure the stablemen are ready. His horse will need special care once they get here."

"Right away, my lady", said the guard and bowed before striding away to deliver the task.

The nursemaid came to take Elfwine and Cenric inside, but Lothíriel and Ceolwen were both too anxious for news to wait in the Hall. Making his way through the snow, the rider was not fast to travel, and so the both women were soon pacing back and forth as the moments dragged. By the time he finally reached the courtyard, the Queen of the Mark at least was ready to tear off her hair. She searched the messenger's face for any clue as to what kind of news he was bringing; he seemed weary, but the way he dismounted and hurried for the Hall made her feel even more concerned.

"Rider! What news from the east?" she demanded to know while he was still climbing the stairs. He did not answer immediately, not before he was standing before her and Ceolwen, who stared at the man just as vehemently.

"My lady Queen", the messenger spoke quietly, "I bring ill tidings."

* * *

The faces in the council of war were grave as Éomer entered with Edelric and Elfhelm. Aragorn stood staring at a map, his face fiercely concentrated as though he was fighting the war in his very mind. His lieutenants were gathered around him, all of them looking just as concerned as Éomer himself felt.

"Any news from your riders?" Aragorn asked, glancing at his fellow king briefly.

"Nothing we didn't know already. The Variags continue to move at alarming pace. If we don't do something fast, they will have cut our way home – which would make maintaining the welfare of our forces very difficult", Éomer said and halted next to the table. He gazed down at the maps before him, thinking over how this situation had come to be. They had been happily fighting with the Easterling force on the vast fields north of Ered Lithui, all the while ignorant of another force that was approaching... it turned out Agon's kin had made alliance with Variags from the land of Khand, and now a great force was marching from the south. Even without the old friendship between their peoples, Variags had little reason to love the Men of the West. What made their campaign truly extraordinary was that they were, as a first army on earth, daring to cross the land of Mordor and plains of Gorgoroth. While the Black Land had been empty for some years now, many still feared that place, and would not go near it.

What they apparently were meaning to do was to pass through the ruins of the Black Gate, thus cutting the very lifeline of the Rohirric and Gondorian forces. Without a safe route for their supplies, they were between the rock and a hard place.

"Lothíriel will muster more riders as soon as she gets the message. She will send Deorwine – or maybe even come herself, who knows. At any rate, if we can hold against the Easterlings until then, we may have a chance of a draw", Elfhelm said for his part.

"I dare not be so hopeful. It's a long way to Rohan and back again, not to mention she won't know to expect a call to arms this time", said Lord Húrin of the Keys, who had been loyally serving Aragorn since the War of the Ring had ended.

"Yes, it seems we are on our own – unless our messengers to Dale in the north deliver", Aragorn said, casting a hopeful look at his fellow king.

"There has been no answer. At this point, I don't know if there will be any", Éomer answered. He had sent one of his own men to ask for help. For one, there was an ancient affinity between his house and that of the lords of Dale, and their peoples had come from the same stock of northmen. Moreover, if the Easterlings had their victory now, it might mean their strengthened presence close to the borders of Dale. But so far it did not seem these matters much moved King Bard who ruled in the northern realm of Men.

"Couldn't we send Nehir to negotiate a truce?" Amrothos put in hopefully.

"Her kin might forgive her choices, but at large her people are more likely to consider her a traitor. They won't listen to anything she has to say", Legolas spoke now, his voice calm and smooth as though he was discussing the weather. He seemed to be the only one whose mood was not affected by the recent developments.

"Not to mention, they have no reason to make truce with us now. They know they are winning", Éomer added, frowning as he spoke.

"Then what of us sending a few éoreds to meet the newcomers? Give them a proper welcome?" Elfhelm asked.

"Maybe, if we could escape the notice of the Easterlings. Their spies might be able to warn their allies, and soon as they knew our numbers are divided, they would send their main force into attack... which, as we know, would be devastating to our troops", Erchirion said, and shook his head. He was rubbing together his hands and occasionally shivered under his cloak – he was suffering from the cold worse than others.

"Gentlemen", Aragorn said quietly, bringing all eyes to him once more, "we may have to consider the option of surrender."

The silence was long and deep. Éomer mused it was because everyone present was just too stunned to really say anything – to even comprehend the idea that Aragorn of all people would be speaking of giving up.

But they both knew how it was. There were more important things than a clean record of nothing but victories or glory in war. There were the lives of men they had brought here, into this land far away from their homes. There were countless families, hoping and waiting, counting on the kings of the western realms to bring them back home again. The odds were simply too much.

Behind him, Edelric moved to the doorway of the tent, to receive some word from a guard. When he returned to his king's side, he spoke softly, "My lord, the wind is rising. Looks like we will be getting more snow."

Damn these winter campaigns! A storm had already covered the land with snow couple of days ago, and the men were holding up only because of the sturdy winter provisions Lothíriel had sent. She and Ceolwen had spared no effort in supplying the Rohirric cavalry with means to endure the elements; the Long Winter was yet remembered in the songs of the Riddermark.

It made him suddenly think of Helm Hammerhand, the last king of the first line of the Lords of the Mark. His life had ended in a cruel white night of winter, and his realm had nearly perished with him. In the last, desperate weeks before his death, Helm had carried on a lonely quest to fight the Dunlendings invading the Mark: he had passed silently through the snowclad landscape, killing any that came his way, and in terror his enemies had spoken of a deadly ghost walking among them...

"Edelric", he spoke suddenly, and the tone of his voice brought all eyes to him, "How much spare plain canvas for tents do we have?"

His question did not seem to make much sense to the company, but he hadn't expected that. Nor did he pay attention to any wondering looks, but rather stared intently at his captain.

"I will have to check it, but I'd say there's enough to hold one éored at least", Edelric replied. He looked confused as well.

"What is on your mind, brother?" Aragorn asked. In his eyes a sudden hope had dawned, as he had rightly guessed the younger king had makings of a plan.

"When is éored not an éored?" Éomer asked, not quite capable of not enjoying the bewildered looks on his companions' faces. Only Legolas was smiling now – he briefly entertained the idea the Elf had somehow foreseen his this.

"I beg your pardon?" Elfhelm asked – he looked like he just might shake his liege-lord if he didn't speak up.

"When you can't _see _it. And in this weather, an éored clothed in white should be difficult to spot, don't you think? The snow-fall will give us the cover we need, and Rohirric horses have very keen senses. Silfren will be able to keep us from getting lost", he explained. He looked at Edelric, "Send someone to find out how much we have canvas. I'll surrender my tent, if need be."

Incidentally, it was Amrothos who had already caught up with his meaning. He was already halfway to the door, "Erchirion, come! We must go and find everyone in this camp who is able to handle a needle!"

Aragorn was blinking his eyes. When he spoke, he directed his words at Elfhelm: "Have you ever considered your king may be slightly mad?"

The Marshal beamed, looking at his king as though a proud father. He too had understood what Éomer had in mind.

"Oh, I do every day. But he gets things done, so there's no reason to complain!"

* * *

_December 5, Meduseld_

The sharp sound of knocking woke Lothíriel up on a late night of December. Her first instinct was to curse out loud and tell her disturber to go away, because she had only just managed to fall asleep after yet another stressful day, but she was able to muffle her oaths in the pillow.

Meanwhile, a voice was calling her from outside: "My lady? My lady, are you awake? I'm sorry to disturb you at this time, but Ceorl has returned from the east, and he brings tidings from the King..."

In seconds, she had jumped up on her feet and was fast searching for her robe.

"Just a moment!" she quickly answered the guard behind the door. She had been waiting for news with a heavy heart ever since Éomer had sent a request for more men; she had not wanted anything in the world as much as to ride herself with the additional éoreds, to fight with her king like she had during the Kin-strife. But her reason had spoken against this action. She was more needed in the Mark, to remain as the constant and the guardian of the realm as the war continued in the east. People knew the situation was dire, and so it was all the more important she stayed home and kept up the spirits. Not to mention, there was no sense in endangering herself when Éomer was facing a perilous campaign.

Once she was decent enough to see the rider, she hurried to the door.

"Send him in. And have someone make some tea for us to warm him up", Lothíriel said, hiding her anxiety for news. All sleepiness was now gone and she was hoping for the best but also dreading the worst. So many things could have gone awry...

Ceorl entered the royal chambers, his cheeks still red from the chill outside. He had left behind his snowy boots and fur-rimmed cloak, but it still felt like he brought a breath of frosty air in with him. Lothíriel shivered under her robe and turned to stir the fire.

"Please, take seat. Someone will bring us tea in a moment", she said, gesturing at the armchair near the fireplace. It was much too late for formality.

She looked at him restlessly then, "Please tell me you have good news."

The rider gave her a bright little smile, which consoled her.

"It's fine, my lady. Éomer King has taken a great victory against Easterlings' allies. He was hale and glad when I last looked upon him", he said, and his words filled her with such overwhelming relief that she momentarily feared her feet might fail to carry her. She turned away from him, fighting against joyful tears in her eyes. Knowing her horselord was fine, she could breathe more freely from now on.

When she had her emotions under control again, she looked at the rider once more.

"Forgive me. I was just very worried about my lord husband and the men riding with him", she said, receiving an understanding nod as an answer.

"Of course, my lady", he said and bowed.

Once tea had been brought and they were both seated, Ceorl began to explain what had taken place, and how the King of the Mark had been able to take his victory.

"I have never seen anything quite like it, my Queen", he started, shaking his head with a slightly disbelieving smile. "Éomer King's idea – which has been called both ingenious and mad – was essentially to make use of the weather. He suggested we make snow-robes for as many men and horses as could be spared, so that our enemies would not notice that a part of our force had left the camp. Other commanders agreed it was our best chance, and so for the afternoon everyone able to use a needle were busy sewing disguises. Had the Easterlings attacked our camp then, they would probably have forgotten about battle because they would have been too busy wondering just what was happening."

Ceorl chuckled then and went on, "We were able to make snow-suits for two éoreds, and that night after the sunset the King lead them away from the camp. The Easterling spies never noticed this happen, and so they did not know the absence of a substantial number of men. As to how we were able to keep our directions all the way to the Black Gate, you will have to ask how Silfren knows anything."

"The snow-suits were not just to mask our departure, but also to travel without being seen by any spies – most of them were keeping the weather at any rate, as they were less prepared for snow than ourselves. This worked even better than we had hoped. Not only did we get to the ruins of the Black Gate unnoticed, the Variags never saw us coming", he explained. He stopped to take a sip of his tea, but Lothíriel had mostly forgotten about her own drink. She was anxiously waiting him to continue, though there was also a smile growing on her face. Trust her husband to find a way around the situation they had been in!

Lowering his mug of tea, Ceorl smiled wryly, "Well, they did see Silfren. You see, the King was quite inspired by the story of Helm Hammerhand, and on the night before our attack, he and his horse did some haunting near the Variag camp, just to rattle them a bit and smooth our way for the attack we were planning. Some of them did see him and his stallion in the darkness. I suppose it was helpful the camp was near some ruins from the time of the Dark Lord. That place is beyond creepy – I'm fairly sure anyone would have fallen for the King's ruse, being near those ruins."

At this point, Lothíriel could only shake her head and hold back her laughter – she could only imagine how much entertainment Éomer's plan had brought not only to himself, but also to his men. The Ghost King of the Mark would surely be a popular tale in times to come!

"It all worked out even better than we could have hoped", Ceorl said. "You know how Silfren is – he was born to play that part, really. Even if the Variags know of the _mearas, _I don't think they would know what to expect? In any case, I understand the appearance by the King and his horse caused something of a fright among the Variags, and suddenly they weren't so eager to fight anymore. You can probably imagine what chaos ensued when two éoreds of riders clothed all in white came upon them before dawn."

"And you defeated them?" she asked eagerly, unable to just wait and let Ceorl explain the outcome.

"Oh, we did – our victory over them was complete", he confirmed and nodded. "This was two weeks ago, and I imagine much has happened since then, but Éomer King said the defeat of the Variags would turn the tables. Without the help of their allies, the Easterlings have a smaller chance against the combined forces of the Mark and Gondor."

"Do you think my lord husband and King Elessar will beat them?" Lothíriel asked, though her mind already was much more hopeful than it had been before this conversation.

"Aye, I do. They are great leaders, and last I saw him, the King was determined to win the war. I believe they will be victorious", Ceorl answered.

Lothíriel relaxed on her seat, feeling reassured at last. She should have known Éomer would find a way... but then, like she had told Ceolwen, worrying for her husband was something she could not help.

"Thank you, Ceorl. I'm glad to know they are having some luck as well", she said to him and put aside her mug of lukewarm tea. "Go and get some rest. The King's Council will want to hear these tidings on the morrow."

* * *

**A/N: **Here comes an update at last! This has really been a slow one, what with myself being busy lately and then _The Odd Collide _demanding all the attention I could possibly give.

Imagining Rohan as a land with a colder climate, I think it would be natural for them to come up with ideas like snow-coats for men and horses. Not to mention, I believe the events of the Long Winter (during Helm Hammerhand's reign) would make them more sensitive to it, too.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **It's fun to occasionally switch between the POVs as a writer, too. :) Also it was nice to bring back the more carefree Amrothos. And yes, another war was but a question of time!

**brandibuckeye - **Sorry, I can't help it! :D

**Ginga2Sam - **No one likes it for sure. But I don't think there's holding him back in a situation like this. For one, I think he would personally think of it as a sign of weakness to stay behind, especially since he has recovered fully from his injuries. Also, his ingenious idea proves to be quite vital for the tables turning again.


	56. Chapter 56

_One day before Yuletide 5, Edoras_

In the end, Rohan and Gondor were victorious. Two weeks after Ceorl's return, tidings came of a battle on the fields north of Ash Mountains, and soon on the streets of Edoras people were singing the praise of Éomer King and King Elessar. After a fierce fight, they had been able to drive the Easterlings into a corner, leaving them no choice but to surrender, and so the war had come to an end.

As riders began to return from the east, they also brought more stories describing the individual events of the campaign. Some tales sounded quite fantastic, especially those considering the battle against the Variags. But as Éomer confirmed some of them in his letters, Lothíriel had no choice but to believe. Still, he did tell her not to believe everything she heard: for one, he was rather firm on the matter on if the spirit of Helm Hammerhand had been there to aid him.

Be it as may, the way he had defeated the Variags had already been made into a song, and she expected many more would come to life before all was said and done.

Now that the war was finished, the only thing she truly did want was her husband coming home. The months of his absence had been long, and as always, it made her feel like one of her limbs was missing. He was a part of her in good and bad.

As Yuletide grew closer, she became concerned he might not make it home before the winter's celebration. It did not seem right to enjoy such an important feast without Éomer. Yet she did not stop the preparations for the midwinter's festivities, for she knew how much it meant to Rohirrim. If her king could not return before Yuletide, she would have to act as his representative during the ceremonies and in welcoming the new year of the Sun.

Then a week before the celebrations would begin, a rider came to Edoras and brought the news she had been dying to hear: Éomer was on his way home, and there was a good chance he'd be back by Yuletide. The last days before his arrival Lothíriel spent in an anxious haze, constantly gazing towards west in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the green standard painted against the snow-clad landscape.

It started snowing again when the celebrations of Yuletide were only a day away. Adding to the already existing cover of snow on the plains, Lothíriel had never seen so much of it at a time. Yet while there was unfamiliar beauty to the white coat over the plains, it also made her worry that Éomer and his riders would not be able to travel, and that they would be stuck in some place cold and dreary on the night they should be home with their families, celebrating the passing of one year and the arrival of another. However, in the end it turned out she was not the only one anxious for his homecoming, and on the evening of that cold snowy day, a guard at last came to inform her that the King would arrive in an hour's time.

Knowing her husband would probably want to see their children, she made sure they were warmly dressed, though Elfwine at least seemed like he would just have happily dashed to meet his father, without even noticing the cold weather. However, when she told the boy he would have to wait inside unless he complied, the prince agreed to dress in a warm winter coat and a cloak Osythe had made for him. In the green fur-rimmed cloak he was a proper little horselord.

Once the Queen of the Mark and her children came outside, she could see they were not the only ones waiting to welcome the riders back home. Families of the King's Knights were there too, all eager to see them return: Lothíriel had not been the only one anxious to have her husband home before Yuletide.

The weather remained cold, but snow did not fall so thickly anymore. The courtyard was lit by torches, which sizzled softly as the fluffy flakes hit the flames. With covers of snow on the rooftops, Yule wreaths here and there, and firelight illuminating the space, the holdings of Meduseld held almost dream-like beauty... the kind she had not imagined before, though she had already lived several years in the Riddermark.

All thoughts of the landscape left her, for shadows of riding figures appeared in the winter evening's half-light, and she knew it was only seconds before she would see _him. _

Then at last he appeared, his company emerging into the courtyard as flakes of snow whirled about them, and a burst of joy and relief filled her heart. There he was after so many weeks and the sight of him made something unclench in her breast, as though some burden she had been carrying had fallen down once more. There was snow on the hood of his fur-rimmed cloak of dark green, but he pushed it back and smiled up at her, lifting his gloved hand in a greeting. She would have returned the gesture had her arms not been full with Elfhild, but Lothíriel smiled brightly at her king.

"Da!" Elfwine called out happily – he had taken notice of his father's arrival as well, and was just as glad to have him back.

"Yes, sweetheart. Father is home", Lothíriel murmured to her son. He gave her a bright smile and looked like he'd have liked to go running the steps, but she held Elfhild tightly against herself and laid a hand on the little boy's shoulder. She didn't want him slipping on the steps of the Hall, or running into the midst of riders and horses.

Soon as his men had their orders, Éomer started for his family, climbing the stairs as fast as he dared for the fear of losing his footing on slippery stones. Then, once he had reached the top, he speedily strode to his wife and children, and speaking no word he pulled her into a kiss. It was that kiss he only ever gave to her when he had been gone from her for a lengthy time, and it showed he had longed for her just as much as she had for him. It was a rough kiss, desperate almost – tenderness would come later, but only when this most urgent need was satisfied. In this kiss, she did not notice to cold air or the snow melting on her hair. There was just _him, _his warmth against her... even if partings were bitter, the sweet reunion would always make up for it.

Her breaths came heavily when he pulled back slightly, her heart still trying to grasp the overwhelming happiness of having her beloved husband home again. She smiled dizzily up at him.

"I missed you too."

Éomer returned her smile, holding her close by the small of her back.

"I have been gone far too long", he merely said and looked at his son, who was reaching his small arms and fast babbling at him. He lifted the child with his free arm and then kissed his brow, and also that of Elfhild. Their son's laughter filled the frosty air; no matter what joyful hours Yuletide would bring, _this _was the best gift it had given to her.

Lothíriel felt she could have stood there for the entire night, but then she remembered he must be weary and cold after travelling in snow, and she shook her head to clear her mind.

"Let us get you inside. Your bath should be ready in a moment, and the children are up past their bedtime", she said with a smile, and Éomer let himself be lead inside. The warmth of the Hall washed over them, accompanied by the smells of candles and freshly scrubbed floors and wreaths of winter flowers, and all this Lothíriel hid in her heart to cherish there in times of parting and loneliness. Elfwine was still busy talking to his father, whose eyes shined with great happiness. He made answers here and there and the child's giggles echoed in the Hall: somehow, that was the sound to fully release everyone of the tension and uncertainty for whether the King would be home for Yuletide.

Elfhild was already drifting off to sleep, and even Elfwine seemed too distracted to mind being put to bed. As his father helped him to undress and pull on a warm shirt for the night, Lothíriel prepared their little daughter for bed. This moment of family, of doing something so ordinary, seemed like the most precious thing in the world.

As soon as Elfhild was in her cot, she quietly moved to watch Éomer as he sang their son to sleep. He had a way with Elfwine, something she could not mimic – he only needed to sing or hum softly for a while, and the little prince would be out cold in a few moments. So it was this time and in minutes their son was fast asleep. Carefully her king pulled a blanket over him and brushed a fall of dark hair from the little face. Who would have thought that those coarse warrior's hands were capable of such gentleness?

With their children safely in their beds, Éomer turned to look at her, and smiling he offered his hand to her. She took it right away, wrapping her fingers tightly about his. It took some self-control not to just latch on to his neck and kiss him long and deep, and she reminded herself he still needed food and a bath. Afterwards... well, she had plans for it already.

They did not speak on their way out of the royal nursery, but then again words were not quite needed yet. Once in their own chambers Lothíriel saw to her satisfaction that all was ready, and quietly she closed the door behind them, eager to embrace this safe haven where they were alone for a little while. The night would pass and a new morning would come – with it, the demands on the King's attention and time would be numerous, and he would be anxious to spend some time with his children as well. However, this night they had all for themselves.

He seemed to think the same, for he pulled her close to himself and caught her lips in a long, slow kiss. By the end of it, she felt like the very last bits of tension and excitement for his return were gone and her mind had entered a peaceful, quiet place.

"I hope everything went well?" she said softly, resting her hands on his waist.

"Aye, we were victorious in the end. But let us not talk about war tonight – you will hear everything tomorrow. By the way, Erchirion and Amrothos send their regards. I've got letters from them too, but they are somewhere in my saddlebags", Éomer murmured back and looked like he would have kissed her again once more, but she knew how distracting that could be, and so she didn't let him go on for long. Yes, he was quite right: talk of war did not belong into this moment.

"Your bath will get cold", Lothíriel said with a slight smile. He made a grumbling sound at the back of his throat, and she pecked his lower lip quickly, "You can kiss me once you have bathed and eaten something."

"Hmm. Very well then", he muttered.

She helped him to undress – when he made a move as to undo the lacings on the front of her tunic, she held his hands ("Have some patience!") – and soon he settled in the tub filled with hot water. Éomer let out a long, contented sigh and leant back his head. She sat next to the tub, unwilling to leave his side now that he was home at last. For a while, he remained there with closed eyes. Before she could warn him of falling asleep in the bath, he opened his eyes again and looked at her with a smile.

"You pamper me, dear woman", he muttered under his breath, though it didn't sound like this bothered him one bit. She scoffed at him.

"Hmph. You've been away for months, and you look like it. I'm very much entitled to some pampering", she told him firmly. Éomer smiled and sank deeper in the bath, regarding her with a warm shimmer in his eyes.

"I truly cannot stress how much I have missed you, dear heart", he said, his voice soft and slow. She smiled and rested her chin on her forearms, which she had propped on the edge of the tub.

"You are here now", she stated once more. "But please tell me you won't have to leave us again any time soon."

"No, I don't think so. Nor would I agree to go", he said and picked up soap from a table next to the tub. She watched him quietly as he began to wash, wondering how such an every day task could seem so special. Indeed, he had been gone for too long.

He looked at her then, "I hope you and the children have been well while I was gone?"

"Oh, we were fine. They just missed you a lot. Every day, Elfwine kept asking when you would come home", she told him. "I think he looks up to you much more than he does to me."

"Hmm. He will learn better when he's older... I've just been away too long. After a few days he and Elfhild be over me already and they will decide they like you better", Éomer muttered half-audibly and gathered her hand in his own, momentarily forgetting about washing. She smiled as he kissed her fingers and knuckles. Then he looked at her, and in his gaze there was an invitation as he spoke, "I suppose I can't persuade you to join me in the bath?"

"You know very well where that would lead, and I want you to leave that tub before the night is over", she informed him, causing him to smile. Perhaps her words inspired him, because he hurried up with the task of washing. With appreciative eyes she watched him, knowing full well her expression must be a possessive and hungry one. This man was hers.

He took note of her gaze and smiled – a slow, lazy smile that still after all these years did not fail to captivate her. If he were hers, so she was his.

When he was finished and rose from the tub, she offered him a robe, which he wrapped about himself. Then he looked at her inquisitively, "Now do I get to kiss you?"

Lothíriel fought her smile, "Dinner first. That is an order."

Her horselord grumbled and made a face, "Who made you queen, you tyrant?"

"I seem to recall it was _you. _So you can only blame yourself_", _she said lightly, unable to hold back her chuckles. Her husband's eyes glimmered, amused and pleased that he had made her laugh.

When he had some supper before him, and they were seated comfortably, she told him the recent comings and goings of Edoras. He was surprised but glad to hear Scýne was with child once more, and grinned as he spoke: "I wonder how poor Éothain is going to keep up with his brood. Elva is already turning out to be a handful."

"Oh, he has nothing to worry about as long as he has Scýne", Lothíriel replied confidently and waved her hand. He grunted softly and took a sip of his ale. Then a slow smile touched his face.

"Aye, he is lucky to have her. He used to be so infatuated with her before she finally agreed to marry him. You wouldn't believe it now if you look at him, but Éothain made a complete fool of himself while he courted her... then again, I suppose that happens to us all", he commented and shook his head – she guessed he was remembering the time of their courtship and betrothal.

As a response, Lothíriel grinned.

"Yes, I'm quite sure it does. We were a pair of fools too", she pointed out. Then teasingly she continued, "And one could say we still are."

Éomer laughed out loud and looked fondly at her, "I'm afraid that is very true."

With a couple last bites, he had finished the dinner and pushed aside the plate. Then he downed the last of his ale, put aside the tankard, and looked keenly at her. It went straight into the pit of her stomach, and she felt breathless.

"Now, that is quite enough of excuses. Come here and kiss your long-neglected husband", he said sternly, wearing his best commanding face. Despite her sudden feeling of being possessed, she laughed softly but strode to him anyway. Then she sat astride in his lap.

"Is this what you had in mind?" she asked, lowering her voice.

"Aye, getting there now", he growled and pulled her closer, not even trying to hide his impatience. Then he refused to wait any longer and grabbed her by the back of her head and brought his lips to hers. Her fingers disappeared under the still damp locks of his hair to answer the gesture. The kiss became hungry and demanding, and her need for him more urgent. The fire she filled the kiss with came from the weeks he had been gone, flaming fully now, and finding in him a similar wildfire.

Impatiently his fingers found the hems of her tunic and then he pulled – she lifted her arms to help with that task. Then she let her fingers slip under his robe to touch his skin, to relish in the sensation: she felt the strong muscles, the skin which was still glowing from the hot bath. How had she missed his warmth during past months!

His hands sought her skin as well, cupping her, feeling her... she leant closer and felt an anxious need for him, yet the anticipation was something to savour as well, and she would not let him cross that final barrier between them before both their beings were absolutely screaming for it...

And when he lifted her on the table and did fill her, she gripped him tight as an unintelligible little noise rose deep from her throat, and the sound was joined by a similar one by him. Lothíriel felt she might not endure beyond a few rough thrusts and she was right – she was gone in just a few heated moments.

By the time her husband lifted her and moved them to bed, her head had somewhat cleared. Still, she wasn't sure her wobbly knees would have carried under her; he too seemed to move only by the sheer effort of will. Consequently, Éomer more or less just dropped them both on the bed – not that she minded. She suspected there was nothing in the world right now that would have bothered her, except perhaps someone interrupting this sweet moment.

"Did I already tell you I missed you?" she asked, her voice low and lazy.

"Aye, you did", her horselord murmured and reached to brush his lips across her temple. "Though I would not mind you telling me again."

She let out a soft laugh and snuggled closer to him.

"Yuletide is postponed. You're not leaving this bed for at least a week", she informed him, and now it was his turn to chuckle.

"Béma, then I will need a lot of rest, dear heart..."

* * *

Éomer had been dozing off for a while when he came back to the waking world. At first, he was slightly disoriented: how should he be so gloriously warm and comfortable? All he could remember were cold tents and frosty winds and trying to fall asleep in his narrow cot as thoughts of war raced in his mind... not that cold was a problem for him, but after a couple of months of never being fully warm he could appreciate this current state of matters.

As his mind cleared, he finally remembered where he was and why he should be feeling so extraordinarily relaxed. He was in his own bed in Meduseld, the war was over, and next to him was the naked body of his dear wife. She slept soundly, her back against him, and she was clutching one of his hands in her own.

Drowsily he shifted closer again and breathed in the smell of her hair, her skin... the musky scent lingering after lovemaking. Béma, how he had missed her! Whatever tensions the road had left him with had fully dissolved in her embrace.

He thought of letting himself fall back asleep, but decided against it. Instead, stretching he sat up on the edge of the bed. Then Éomer rose and sauntered across the chamber, enjoying the quiet and the calm – things entirely absent in the noisy, crowded war camps. He stopped by the table to pour himself some water, and once he had emptied the cup, he crouched by the fireplace to add a log or two to the embers. They were the only light to illuminate the room, and for a while he watched the shadows they created on the walls, their endless dance across the hangings and the rich shades which were only revealed in this half-light. Idly he remembered how misplaced he had felt here before the southern campaign, and how foreign these very walls had been to him. But now, after five years of life and marriage, it felt like _home. _He guessed it was because of the days and nights, all those little memories, good moments and bad... instilled into the very structure of Meduseld.

"What are you doing out of bed?" asked the voice of his wife, bringing close to his musings. Éomer looked up to see her propped up on her elbow, her long dark hair deliciously dishevelled, and the light of fire gently dancing across her naked skin. _Ah, Béma! _What can a man do when his woman looks at him in such a way?

With a smile, he stood up and returned to the bed.

"Forgive me", he murmured as he sat down next to her and reached to kiss his queen. She made a soft little sound he took for satisfaction, and when he pulled back, she settled down again. The way her hair spread on the pillow, her arms resting open, her relaxed posture... powerless to resist, he leant down again, and his lips met the skin just below her neck. He moved slowly and traced every inch with his mouth, pleased to hear her little moan and feel her fingers in his hair, until he stopped in the valley between her breasts.

"Don't stop", she half-pleaded, half-growled. He smiled against her skin and looked up at her.

"It's still hours until dawn", Éomer told her; back at him stared the fiery eyes of a lioness.

"And you think that's enough?"

Yuletide surely was his favourite...

* * *

**A/N: **What can I say? I was in the mood for some fluff. And as far as I'm concerned, there's never enough Éomer/Lothíriel fluff in the world. Sue me! :D

* * *

**Jo - **It's definitely difficult to have all that distance between them, not knowing what's going on with him and if he's okay. But thankfully, it has turned out for the better!

**brandibuckeye - **Thank you, I'm glad to hear my stories keep you entertained. I do strive to surprise, and it's good to hear I've managed to do that! :)


	57. Chapter 57

_March 6, near Edoras_

"Are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely. Why aren't you? We both know you are a very good rider. Not to mention, she likes you."

Éomer's reassurance still not reach home, even though Frost was doing her best to confirm it; the young mare was nuzzling the face of her mistress, who was contemplating whether she had been mad to even consider this. Surely trying to ride bareback would only end badly?

She patted Frost's neck and looked unsurely at her husband, who had brought Silfren with him. The stallion was pasturing as patiently as could be expected, throwing only an occasional glance at his rider. Éomer had tied back his hair and he was arrayed in a form-fitting riding coat and breeches, rather than his armour. Well, a simple riding lesson did not exactly warrant the heavy gear of war. Her own attire was similar: the coat, a gift from Scýne and Éothain, was a loose one to allow her to move freely, but it was warm enough against the chilly winds of this time of the year. Seeing the maker of it had not only dyed the Rohirric wool blue but also used white fur for the rim of the hood, the coat was a stately gift even for a queen.

"Lothíriel, you and Frost have been preparing for this day for long enough. It is time", Éomer said now, gentle but firm. It was what Master Beorhtír had said as well only days before, and that was why they were now out of Edoras on the plains.

Beorhtír was an old stablemaster of Meduseld. He had been serving already in Théoden's time and was well respected for his knowledge and experience – he was also one of the few people allowed to look after the King and Queen's steeds. Since Frost had been born and Éomer had given the filly to Lothíriel, Beorhtír had been helping her to train the young animal. Now, at last, she was ready to bear a rider. However, though Frost had been taught to know a saddle and reins, both Éomer and Beorhtír insisted the first ride should be bareback.

"Is it really necessary I ride without a saddle?" Lothíriel asked now, eyeing the uncovered back of the horse with some suspicion.

"Not absolutely necessary, perhaps, but I would highly recommend it", said her husband patiently.

"Hmph. I should have known. After all, I'm the one who insisted to marry a horselord", she muttered, but her words only made him look self-satisfied, as though the fact she was his wife was still a gift that kept on giving.

His expression sobered and he reached to touch her hand then, and he spoke, "By riding bareback, you both learn to know each other better. You'll learn how she moves, how her movement feels like. She comes to know your weight and touch. Her reactions become familiar to you and it will be easier to notice if something is wrong with her. Your bond with Frost becomes stronger and it builds up the trust between you. That trust could save your life, Lothíriel. This is the core of what it means to ride like the Rohirrim."

Lothíriel let out a long, trembling breath. He spoke with the authority of long experience, of literally growing up in the middle of horses. She shouldn't be so nervous about this.

Éomer looked at her closely now, and he went on, "It is especially important with her. Frost is half _mearh, _and with that blood so strong in her veins, the bond you form with her is... well, it's slightly different. She's intelligent and social, and you must maintain your relationship with her, just as you would maintain any friendship. It's very important you both trust each other completely."

"All right. I'm just being silly here", she said and was able to give her husband a smile, which he returned.

"Yes, and I would be surprised if you didn't overcome it", he told her. "You can do this, dear one."

She nodded and turned to look at Frost again. The mare was looking at her curiously, and if she had sensed Lothíriel's uneasiness, it hadn't affected her yet.

"Let me help you to mount her", Éomer offered, and deciding it was just better to get on with this, Lothíriel grunted in affirmation. So he lifted his gloved hands for her to use as a step, and taking support from his shoulder, she jumped up into Frost's back. Her husband offered her the reins – at least he'd allow her those – which she quickly grabbed. He remained next to the mare, ready to interfere if the horse showed signs of being uneasy, but the only thing she did was toss her head and readjust her footing. Once he was satisfied Frost wouldn't be getting nervous, he moved over to the side of his own stallion and swiftly leapt to ride Silfren. He had no trouble riding without a saddle – as a matter of fact, he did so as often as he could.

The uncovered back of the mare was as unfamiliar as Lothíriel had expected. Without the support of a saddle and stirrups, she felt unsteady and unsafe. On the other hand, she could now see what Éomer had meant when he had spoken of feeling the movements of the horse: using a saddle never allowed to be so close to one's mount. Technically, she knew how she was supposed to use her legs to control the animal, but it was one thing to _know _and entirely other to _do. _

"Good. Take it slowly, beloved. We are not in a hurry here. Just trust her to take care of you – she won't let you fall", Éomer instructed. He wasn't even using reins and he was making it look ridiculously easy.

Lothíriel managed to give him a shaky little nod. She held on tightly to the reins and tried to remember the last time she had felt so nervous horseback. Such an instance did not return to her mind.

"It's all right. You don't have to be perfect right away. You're both just starting to learn", said her husband, guiding Silfren to her side. The smile she offered him was a lopsided one.

"Do you know you are a very good teacher?" she asked him, relaxing her posture – only slightly though, because keeping herself straight had been one of the first things she had learnt about riding.

"You're not my first student", Éomer said, smirking smugly as only he could. "Nor the last one, I reckon."

"Oh, yes. If you think you can somehow avoid teaching our children to ride, you're seriously mistaken", she said and let out a small laugh. With it disappeared her uneasiness as well, and she understood. This was not something to fear, but rather, this was an opportunity. It was a chance to learn more as a rider, but also to get little more insight to the people whose queen she had been for over five years now.

Really, one had to wonder. Why had she even thought she had anything to worry about with Éomer as her teacher?

* * *

In spring, Ceolwen gave birth not to a little girl, but twin boys. Upon hearing the news, Éomer chuckled softly and shook his head.

"Elfhelm's reaction must have been priceless. He was so sure it would be a girl", he said to Lothíriel, who could only smile at the idea. Overall, she was just glad everything had gone well and her friend was already recovering. While Elfhild's birth had been relatively easy, she still shuddered at the thought of having to bring into the world two robust sons at the same time.

If Elfhelm's expression had been a sight to see upon hearing he had twin sons, it continued to be so when the King and Queen of the Mark travelled to pay a visit to the Marshal and his family. Looking bewildered, he sat with his newborn sons in his arms, and shook his head as he spoke: "There I was, hoping for a little girl. Instead, I've got two boys! Someone is having a really good joke at my expense. I can just feel it."

Even so, though the result was different than the expectation, it was clear he and Ceolwen loved their twin boys just as much they loved Cenric. But once their children grew, the life in Astdun would most likely be noisy and boisterous. Elfhelm appeared to be quite aware of this already, and after watching Elfwine and Cenric in their games, he gave an appealing look to his king and queen: "Maybe you would like to raise him, too?"

Jokes aside, it was good to see how well the two lads got along: in future, they would renew the friendship of their parents.

So went life, with its ordinary joys and griefs. Edoras seemed to grow busier with each passing day: the newly built, more spacious markets attracted more merchants, and there were plans to raise new homes and pave the most important roads of the capital. There was even talk of building a small port by the banks of Anduin in The Wold, so that traders from Dale and Erebor needn't pass through Harlond in Minas Tirith. All this was new and unheard, and it had been made possible by past few years. Though not all of that time had been of peace, neither Rohan or Gondor had suffered such devastating losses that the prosperity ushered in the world after Sauron's fall would be meaningless. As a result, the lives of the King and Queen of Rohan remained busy, but both were content in seeing the growing welfare in the kingdom.

Then with the first week of June came a stop to the every day routine: the great retinue of King Elessar arrived in Edoras. Aragorn was at last travelling to his northern realm, and on his way he'd remain as guest to his fellow king for several days. In the capital of the Riddermark, this caused quite the increase in traffic, because the visit of a foreign king was a matter to bring prospects to many. Traders, both Rohirrim and Dwarven, came to sell their goods to the members of Elessar's retinue, and in their wake travelled others (minstrels, entertainers, even shadier folks) in the hopes of earning some coin. Streets were full of noise and song, and so was Meduseld. The last time the King's seat in Rohan had seen so busy a period had been after Elfwine's birth.

One thing was now different: their children had grown enough to participate. So, the Hall of the King was not just filled with noises of the guests, but also the laughter and delighted sounds of the young generation. Being the oldest of them, Elva had taken it to her duty to herd and keep an eye on the younger children: she appeared to think of it as an honour to keep the others out of trouble (Lothíriel guessed it was also partly because she felt crowded at home, what with all the bustle with her recently born little sister Leofe). There were also many amused smiles when Aragorn and Arwen's daughter announced she would be marrying Cenric in the future – perhaps not a wonder, Lothíriel deemed, for the boy seemed to have inherited his father's charming, cheerful ways.

But after a while it came time for Aragorn and his retinue to move on and continue their long journey to north, and so the great escort left Edoras; Lothíriel and Éomer joined it, but only to travel as far as the western border of the Mark. On their way back, they would meet people from the villages, and see how Westfold had recovered from the violent years of war.

Then farewells were exchanged between the kings and queens of the two realms, and Aragorn insisted his friends in the Mark must one day visit his northern realm, and see all that was now remedied and rebuilt in the kingdom which had been long neglected. This they promised to do once the capital of the north realm would stand again on the banks of Lake Nenuial, though Lothíriel thought she could see in Éomer's eyes eagerness to go already and explore that wide unknown land. Still, no matter where the call of adventure would take one's mind, they both knew where their place was for now.

Once Aragorn and his entourage had gone their way, the company of the King and Queen turned homewards again, enjoying the beauty and peace of the high summer as they rode towards their capital. And there, on the wide plains under the wind and sun, was conceived their third and last child.

* * *

_My friend -_

_I imagine it will surprise you that I should be writing to you at this time – if anything ever really surprises you and your people, Legolas. Still, I am starting to feel like I have no choice. It is to ask for your help, to plead for it if I must. _

_You see, a few months ago we discovered Lothíriel is with child again. At first this made us quite happy, for family is something we both treasure. However, since then my mind has grown increasingly more troubled. Ever since the first month of her pregnancy, my wife has not been very healthy. She doesn't sleep, has no appetite, and she barely has energy to be with our children. Only this week she caught cold and has been bed-ridden ever since. Legolas, I am watching my queen wither before my eyes. _

_The healers and midwives are doing all they can, and they tell me not to worry, but I haven't missed how they look at each other when they think I don't see. This is the reason I am writing to you: Lothíriel grows weaker and I am scared she will not survive childbirth. You have helped her before, and it's said your people have remedies beyond mortal imagination. Perhaps there is a way to keep her alive, too? I would not be asking this were it not for her, and for our family. Please, if there is anything you can do to help Lothíriel... _

_She doesn't know I'm writing to you. I wouldn't be doing this behind her back, but she'd probably try to prevent it, because even now she keeps insisting she'll be fine. However, I'm becoming more desperate by every day that passes. _

_I can't lose my wife. My children can't lose their mother. Please help._

_Your friend,_

_Éomer_

* * *

_Late November 6, Meduseld_

Lothíriel was dozing off on the divan in the royal chambers when soft voices at the doorway alarmed her. But quickly it occurred to her one of them was her husband's voice, and she relaxed again, drowsily wondering how long she had been asleep. She had been meaning to read a letter from her father, but apparently she had just gone down in the middle of it. That was happening a lot these days – she simply didn't have energy for many everyday things like usually.

When Éomer entered, she offered him a smile and sat up straighter on her seat, rubbing her back absent-mindedly. He smiled as well, even though the expression was not able to entirely smooth his features, which were concerned more often than not these days. She couldn't pretend she didn't know the reason, try as she might to keep up a brave face and follow all instructions the midwife and healers gave to her.

He took seat on the edge of the divan next to her, his hand finding hers as though on its own. Sometimes shows of affection came so instinctively for the both of them.

"How do you feel, beloved?" he asked her.

"I'm fine. I slept for a while, and I feel much better now", she reassured him and smiled again. One corner of his mouth lifted briefly, but even this half-smile could not live long right now. She hated to see him like this, to cause so much worry when none was intended... but wish as she might, she could not bear her children as easily as Ceolwen or Scýne for example. It was even worse because this should have been a time of happy expectation, seeing how glad they had been when she had conceived again – and how excited Elfwine had been for the prospect of having another sibling. But when her health had started to wane, joy had quickly made way to fear.

"What is on your mind?" she asked then, pushing away those thoughts.

"We have visitors", Éomer replied, his brow creasing for a second. He spoke again, softer now: "Lothíriel, I'll have to ask you to not get angry with me."

She lifted her eyebrows in a silent question. He cleared his throat.

"I wrote to Legolas a couple of weeks ago... asked for his help. He's here now with a companion. She's a healer, taught in the medicines of Elves", he said at length, carefully watching her face for a reaction.

Lothíriel looked at her husband in surprise.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she wanted to know, unsure what to think.

"You were sick at the time – I didn't want you to worry about receiving guests. And Legolas is a dear friend. I hoped it would be a pleasant surprise, too", he explained quietly. "Not to mention, I was afraid you'd insist it was nothing."

She sat quietly and considered what to say. Truth was, she could understand his position all too well. How many hours had she sat by his bedside, wondering if he'd be all right? How much she had lost sleep, trying not to imagine how it would be like to raise their children alone... and she _was _headstrong, sometimes in the stupidest things. Maybe he had been right to assume she'd refuse any help. And while her health had not yet deteriorated as much as to truly threaten her life, it wasn't difficult to imagine what her death might do to him. Even now as she looked into his eyes, she could see those wounds which had healed, and yet she knew that a single stab might cause grievous damage.

So she smiled at him once more, so that he would know everything was all right.

"You could have told me", she said nevertheless, but she spoke gently. "This child... I want him to come into the world safely, just as much as you do. And when you were wounded, if I had known of any way to help you heal faster, I would have tried to get it. What I mean is... I understand very well. I'm afraid, too."

His expression tore at her heart, but she did not see it for long when he pulled her against himself, holding her as carefully as though he believed her breakable.

"We'll get through this. She'll know how to help", he muttered half-audibly, and she hoped he was right.

When they had both calmed down enough, her horselord invited the visitors in. Legolas came, serene as always, and smiling brightly at the Queen of the Mark. With him strode – or glided – a woman of the Elder Kindred. Her long shadowy hair was braided back for the journey and her eyes were clear and wise, making Lothíriel guess she was not among the young of their people. Then again, one could never really tell for certain with the Immortal. Both elves were arrayed in the green and brown their wood-dwelling kin favoured, and it felt like they brought with them the smell of the fragrant Ithilien and a bit of the light glimmering on first leaves of spring, even though winter was nearing.

Seeing the guests Lothíriel made a move to stand up from her seat, but Legolas quickly lifted his hand.

"Please, rest yourself, my friend", he insisted, and Lothíriel did not try to argue – though she did wonder if his words were because she looked very unwell, or if he were merely paying attention to Éomer's account on her frail health. Be it as may, she delivered the traditional Sindarin greetings, which the Elven woman beside Legolas returned. She looked pleased to hear her own tongue.

"Queen Lothíriel. I'm glad to meet you after all the stories Prince Legolas has told me about you", she said, bowing her head slightly. "I am named Maerien."

"You are most welcome, though I can't say I knew to expect either you or Legolas", Lothíriel said and glanced at Éomer, who stood quiet; he silently lifted his eyebrows when their eyes met. She looked at the two Elves again, "Have you been given rooms yet? You must get settled down, and Osythe will -"

"It is fine. You needn't worry about us, my friend", Legolas said calmly, and Lothíriel gave him a sheepish little smile.

After a few more pleasantries and inquiries about their journey, Éomer whisked Legolas away, talking something about introducing him properly to the little prince and princess of the Mark. A faint smile passed on Maerien's face and she smiled as Lothíriel gestured her to take seat opposite her.

"Now, if you would tell me how you feel, and we will move from there", Maerien began her query. Eventually her questions became more intimate, and the Queen of Rohan felt quietly thankful for her husband's discreet way of giving them some privacy to talk. Yet she could see the reason behind the questions, no matter how personal – if this could improve the well-being of her child, she was glad to share anything. At the end of the conversation, it seemed perfectly natural to let the Elven woman place her hands on her swollen belly. Maerien's hands were warm and soft, her face deeply concentrated; Lothíriel could only guess what she was doing.

Eventually, Maerien looked up at the mortal woman before her.

"Your child is strong and eager to live. It is his vigour that makes bearing him such a struggle for you... fortunately, I can help you. With the help of some medicines, you should be healthier and stronger for the remainder of the pregnancy", she said as she settled back.

"So you mean to say he's going to be fine? That I'll be able to bring him safely into the world?" Lothíriel asked, feeling the dizzy relief starting to take a hold of her. How afraid she had been of something going wrong, of her own strength failing before the time of childbirth...

"I do believe so, my lady", Maerien said, smiling slightly as she spoke.

In wordless delight, Lothíriel threw her arms about the Elven guest.

* * *

_Early March_ _7, Edoras_

Of the four seasons spring remained her favourite, Lothíriel deemed as she and Scýne strolled through the courtyard of Meduseld, enjoying the fair day and the sunlight it offered. The Mark had seen another colder winter, so the arrival of spring was welcomed all over the realm. To the Queen of Rohan it was also welcome for another reason: this season brought her closer to the birth of her third child.

Admittedly there had been times, especially during the couple first months of the pregnancy, when she had even wondered if she'd live so long as to see another spring, or to give a chance for her unborn child to live. Now she assigned those thoughts to the moods she had been suffering from at the time, chased away by the warming weathers and Elven medicines, which Maerien kept preparing for her. In the end, the potions and treatments remained true to the reputation of the healing arts of the Elder Kindred. It was thanks to Maerien help that Lothíriel had been restored to good spirits and health again; only a few months ago, a walk outside would have been an unimaginable endeavour, sure to leave her exhausted for days. But now, strolling with her arm linked with Scýne, she felt like the sunlight and fresh air were refreshing her.

Such were the sounds of children playing nearby as well, and Lothíriel smiled as she saw her own son among them, his dark hair singling him out easily. It seemed he was growing to resemble her father more with each day that passed, at least in his appearance. His spirit, his thoughtful eyes, and his keen mind were so similar to those of his sire that sometimes she was amazed by how much Elfwine was his father's son. Now he was laughing and shouting with the others, and she could hear it was in Rohirric.

_Elbereth, _she thought to herself with a helpless little smile, _I gave birth to an Eorling. How strange is that?_

"What are you smiling about?" Scýne asked, interrupting her musings.

"Just what bizarre ways life sometimes takes us. I wonder if there will ever come a day I won't occasionally look around and feel slightly bewildered", Lothíriel answered, shaking her head with a soft laugh. Her friend smiled and patted her forearm.

"Probably not, my friend – after all, it _is _the Mark you chose as your home", she said fondly.

After a while, the two women took seat on a bench near the fountain. Lothíriel straightened her feet and absent-mindedly she rubbed the small of her back. It was still nearly a month until the child would be born, but she was anxious for it, especially after the long months of struggling. The sooner the babe would come into the world, the sooner she could rest easier without the fear her health might fail again and threaten the life of her unborn child.

That thought left her mind when Elfwine ran to her, his eyes bright with laughter. The sight made her smile as she reached her arms towards her son, and he giggled as he jumped to hug her.

"Mother!" he called to her happily. Recently, his speech had been developing rapidly; he was already conversing in length with his family and the members of the household. Legolas had taught him some Sindarin as well, which the lad had picked up surprisingly fast for his young age. It had been heart-warming to see the two princes, one mortal and the other immortal, interacting with each other. But with Lothíriel's improved health, Legolas had decided to make a visit to Aglarond and see Gimli – he had promised to be back before her babe was due.

"Hello there, sweetheart. Are you having fun?" she asked and kissed her boy's brow.

"I am!" he replied and wrapped his little arms around her neck. "When Faer home?"

"He'll be back in a few hours, Elfwine", she told him – Éomer had gone to inspect the royal herds on the plains near Edoras. The answer appeared to satisfy the little boy, and he gave her a big moist kiss to her cheek. Then he climbed down again and ran off to join his friends once more.

"He's a sweet child", Scýne said, smiling softly as she spoke.

"Yes, he is", Lothíriel concurred, a warm feeling spreading in her heart as she watched her first-born. Not a day went by that she didn't feel gratitude for Elfwine's existence. While she loved all her children, even the unborn one, looking at her eldest still reminded her of the time before his birth, and of how happy she had been when she had discovered her pregnancy.

These light-filled thoughts came to an abrupt halt when a group of riders entered the courtyard of the Golden Hall. She had made only very quick notice of them earlier as they had sped over the plains towards Edoras – she had taken them either for travellers or riders returning from some errand. But now, as they came to a halt, the blue and silver of their raiment caught her attention.

What would bring Amrothian riders to the capital of Rohan at this time? Messengers did travel between the two cities, but they were lone riders instead of an entire group.

The situation became quickly even more bewildering.

"Lothíriel!" called out the voice of her youngest brother. Amrothos had not even dismounted yet, and seeing him she could suddenly feel a stone on her heart. Why would he come here like this, sending no word of his imminent arrival beforehand and be looking like that at her, unless something bad had happened in Dol Amroth?

"Amrothos!" she exclaimed, hauling herself on her feet with some effort. "What is it? What is wrong?"

He got down from the saddle and with a few strides, he was before her.

"Sister, you mustn't be alarmed, though it's not good news I'm bringing..." he started carefully, but she wanted to shake him in order to make him just spit it out.

"Has something happened? Is it Father?" she demanded to know, not even remembering a dutiful hostess should not be asking questions so vehemently before she had looked after her guests.

"Sister -" he tried, but she could see it already on his face. Something _had _happened.

"What is it?" she asked, feeling more and more ready to grab and shake him.

"I think Éomer should -"

"_What is it?!" _

"Lothíriel... it's Erchirion. He has been lost on the sea", Amrothos spoke at last, powerless before her demands. His voice was low and serious and she knew this was not a jape, not some bizarre dream caused by pregnancy.

She didn't know exactly what happened, or why. She was only aware of how the tidings hit her like a hammer to her chest, knocking her out of breath, and then her vision blackened.

Was she out for hours, or just a few minutes? Lothíriel could not tell when hands slapping her cheeks roused her again from the dark silence, and it occurred to her dazed mind that she was laying on the ground. Scýne was kneeling on her one side and Amrothos on the other, while people more or less swarmed behind, and both were calling her name in distress. She blinked her eyes and tried to breathe, but with each intake of air she felt the stabbing agony of shock and grief. _Oh, Erchirion!_

"Thank the Powers, she's awake! Lothíriel, are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?" Scýne asked, her cool hand resting against the queen's cheek.

"I... I'm fine", she was able to respond, though she felt sick and faint. She tried to struggle into clearing her mind as she looked at her brother, "What... what happened to him?"

"I'll explain everything. But not here – we must get you inside, and maybe you should see a healer? Just to be sure?" Amrothos said restlessly. He looked very pale and startled.

She grunted something as an answer and closed her eyes for a moment, feeling cold perspiration on her brow. She knew she had to get up, no matter how much she just wanted to stay down until the feeling of being sick had passed. Without opening her eyes, she asked, "Elfwine?"

"Folcred has him. He saw nothing", Scýne assuaged her. Lothíriel felt reassured, at least in that matter, and thankful for the Rider's quick thinking. Her son shouldn't have to worry about his mother.

"Can you stand up, sister?" Amrothos asked, placing his hand by her elbow. She opened her eyes again and looked at him, a thousand questions springing to her mind. But she couldn't ask those here.

"... yes. I think so", she muttered and took a deep breath. _He didn't say our brother is dead, he's just lost, maybe he'll be found alive and well..._

Amrothos and Scýne had taken a firm hold of her arms, and they pulled her back up again. Yet even as she stumbled to regain her balance, Lothíriel felt another wave of dizziness washing over her. Then only seconds later there was a powerful contraction. So unexpected and strong it was, she gasped out loud and would have fallen down once more if not for the arms holding her.

"What is it, sister?" asked her brother in newly-roused alarm.

She could not answer for the pain and discomfort... warm wetness flowing down her thighs as another contraction gripped her...

"... the baby. I'm going into labour", she managed from between her gritted teeth, and then she fell into her brother's arms.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm not done with the cliffhangers! :D What can I say? I just love them.

I cover almost a year in this chapter, mostly because I want to move things forward a bit, and I have to admit this little side story with Erchirion's disappearance has got me pretty excited.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**brandibuckeye - **Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. :)

**Jo - **Thank you so much! I aim to please. :)

**Anonymous - **Oh, there's definitely more! :D I've been meaning to write about the kids growing up, but these little scenes and stories keep appearing in my mind. But I promise I will get there - eventually!


	58. Chapter 58

_If only Nehir were here..._

In silent melancholy Amrothos stared at the flask on the table before him. He was missing his wife rather deeply and hoping that somehow, he could be with her this very moment – surely, Nehir would have known just the thing to cheer him up. However, they had agreed her presence in Rohan would not be welcome, not at this time. It was entirely possible Rohirrim still harboured suspicions towards her – he didn't think they had forgotten about her brother and what he had attempted to do. Éomer and Lothíriel would have needed time to prepare their folk, if Nehir should visit Rohan. Not to mention, the two would want to exercise certain amount of formality. And the task which had brought Amrothos to the land of the horselords had been too urgent for such thing. So Nehir had stayed behind when he had sped northwards, insisting she'd be waiting for his return.

He sighed and took a sip of the strong liquor. The prince could not hear the cries of his sister anymore, but whether that meant she had made it or not, he dared not guess. Neither had the drink made him brave enough to go and find out.

_Elbereth, it's Lothíriel! She wouldn't give up! She wouldn't..._

But was that enough? Amrothos didn't know. He had seen the agony on her face when they had carried her inside, and then the servants had whisked her away... it wasn't long after that the screams had started, loud enough to reach the ears of people in the hall. Scýne had been wise enough to send for her mother, who had come to take the little prince and princess under her wing. No child should have to listen to their mother suffering like that... he had known it was bad, because he remembered when Aredhel had given birth to her children, and it had been nothing like _this. _And looking around himself, he saw many grave faces, though none of them would speak.

Then Éomer had returned from his ride, striding fast inside the Hall – judging by his haste, someone had already told him what was happening. He had barely had time to greet Amrothos when Lothíriel had cried out again, and Amrothos shuddered at the memory. He was certain the sight of the expression on his brother-in-law's face would haunt him to the grave.

For a while Éomer had stood there, as though one struck dead without a warning, until he had darted away once more. He had headed for the royal chambers – possibly to wrestle his way in – and the prince had not seen him ever since.

Amrothos took another sip of the liquor and rubbed his forehead. It was all his fault! He had not meant to reveal the news in such an indiscreet fashion – he had hoped to break it to her as gently as humanly possible, and hopefully only once he had made sure Éomer was there too. But that was where Amrothos had made his mistake, thinking he could somehow mask the nature of his errand here. Now he could only wonder what precisely had made him believe he could hide his own fear and distress from her, or that she wouldn't demand an answer the moment she saw him? Lothíriel knew him too well. Even when they had been children she had always known when there was something on his mind... yet foolishly, he had thought he could somehow keep it from her until the right moment.

His despairing thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Éothain. For a crippled man he moved surprisingly softly, almost to the point where Amrothos sometimes forgot what had happened to him. On the other hand, the former captain had much aged since the events of the Kin-strife, so that he'd seem older than he was in truth. The prince guessed it had something to do with how Éothain had no choice but to give up his position as the King's second in command.

"Prince Amrothos", Éothain greeted him now and nodded his head, "what are you doing up at this hour?"

Well, it was late, and Osythe had already made sure he and his company would have lodgings for their stay. But Amrothos knew he would not be able to sleep, not even if he tried. He smiled weakly at the crippled rider.

"To be honest, sleep is the last thing in my mind right now", he said glumly. He hesitated then, the question dancing just on the tip of his tongue. Really, what could be done? Maybe it was just better to hear it sooner than later. Either way, it might just kill him.

He searched the blue eyes of the man before him, and he asked, "Is she... did she make it?"

"Your sister lives still", Éothain said softly, placing his hand on Amrothos' shoulder. "She has given birth to a son... it was difficult indeed, but you knew that already. They might both have died, for the babe had not turned, but the Mistress Maerien was able to help them."

The prince let out a small relieved sob and he bowed his head to mask his tears. But Éothain wasn't finished yet.

"I won't lie, though. I don't think your sister is out of the woods yet... she suffered much and she is weak. It is good that Mistress Maerien is here... I think she may be the only one who can help our queen now", Éothain said gravely. Amrothos merely grunted as a response.

"About your brother... is he dead, then?" Éothain asked after a moment's silence. How he had heard about this already, Amrothos didn't know. He didn't care, either.

"We don't know. He has been away at the sea for months now, and he was due back in Dol Amroth six weeks ago, but he never returned... my father has sent ships and men to look for him. I know he hasn't abandoned hope yet, but it's difficult to agree with him", Amrothos answered, frowning as he spoke. "We discussed whether or not Lothíriel should hear of it, but in the end it was decided it would be unfair to keep her in the dark. Erchirion is her brother, too. She deserved to know... but now I'm starting to feel like it wasn't such a smart choice..."

"You couldn't know this would happen", Éothain said firmly. " And at any rate, even if he were born early, the child is very strong. The midwife says he is likely to survive."

"But she's not so sure about my sister, is she?" Amrothos muttered and the hold of his hand around the flask of liquor became tight again.

"Only the Powers may know", said the former captain at length. Again the prince sighed.

"He'll blame me for it if she doesn't make it. I know he will. Éomer will hate me – he won't forgive me as long as he lives", he said in a weak little voice and a shiver ran down his spine. To have the anger of a man like Rohan's king... someone who loved so fiercely could only possess hatred so black it terrified him to even think of it.

"It's not like you meant harm to your sister, Amrothos. No one thinks that. Even he will understand, once he's calm enough to think of this rationally", Éothain pointed out.

The prince lifted his eyes and looked at the man beside him.

"Maybe so", he said slowly, wearily, "but what on earth makes you believe he'll think rationally if Lothíriel dies?"

* * *

After all the noise, the cries and the alarmed voices of healers and people running in and out, the silence was deafening. Éomer felt somehow numb against it, as though his heart simply did not have enough to feel anything more. Well, that he might pretend only so long as he did not look at the pale face of his wife, or the newborn child resting in the crook of his arm.

Against the newly changed sheets – glaringly white in comparison to all the blood there had been – Lothíriel looked very pale and still. Every now and then he had to reach to touch her, just to check if she still breathed. What colour there had been when Maerien had prepared some _athelas _was long gone now, and his poor, brave queen looked like one recently deceased. But even if she looked so, she still clung to life... too stubborn to give up the world of the living, although one had to wonder how she was still able to keep up her struggle.

All her pregnancies had had some difficulties, and without the trip to Lórien, he suspected they would have remained childless. Elfwine had not been born without a great effort and it had taken weeks for Lothíriel to properly recover, and carrying Elfhild had demanded her to be extremely careful. Now, however, he had to close his eyes and fight the sensation of being sick when he remembered how much his wife had suffered to bring this child into the world. If Elfwine's birth had been difficult... well, it had nothing on _this. _

Seeing how her cries had become weaker, her struggles less resolute, Éomer had been sure she was taking her last, and judging by the looks on the faces of the healers they had thought the same. Yet by the help of Elven medicines and Maerien's knowledge, she had at last been able to deliver the child. Her life, and that of the babe, had been preserved... until now, at least.

When he had spoken his fear out loud, Maerien had given him a comforting smile.

"She is weak indeed, but her will to live is very strong. Someone with less determination might have succumbed already, but your wife seems to have decided to live...I would not abandon hope yet", she had said gently. However, when he had seen _athelas _seemed to help Lothíriel and asked Maerien to prepare more_, _she had shaken her head.

"_Athelas _can be a powerful balm to the mind and soul, but only when used in reasonable amounts. Your wife may need its aid yet, so we mustn't allow her to become immune to its power", she had said, leaving him with nothing more than his hope.

With a sigh he lowered his head and opened his eyes. Instantly his gaze fell on his newborn son, and though his heart might be raw and bleeding, he still felt joy when looking at the boy he had thought to name Elred. For a child born prematurely, he seemed healthy and strong as he slept there in the arms of his father... Éomer shuddered once more, rejecting the idea of losing both his wife and unborn son in one go, though he knew it had been very close today – thankfully, Maerien had been able to turn the baby in his mother's womb, and couple hours later the child had entered the world. Elred's first intake of breath and the cry that had followed had been the one moment of relief Éomer had felt that entire night. He had been in silent tears when they had laid the child on the breast of his mother... a thoroughly exhausted smile had touched Lothíriel's face, and then she had fallen asleep. She had not stirred since. And he had no idea if she _would _wake up from this sleep.

In yet another wave of distress and nausea he looked away from Lothíriel's face and settled his eyes on Elred once more, to seek comfort in this new life. It was then, as he looked at his third child, that the realisation hit Éomer's mind.

There had been a time he would not have survived losing Lothíriel. For a while, she had been his lifeline, the motivation to stay sane and living – and to at last heal. Eventually it had passed, and he had remembered there was so much worth fighting for and living for, and he could not expect her to always carry him. But the truth was, if Lothíriel had died in those first dark months, he would quickly have followed her to grave. Even now losing her would be like the very sun had ceased to exist.

However, this moment, holding his infant son in his arms, Éomer knew it all had changed. Three young lives depended on him... three little children, much younger than he and Éowyn had been at the time of their parents' deaths, but just as undeserving of being abandoned and orphaned. He would not let that happen to his own offspring. Not when Elfwine was years away from being ready to take over. Not when Éomer's life's work was so far from finished.

Wounds had become scars, and while they sometimes would bother him, they did not haunt him daily anymore. Being a king demanded tougher skin than that. And how could he ever forget what suffering it had caused to his people when he had been taken captive? Such events could not take place again. There was no way he could allow it. As long as Elfwine was too young to rule the realm needed Éomer.

And still... at last he could understand the agony of his mother, the way she had wasted and withered before their very eyes. To lose the other half of one's self... no wonder it had killed her. But he could not succumb to that fate, even if he knew losing Lothíriel would mean that burying her he'd bury himself, too. He knew he could go on – he would have to – though it would mean living with an injury that would never heal. The prospect was a bleak one. Trudging through years like a man only half alive...

However, he had lived through south, and he knew he was strong enough. He had endured then and he would endure now. In the face of little Elred there were a thousand reasons to live.

The child shifted restlessly and opened his eyes, and Éomer guessed he was hungry. Quietly, as to not disturb Lothíriel, he got up on his feet – though he had a feeling not even a full charge of an éored would have woken her up now.

Elred was starting to whimper when his father laid him in the arms of the wet-nurse. Thankfully, Lothíriel had had time to pick one only last week, and the woman had been ready to step in on such a short notice. But even as this was necessary, Éomer quickly turned away from the sight of another woman nursing his son. There was something inexplicably wrong about it.

"Sire", spoke Osythe in soft tones, making him notice her presence only now. She had insisted to stay in the Hall for the night, and Éomer had been too distracted and beside himself to say anything against it. To be honest, he was glad she was here. She was gaining on years now, but she was still as brisk and hard-working as always. In many ways, the chatelaine of Meduseld had been one of the irreplaceable constants of his world even in darkest of times.

"Osythe", he greeted her and nodded at the elderly woman. Indeed, she was a comforting sight, making him feel as though everything else may fail but not her. He looked at her quizzically, "How are the children?"

"Scýne said they are fine. They'll stay in her and Éothain's home for the night... apparently Aedre was very successful in distracting them for the day, and Elfwine only asked about you and Lothíriel when it was bedtime", Osythe answered with a gentle little smile. Éomer nodded quietly and made a mental note of having to thank Éothain and Scýne for their aid. His elder children were better off with them right now – both were too young to understand what was wrong with their mother. Hopefully they would be able to return to Meduseld tomorrow... and see their new little brother.

"My lord... Prince Amrothos asked if he could see his sister", his chatelaine spoke again, jerking him back from his thoughts. Éomer looked sharply at the woman.

"No. She doesn't need guests right now", he informed her, his voice cool now. The mention of the prince did not bring him any familial affection, as it had in times before.

Osythe didn't speak right away, but by the look in her eyes he knew she saw right through him.

"He didn't intend any harm, Sire", she said gently.

"It doesn't matter what he intended", he snapped and glared at the chatelaine, even though a tiny voice at the back of his head was dryly pointing out she was hardly to be blamed for whatever Amrothos had caused to happen. His glare became a troubled frown, and he spoke again, "None of it matters if she is going to..."

The words simply would not form on his tongue. They did not have to, because Osythe knew very well what he meant. She got up from her seat and reached to place a hand on his arm, giving it a comforting squeeze.

"You mustn't lose hope now, my lord. Your wife is a fighter, and she has many reasons to live", Osythe said, searching his eyes with a plea in her own.

Yes, she is a fighter, she has proven that many times.

He met her gaze silently, unsure of what to say. The chatelaine offered him a smile and went on, "You look very tired, Sire. Go and get some rest."

He grunted as a response and decided perhaps she was right. It was not like he could do anything, and the day _had _been a long one. Who knew what tomorrow would bring?

After making sure Elred would be fine with the nursemaid for the night, and insisting he should be alarmed if any need arose, Éomer returned to the bedchamber with weary feet. Lothíriel had not moved since he had left her side, nor did she seem to be aware of it when he took seat next to her again. He let out a heavy sigh as he settled in the arm chair, his form slumping tiredly. He reached for his wife's hand and cradled it inside his own; as he regarded her pale, sickly face, he could feel the stone in his chest growing heavier. Perhaps it was only the fates dealing him his fair share, to sit here next to her wondering if she'd live to see another day...

"Don't go yet, my love... don't go when I can't follow you", he whispered, nearly choking on the words. "Don't go. We need you... we would be so lost without you..."

He buried his face against her hand.

"Lothíriel, I'm so afraid."

* * *

Cool morning's light eventually flooded in to wake him up. Éomer had fallen asleep next to the bed, resting his head on his forearms; he had no idea of how long he had sat next to his wife before passing out. At some point, her hand had come to rest on his. Had she done that, or him?

He fixed his weary eyes on the face of his beloved queen. Without the forgiving cover of night's shadows she looked even more frail than before. It was so wrong compared to her usual shimmering energy and vigour, almost like the woman laying in the bed was just a shade of the person he loved. The tightness in his throat grew as he watched her, desperate in the knowledge he could not help her win this fight.

The amount of light grew but still she slept, and he wondered if he should just let her rest. Then again, surely she should have something to drink and eat, too? And yet... after seeing how she had fought last night, he dared not disturb her peace now.

The strain of a night spent in a bad position ached in his neck as Éomer straightened on his seat, but he bit back his groan of discomfort. He rubbed the sore muscles with his hand and sat back, feeling strangely out of place and aimless. Somehow, his mind remained numb even when he thought of Erchirion's disappearance, and knew it was because he was always more or less addled when Lothíriel's well-being was so gravely at risk. As he looked at his wife, he knew this feeling was simply an indication of how much her support and help meant to him. Her rule in his absence, her love and guidance for their children, her care for the people, her readiness to defend the realm if he were not home... Lothíriel's presence was not only invaluable to the welfare of each man, woman and child in Meduseld, but for the very prosperity of the kingdom. And the fact remained it was she who had brought laughter back into these halls.

Quietly he left her side and exited the bedchamber. In the next one, Maerien was waiting with the wet-nurse, and Elred slept peacefully in the Elf's arms.

"Good morning", Éomer greeted them, wordlessly extending his arms towards his newborn son. When Maerien placed the child there, he went on, "How did the night go?"

"Very well, Sire. He already seems like an easy child", said the wet nurse with a smile.

"And your wife, my lord?" asked Maerien.

"She is still sleeping", he answered, his brow creasing slightly. The Elf took her cue right away.

"I would take a look on her, with your permission", she said softly, "and make sure everything is all right."

"Please, go ahead", Éomer said and took seat by the fireplace, holding his son close to his chest. Maerien gave him a smile and then she left the chamber, and for all he knew the King of the Mark might have been all alone in the world with his newborn child. He noticed that though Elred had been born prematurely, he was nearly as big as Elfhild had been. His fists were even larger than hers at the time of her birth, and Éomer wondered if his third child would grow into a large man. Perhaps it _was _for the better Elred had been born before his time...

He shook his head and frowned. Either way, he hated that Lothíriel had to endure such agony.

Thankfully, Éothain arrived then to interrupt a line of thought that could have become much darker. He promised to cancel all meetings for the day, and said the older children could stay with Scýne and Aedre as long as needed. Apparently both were fine, and Elfwine considered the whole thing very exciting. But seeing things had already calmed down, Éomer decided he'd go and fetch them in an hour or two. For one, he hoped seeing their offspring would cheer up his wife, too... if she were strong enough, that was.

Little less than a half an hour later, Maerien exited the bedchamber again. Her face did not reveal anything that she might have found out – an endlessly frustrating trait of the Immortal, as he had observed with Legolas several times. Getting up from his seat, Éomer looked at her warily.

"How is she?" he wanted to know.

"She is stable. It seems to me her breathing has strengthened since last night. With proper rest and some medicines I will prepare for her, I believe there is a good reason to be hopeful for her full recovery", Maerien answered calmly. The words nearly knocked him breathless with relief – _she would be fine – _and Éomer wavered on his feet. He knew the smile he gave to the Elven healer had to be a teary one, but he didn't care.

"Thank you, Mistress Maerien. I will be indebted to you for as long as I live", he said in a faint voice. It was of no use to try and cover his reaction.

"I'm glad to be of help", she said and smiled slightly. Then suddenly, while Éomer was still basking in the dizzy relief, her expression became a solemn one. "My lord, there is one thing you should know."

"What is it?" he asked doubtfully, his earlier reprieve diluting just by the sound of her voice.

"Sire, even if your wife should otherwise regain her full strength and health, I do not think she will conceive again", Maerien said slowly, watching his face closely to see what this information would cause.

But Éomer didn't know how to react. On one hand, it was probably a good thing his wife wouldn't have to bear more children, seeing what a strain on her well-being it was. On the other, he couldn't help but quietly grieve the loss of a large family. Truth was, he'd have loved to have six or seven children, to fill these halls with love and laughter.

He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. He had to focus on what was real, not on visions of what a foolish mind might wish. That his queen was healthy and happy was more important.

"But otherwise she will be fine?" he asked at length.

"I do believe so, yes", the healer responded.

_And after all that you have already received, that is quite enough. _

"Thank you, mistress", he said and nodded. His wife would be all right.

Lothíriel was awake when he entered the bedchamber moments later. She had not regained any colour, and if she were indeed stronger, one would probably need some Elven skill to notice. Even so, she smiled when she saw him with their newborn son.

"How do you feel?" Éomer asked as he approached the bed.

"Tired and sore. Don't worry about me", she said dismissively, her eyes fixing on the child. Lothíriel lifted slightly her arms, "Please."

Carefully he placed the babe into her lap, making sure that he lay there comfortably. Then again, Elred did not even stir at being moved – he was still fast asleep. But he didn't have to be awake to bring such a smile to his mother's face that it was almost like all signs of the difficult labour were gone in its light. She looked at him in silence, her expression suggesting she would have been content to stay so for hours.

"He looks just like Elfhild when she was born", Lothíriel spoke eventually.

"Aye, he does", Éomer agreed softly – he had not moved his eyes from his wife and son for one second. Then suddenly he perceived the small frown on her face, and immediately he felt worried. She spoke before he could ask anything.

"There won't be another like him", she said, her voice wistful. He knew right away what she meant.

"We already have him and his brother and sister", Éomer reminded her gently. "That is more than I ever thought to receive. And I don't want you to suffer like that again. I want you to be well – I want you to stay with us."

She looked at him now, her eyes softening. Gently he reached for her hand, holding tight to her fingers.

"You are right, beloved", Lothíriel agreed at length. "Forgive me. I'm being foolish."

Éomer gave her a smile and reached to kiss her brow.

"It's fine, dear heart", he told her gently. Then, pulling back again, he spoke once more, "Lothíriel, I was thinking of going to get the children from Scýne and Éothain's house. Do you feel strong enough to see them?"

The eager look on her face was all the answer he needed.

"Yes, I do."

* * *

**A/N: **So, another little horselord has entered our story, though not without some difficulty. Perhaps unexpectedly, it is also what makes Éomer understand what a long way he has come since the events of _A Light that Endures - _that he can and will go on, no matter what happens, even if Lothíriel is gone. But no one ever said going on would be easy.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **I hope to show more of the kids growing up, but all in good time! :) As for Erchirion... we'll see!

**Catspector - **And that is precisely my aim! I hope to keep this interesting not only to my readers, but also to myself as a writer. :)

**Ginga2Sam** \- He definitely does freak out a bit, especially when he sees how much in pain Lothíriel is. I'm afraid Erchirion's fate will remain a mystery for the time being, so wait and see!

**Thalia - **Wow, you have certainly had some busy months! But I'm glad you're back again. :) Always good to see a familiar name in my reviews!

**brandibuckeye - **Yes, things really did move pretty fast in last chapter. I'm happy you liked it! Also thank you! I'm often a bit worried about how I've managed to write Legolas and his interaction with Lothíriel (and other mortals, really).


	59. Chapter 59

The midday after the night Lothíriel had given birth to her third child, Amrothos saw his brother-in-law again.

He had been asking about his sister since the morning, but servants and guards were not very helpful or co-operative – when he had tried to talk his way into the royal chambers, two riders of the Royal Guard had closed his way, telling him the Queen was receiving no guests at this time. After his initial shock of realising that for once his silver tongue was not working its magic at all, he had become angry and reminded the guards he was not a guest but Lothíriel's own brother. However, even this had no effect whatsoever, and he guessed Éomer had told them not to let him in. The scene could have turned much worse, hadn't Éothain intervened that very moment.

"You must be patient, Prince Amrothos. You will serve no one's interests by outbursts – in fact, it will give Éomer more reason to think ill of your presence here", said the former captain as he escorted the younger man back into the Hall. Then he had given Amrothos a comforting smile, "I'm sure Lothíriel will ask for you once she is feeling well enough to see people."

Though he was disappointed, the prince had seen the sense in Éothain's words. So he had allowed himself to be lead back, poured himself some ale, and waited. He was only halfway through the tankard when the King of Rohan came inside with his children, who had stayed with Scýne and Éothain for the previous night. Éomer was carrying Elfhild, but Elfwine rushed before them, his dark hair billowing as though the wind from the plains was still caught in it. The lad's gaze fell on Amrothos and his eyes lit up.

"Uncle!" he exclaimed and came running for the prince, who couldn't help but smile. Elbereth, it was as though the child grew more like Lothíriel every time he saw him.

"Hello there, laddie!" he greeted his nephew, who laughed when Amrothos lifted him up high and then sat him on the bench.

"I've got new little brother, Uncle", Elfwine said, smiling as bright as a sunbeam.

"So I heard, lad. Are you very excited to see him?" Amrothos asked.

"I am!" answered the child, and he looked like he would have wanted to say more, but it was then his father arrived.

"Elfwine, come along", Éomer spoke, and Amrothos thought he had never heard the man speak so sharply when addressing to his children. At first he wondered if his brother-in-law was somehow angry with the boy, but then he felt the stare of dark cold eyes on himself, and knew the cutting edge of that voice was not meant for Elfwine at all.

"Can Uncle come too?" Elfwine asked his father and his gaze shifted between the two men. He too had noticed something was off.

"Not now, son", Éomer said, his voice softening ever so slightly, though the glance he gave to his brother-in-law was anything but. He reached his hand towards the child, "Your mother is waiting, Elfwine."

The little prince looked uncertainly at his uncle before climbing down again and taking his father's hand.

"Éomer, please -" Amrothos started, but he was given no chance of saying anything of importance.

"Do not speak to me, lest I forget you are kin", said the King of Rohan in a cool, almost virulent voice. The Amrothian prince was not the only one taken aback by his tone, for Elfwine too looked up at his sire in confusion and uncertainty.

Amrothos spoke no more. He fell back on his seat again, silently staring at his sister's husband. The man turned his back on him and went, his children with him; Elfwine cast a glance at the prince over his shoulder, perhaps wondering what had just taken place.

Feeling defeated, the Prince of Dol Amroth rubbed his face. He had known to expect this, and yet... yet seeing the accusation in Éomer's eyes stung unbearably. And the worst thing was, he had no idea of how to get the forgiveness of such an unrelenting man.

_What on earth am I going to do now? _

* * *

Éomer had insisted she rest a little while before he brought their children to see her, and Lothíriel agreed – in part because she did feel tired still, and in part to appease his concerned mind. When Elfwine burst into bedchamber, and Elfhild in her father's arms was shrieking with laughter, the Queen of Rohan was glad to have slept for a bit. To keep up with a pair of energetic children could be exacting even on a perfectly healthy person.

Be it as may, she was happy to see her little cubs. Elfwine climbed on the bed on his own and Elfhild was placed next to her by Éomer, and their faces bore beaming smiles. Both babbled enthusiastically how exciting it had been to stay with Elva and Getrúwian last night, and at first it did not seem like either of them realised their mother was not the same as usual. However, eventually Elfwine wrapped his arms about her neck, and in a small voice he asked: "Are you sick, Mother? Will you get better soon?"

Looking at her son, his concerned little face and dark eager eyes that were so like his father's, Lothíriel felt something in her chest tightening. She felt it deeply and intensely now: there was no choice but to get over this, somehow.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll be fine", she told her son and kissed his forehead. He smiled a bit and suddenly switched to Rohirric, though usually she and her children spoke in Sindarin to each other. But perhaps it made sense that he'd softly whisper he loved her in the language of his father's people. Though she felt the tears fill her eyes, she was able to hold them back – she didn't want to startle her son and daughter.

Éomer, however, took up his cue.

"Come along, you little rascals. Your mother is tired – we mustn't wear her down any longer", he said and scooped up Elfhild when Lothíriel had given her a kiss. Grudgingly Elfwine complied, though he tried to negotiate for a chance of playing after dinner with his mother and sister all the way out of the royal bedchamber. Meanwhile, the Queen of Rohan was busy trying to wipe dry her eyes.

_I must get better. I can't leave them... I can't leave when there is an entire life yet to be lived..._

* * *

The second morning after Elred's birth saw Lothíriel's condition slightly improved and she felt a bit stronger after a chance of resting in peace and quiet. So, she was able to make Éomer indulge her and bring the children see her again, though it was only for half an hour. Though she had done her best to insist she was feeling better, certain fussy horselord was not so easily convinced. Well, in his defence, her being a weepy mess over smallest things did seem to prove his point – Elfwine had brought her some early flowers and he seemed very proud of it, but his efforts and childlike attempts to care for her had Lothíriel on the verge of tears once more.

When Éomer had ushered the children out and left them with their nurse, he returned to her side in the bedchamber. Lothíriel gave him a smile and he did his best to return it, but he still seemed concerned.

"How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Perhaps a cup of tea?" he shot questions at her, but Lothíriel waved her hand dismissively.

"It's fine. I'm just being overly sensitive... it'll pass when I get better", she promised him. Her husband let out a sigh and sat down next to her, covering her hand with his. She looked gently at him, "I'm sorry. I know this is hard on you too."

"Don't worry about me, foolish woman. I can manage as long as I know you're not under any immediate threat", he told her firmly, and she could feel the corners of her mouth lifting as though on their own.

After a moment's silence, she spoke once more.

"Beloved... is Amrothos around? I would like to see him... I have made him wait too long as it is", she said hopefully.

His reaction came to her as a surprise. The mention of her brother immediately darkened the expression on Éomer's face, and she could practically feel the air bristling around him.

"Lothíriel, you can't be serious", he said sharply.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she asked, frowning in confusion.

"He's the reason you are lying in the bed right now! His thoughtlessness caused this! Have you already forgotten how close it got that you died giving birth?" he snapped now, raising her ire as well.

"How can you even ask me that? Of course I haven't forgotten", she answered, her voice just as vehement. But when she went on, she forced herself to speak more calmly, "He's my brother. No matter what happened when he came to Edoras, I know he would never mean harm to me. He wasn't being thoughtless – he just told me because I _made _him do it."

"It doesn't matter what he meant or that you coaxed him! His intentions would be utterly insignificant if the Mark lost her Queen!" her husband growled and shot up on his feet, towering over her like a mountain.

"Why do you speak of him as though he was guilty of some crime? As if he had actually killed me? Amrothos would never do such a thing! He must already feel awful – he doesn't need you blaming him, too", she pointed out. But her words had no effect whatsoever.

"He knew you were with child! And if he has been reading your letters, then he knows perfectly well how difficult it was! Yet he storms here and just blurts out the news the moment he sees you!" Éomer said, his voice angry and harsh.

"So you say they should just have kept me in the dark? About _my own brother?!" _Lothíriel demanded to know, her own voice rising now too.

"I'm saying he shouldn't have acted like a tactless moron and spill very serious news to a pregnant woman with no regard to her well-being!" he barked back.

"The previously pregnant woman would like you to stop treating her like she needs to be locked away in some tiny dark space, lest someone accidentally breaks her!" she hissed at him.

"The previously pregnant woman should stop for _one second _to think of how close it was she became a _dead woman, _leaving behind three small children and a half-mad husband!" Éomer answered, and all the while his voice was at the verge of turning into a yell. He then took a deep breath, and before she could say anything, he went on again, "As far as I'm concerned, he has no business being here. He has no right to see you – any one of you – after his complete disregard towards you."

Now Lothíriel sat up straight on the bed, and she would have leapt up on her feet had she trusted them to carry her. However, the sudden movement seemed to have all the impact standing up would have had, as she saw her husband flinching backwards.

"That is not your decision to make!" she said loudly and glared at him. "Amrothos is my brother. He's my family just as you and the children are. And no one, not even you, has the right to tell me not to see him!"

Silence fell. Both remained as they were, breathing heavily – if the confrontation had happened in words, it was now in the furious glares they had fixed at each other. But that pair of dark eyes, so terrible in their anger, could not frighten her. Lothíriel lifted up her chin and met his stare defiantly. Her baser nature was providing her with a hundred hurtful things she could say, but even now, at this moment when their wills were against each other rather than united to work together, she was not able to actually wield that blade of words against him.

Éomer gave up so quickly she barely had time to comprehend it.

"Very well", he merely said, turned on his heels, and strode out.

When Amrothos arrived about an hour later, he looked somehow diminished. He seemed smaller and he didn't move with his usual carefree strut, from which one would recognise him even from afar. His eyes were red and puffy, speaking silently of the sleepless nights he had behind him. His hair, to which he usually paid careful attention, was unkempt and tangled. Altogether one had to just give him one look to know he felt keenly responsible for the situation.

"Lothíriel! Oh, merciful Nienna, I'm so sorry about everything!" he exclaimed when he saw her, sitting against some pillows in the bed as she waited for him. He flew to her side and more or less just collapsed on the floor.

Gently she reached for his hands.

"It's all right. I don't blame you for anything – you don't have to apologise to me", she told him and smiled. Amrothos looked up at her and blinked, looking like he had actively thought she would be upset with him.

"This is such a nightmare and I feel so horrible. I thought you'd be angry with me... your husband..." he mumbled, watching her face carefully as though he thought this was just a calm before the storm.

"I'm sorry about him. He's... well, you know Éomer. He can be a bit extreme sometimes", she said and shook her head, wondering if he had been very harsh with her brother. She hadn't seen her stubborn horselord since their argument.

Amrothos let out a choked little laugh and he held her hand a bit tighter.

"For a moment I thought he might just strangle me or something", he muttered and shook his head. "I really am so sorry about this all... I didn't mean to tell you the news like that, and Father insisted I must be careful – break it to you as gently as I can. But I've never been very good at keeping things from you. So the moment I saw you, it was just... I couldn't keep my mouth shut the way I was supposed to", he said, looking down like he was afraid to meet her gaze.

"It's fine, brother. It's not like I actually let you do it the right way", she reminded him.

"Still", he sighed and glanced at her, his clear grey eyes pained in a way she had not seen before. "Still, I should have known better. The whole night, I kept thinking you'd die, and I was so afraid... I thought I might have to go home and tell Father my actions caused him to actually lose one child... if I'd survive Éomer's wrath, that is."

He shuddered then and shook his head, "I've never seen him like that. I thought he wouldn't even let me see you."

"Well, if it depended just on him, you wouldn't be here now", Lothíriel said softly. "I told him I disagreed... it's been a while since we last fought like that."

"Elbereth", Amrothos muttered in an intimidated voice, "you two fighting has to be terrifying."

He frowned then and looked at her seriously, "I'm sorry about that, too. This is not a time for you to be arguing with anyone."

"It wasn't like I could give in to him. I had to see you", Lothíriel stated and cradled his hand between her own two. She lowered her eyes to consider it, feeling the tightness in her throat as she thought of what she had been meaning to ask him. She tried to clear her throat, "Amrothos... do you think Erchirion is... is there any hope of finding him?"

"I wish I could say for sure, but I don't know. Don't worry about it, though – Father has sent many ships and men to look for Erchirion. They are hunting for him even as we speak. I would have gone too, but Father asked me to come and tell you... he wanted you to hear it from a member of family. Well, obviously it didn't go as well as he hoped", he answered slowly.

"Do you have any idea of what may have happened to him and his ship?" Lothíriel asked.

"We can only guess. Maybe there was a storm and he was driven far into the south, and he's sailing home this very moment. Maybe his ship wrecked and he needs to travel home by land, or he's stranded on some deserted island... who knows? No matter what, we can't lose hope so soon. After all, Erchirion is an experienced sailor, and so are his crew", Amrothos said and managed to smile at her. She pondered on his words, idly chewing on her lip as she thought of their absent brother. Amrothos had to be right – Erchirion had just been swept away by some storm wind, and he would come back as soon as he could. The alternative... well, it was too much to think of, especially now.

"I wish I could do something", she sighed softly.

"What, you are not planning another search party or something of the sort?" Amrothos asked, clearly in an attempt to lighten up the mood a bit. She looked at him wryly.

"I'm not in a condition to look for a handkerchief in my own chambers, and even if I were, you-know-who would throw a fit of epic proportions", she said and shook her head. "No, Amrothos. It's different now... I'm not just some foolhardy unmarried princess anymore. Too many lives depend on me, and I have duties here I can't abandon. And last time, I had something to work on. I had a vague idea of where to go and what to do. But you said no one has seen Erchirion... so no one knows where his path went astray, either."

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but her voice still came out thin when she went on, "Still, it doesn't make any of this easier."

"You don't have to save everybody, sister", Amrothos said, his tone gentle now.

"It's just... what if he doesn't come back?" she asked, barely able to keep from trembling. Once more her eyes filled with tears, though she hated that she had this reaction. It was like crying was the only thing she was doing these days.

"Please don't cry", Amrothos hurried to say and wrapped an arm about her shoulders. "It's going to be fine. I promise. They'll find him and bring him home."

Lothíriel closed her eyes and tried to hold back the tears as he gently rubbed her back. In a small voice she mumbled, "Sorry. I know, I'm a mess."

"Don't be stupid, sister. You have every right to be a mess at this time", her brother said sternly. He looked at her and frowned, "Wonderful – now I've managed to make you even more upset. As if Éomer didn't already have enough of a reason to kill me."

She let out a weak little scoff and wiped a hand across her eyes.

"He'll have to go through me first", she said and tried to smile, but didn't quite succeed. His own was more genuine and gently he hugged her, holding her as though he feared he'd break her. She sighed and rested her head against him, too tired to try to pretend otherwise. It wasn't even dinnertime and she already felt exhausted.

Amrothos noticed it too.

"You don't look so good, sister. Maybe I shouldn't have come", he said, watching her with a crease on his brow.

"No, no. I wanted to see you. I just get tired faster than usually", she said nonchalantly.

"That's all the more reason for me to get lost", Amrothos said briskly and stood up. Gently he brushed his lips against the top of her head, and he murmured, "Get some rest. Don't worry about this so much. That is an order!"

"Well, in that case", Lothíriel muttered and settled back down again with a sigh. She would need plenty of sleep before she would be able to face certain angry horselord...

* * *

**A/N: **Here comes a new chapter for the new week! I hope you enjoy it. :)

Though there is no question on whether Lothíriel loves Éomer, I think she occasionally forgets what it means to be with someone who worries so much. He often masks it, and people may take him for a reserved man, but I think ultimately, Éomer cares and loves very deeply. And to my experience, such a love may sometimes pit him against some things or even people, like Amrothos sees here.

As a sidenote, I must admit I really enjoyed writing that little bit with Elfwine!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**brandibuckeye - **Hope you liked the bits with Amrothos in this chapter, too! You are right, Éomer confronting him would probably be pretty ugly. However, in this chapter he's still too busy worrying about Lothíriel, and her demand to see Amrothos comes before he has time to seek him out. I have a feeling their argument will make Éomer reconsider the matter - and his own reasons of being angry with her brother.

**Jo - **Thank you! :)


	60. Chapter 60

The sounds of someone moving about in the chamber eventually woke Lothíriel up. She felt disoriented at first, and could not tell at what point she had fallen asleep. Was it minutes or hours since she had talked with Amrothos? It felt like the former, at least... but then, as she slightly opened her eyes, she noticed the light of day had already left the chamber. Instead, some candles and the embers in fireplace gave illumination for the room.

She also knew the steps of the person whose movements had disturbed her sleep. How could she not know them, when she had memorised this sound in her very heart? Lothíriel nearly called out to him, reached her hand to seek for his, but then it occurred to her that the last words they had spoken to each other had been in anger. So, unsure of what she should say, she stayed still and firmly closed her eyes again.

But then, before she had time to really feel upset over their earlier argument, the mattress dipped. Then a hand carefully touched her arm.

"Beloved?" Éomer asked, his voice very soft, without a barest hint of anger.

"... yes?" she mumbled warily, cracking open her eyes again.

"Sorry to disturb you, but..." he started quietly, and then hesitated before continuing, "... but I thought I should apologise sooner than later."

She breathed in and out, momentarily convinced she was somehow hearing wrong – she had never known Éomer to be someone who relented easily or quickly once he had made up his mind about something.

"I just wanted to tell you I am sorry for what I said before. I was wrong, and I shouldn't have yelled at you", he spoke, lowering his eyes. His expression became apprehensive as he continued, "I was – still am – so worried about you, and... I suppose it made me blind to how I was doing the very thing I accused Amrothos of: causing you concern and grief when I should be supporting and taking care of you."

In a burst of emotion she let out a strange little noise that could not be called either laugh or a sob. She sat up as quickly as she could, and then she threw her arms about the man sitting next to her. He gasped softly in surprise, but recovered very quickly; he pulled her close and held her, though not quite as tight as usually. She knew it wasn't because of any lingering wariness caused by their argument.

The embrace went on for a long while, but neither of them spoke. No words were needed to convey her forgiveness, after all.

"So you're not angry with your oaf of a husband?" he asked after a while, and Lothíriel pulled back. Once more she was about to start to cry, but at least now she felt like her heart only held relief and joy.

"No, I'm not", she managed and sniffled. Her little smile didn't seem to convince Éomer, because he was frowning.

"You're crying", he said quietly and brushed fingers across her cheek to wipe away the moistness there.

"Seems like I can't help it. Stupid, I know. I don't remember being this weepy after Elfwine and Elfhild were born", she said and shook her head, but her words caused his expression to become softer again.

"Well, what can you do, having to endure inconsiderate idiots who call themselves your family?" Éomer muttered and grimaced. He then shifted closer to kiss her brow, and he spoke softly against her skin, "I really am sorry. It's just... very few things scare me as much as the idea of living in a world without you. Can you understand that?"

"I do, love. I understand it better than I could tell you", Lothíriel said in a soft voice – she was able to hold back some dark tones from entering it. Yes, she could remember the time after he had been injured in battle all too well.

He nodded quietly and spoke again after a moment's silence.

"Even so... no matter what I personally think of him, I have no right to tell you not to see your brother. I was being foolish", he said at length.

"Hmm. That you are over-protective sometimes is no news to me", she murmured, relaxing against him once more, too tired to try and correct his opinion on how responsible Amrothos really was. Only this moment, when she was safely in her horselord's arms, did she realise how much she needed him right now. She was just glad he had understood that before her.

She looked up at him then, "What made you change your mind?"

He let out a gruff little sound.

"Your words had me thinking... you had reminded me of what I disregarded in my anger and concern, and so by the time your brother came to talk with me, I was not so blindly furious with him anymore, though I can't say we are yet even. Be it as may, he's much more decent than I give him credit for, to be honest. He said it's all the same if I'm angry with him, but he pleaded not to take it out on you, especially when you need me", he said and absent-mindedly ran his fingers through her hair. Lothíriel smiled silently herself and made a mental note of having to thank Amrothos later on.

"I'm glad you heard him out", she said softly and settled more comfortably against him. The idea of falling asleep there was starting to become a tempting one, when he spoke again.

"Lothíriel, I... I'm sorry that your brother has gone missing. If there is anything I can do, just tell me", he said. She could not help but shiver, thinking of Erchirion... where was he now? Was he safe? From Éomer's experiences in captivity, she knew all too well just how bad it could be...

"Of course", she muttered and glanced at him. "I don't think we can do anything right now, not before Father's men find out more."

He nodded and there was a moment's silence between them. Eventually, her horselord shifted.

"Have you had anything to eat? And perhaps Maerien should take a look at you... if you feel strong enough, I could bring the children to see you afterwards..."

He was about to move from her side, but she caught his hand in hers. Éomer looked at her inquisitively.

"I love you", she merely said. Her words made him smile, and he reached to kiss her brow.

"I love you too, my dear heart", he said, brushing his hand across her cheek. "Don't worry about a thing. I promise everything will be all right."

* * *

It was one late afternoon, less than two weeks after the birth of the new little prince, when Osythe entered the royal chambers. She was carrying a cup of tea and some biscuits fresh from the oven – her little everyday way of looking after her liege-lord.

He was seated on a sofa near the fireplace, reading a letter – there was a pile of them on a table next to him, messages from friends and allies. Beside him Lothíriel was curled up under a light blanket, using his thigh as a pillow. His free hand he rested on her shoulder, moving it occasionally to run his fingers through her hair. She slept so tightly, she didn't even wake up when Osythe came in. These days, Éomer King would often do what work he could by his queen's side, making the chatelaine wonder if it were because he feared his wife might just wither away in his absence.

"Shh. Don't wake her", he spoke softly when he saw Osythe, and she gave him a reassuring smile.

"Of course", she replied quietly. "I thought you might appreciate some tea, my lord."

The King smiled now too, laying aside the letter he had been reading.

"Thank you, Osythe. You are too good to me", he said as he accepted the tray of tea and biscuits. An affectionate look passed across his face when he saw her offerings – she had not forgotten how fond he had been of raspberry jam as a lad.

"There is no such thing, Sire", she remarked, leaving unsaid how over the years she had come to regard him the son she never had. And that was all the more reason for her to worry for her mistress, who still slept unaware of their conversation. As any mother who wanted to spare her child from heartbreak, Osythe was just as reluctant to see her liege-lord suffer the loss of his beloved wife.

"How is she today?" Osythe asked, keeping her voice down as she glanced at her queen.

"A bit better, I think. She was on a good mood today. Not as tearful", Éomer replied, resting his free hand on his wife's shoulder. Such tenderness was revealed on his features, the kind she had never seen in the time before he had met Lothíriel. It was strange how one person's arrival could change you so much... Osythe trembled when she realised it would change him just as much if his queen passed away.

The King looked up at the chatelaine, "Do you think you could serve poached fish with mint one of these days? It's her favourite – it would make her glad."

"That is a good idea, my lord. I will see to it", Osythe said and bowed her head – while fish was not traditionally a frequent part of Rohirric diet, it had been introduced to the meals of Meduseld since Lothíriel had become the Queen. Having been raised by the side of the sea, she had grown up eating fish in many different forms and to indulge her, Éomer sometimes sent riders to acquire fish from the villages near Entwash.

Her liege-lord nodded silently and gave her a small smile before his eyes fell on his queen again. He seemed lost somehow, and much younger than his years or experience, and Osythe sought for words to comfort him with, but nothing seemed good enough.

"She will get better, Sire", Osythe said eventually, and he made a low rumbling sound at the back of his throat. Whether he believed her or not, she couldn't say.

Perhaps it was this sound, or their voices had broken through her dreams, but the Queen shifted and sighed, moving closer to the man next to her and mumbling his name. The chatelaine knew this was her cue, and as quietly as she could, she retreated from the scene. She was not needed here, not now... but she would see what she could do about that poached fish.

* * *

Even if the reconciliation after their fight had somewhat relieved Lothíriel's heart, it would have been wrong to say she was not uneasy. Erchirion's disappearance weighed on her mind, and while Éomer did not show any open hostility towards Amrothos, his sharp glances revealed he had not entirely let go of his assessment that the youngest of three princes was the cause of Lothíriel's present frail health. However, for her sake, he kept his opinions to himself. Unfortunately, it turned out he was not the only one harbouring such ideas.

Though she did what she could to make Amrothos feel welcome – which was not much when she was still bed-ridden – she could see he grew quickly restless in the capital. For even if Éomer were not being directly hostile with Amrothos anymore, he wasn't capable of pretension either, and Rohirrim quickly picked up their king's attitude. Not to mention, there were those in the court who were especially eager to try and make their way to Éomer's good side. As a result, Amrothos would often find himself in awkward situations, though he retained friends in the capital even at this time. So, when he took his leave less than two weeks later, apologising profusely to her as he went, Lothíriel hid her disappointment that he was going so soon. She reminded herself he would be of more use joining search parties to look for Erchirion, and while she was not in her usual strength, she was not at death's door either and so he could go home with the knowledge she was on the mend.

It wasn't perhaps such a surprise that she should be having some nightmares at this time. One night two weeks after the birth of her youngest child, she had one particularly vivid one. In the nightmare, she was once more back on Captain Cairon's ship, trying to cross the slippery deck while a storm tossed and threw the vessel on the waves. It was odd, how clearly she could still remember the details of that fateful night on the ship, though years had already passed. However, now she was looking for Erchirion, trying to yell his name, but the raging wind more or less blew away her voice. Each time she was able to reach the other side of the deck, to search the cabins below, the ship under her feet swayed steeply and she slipped back... and somehow, though the wind kept howling, she could still hear a voice mocking her – a voice whose owner was long dead and she hadn't thought of him in years. Opash was there on the ship, too, and he kept telling her all the horrible things that would happen to her brother if she didn't reach the other side of the deck...

Her nightmare was interrupted by hands gently shaking her shoulders and a voice calling her name. She startled awake, her breaths coming as quick shallow gasps while the echo of storm wind still shrieked across the years. Wildly her eyes sought for something to fix on, until she recognised the shadowed face above herself.

"... everything's all right. You just had a nightmare", he spoke in calming tones that silenced the tempest of her dream, and Lothíriel turned towards him, curling up in his reassuring warmth. Éomer kept murmuring softly, mostly in his own tongue, and in the sound of the Northern speech the stormy sea became the green hills of Rohan. Eventually her shivering began to subside, her heart assuming a smoother pace. She let out a deep sigh and relaxed at last.

"What did you dream about?" asked her husband, having noticed she had calmed down.

"There was a ship in the middle of a storm... I was trying to find Erchirion", she answered at length and cringed at the memory. Though it was vile, perhaps it wasn't strange that such recollection should haunt her now. She muttered, "That man was there too. He kept mocking me – telling me if I could just cross the deck, I could save my brother."

"What man?" Éomer asked, his voice suspicious. She swallowed.

"You haven't forgotten Opash, have you?" she asked him. She wasn't surprised when he growled and she felt him tense. As though a memory so ugly could just fade away.

"No, I haven't", he said in a harsh tone. He breathed in and out, to push away whatever unpleasant thoughts it had roused in his mind. When he spoke once more, his voice was collected, "He's gone, Lothíriel. I made sure of that."

"I know, and it's not like I often think of him. I suppose it's just... I've been thinking about Erchirion so much, and it has made me remember many things about our journey. I keep wondering what happened to him – if he got lost in a storm, or if someone has harmed him..." she explained softly, frowning at the thought.

"I see. Perhaps it was inevitable, though I can't say I'm pleased to hear the memory of that fiend has come back to haunt you", he murmured and the grip of his arms about her tightened slightly.

"That's all he is, dear one. Just an unpleasant memory", she reminded him and settled her head more comfortably against his shoulder. He made a low grumbling sound and turned his head to kiss her.

"Go back to sleep, love. It's still hours before dawn", Éomer said, pulling the blankets back around them. She decided his suggestion was a good one, and men like Opash (especially when they were long gone) were not worth her while. So she sought for a comfortable place against her horselord, and it wasn't long before she drifted back in sleep.

* * *

As previously when Lothíriel had given birth to a new prince or princess, there was a feast in Meduseld three weeks after Elred's birth. It was slightly smaller this time – not because Éomer somehow had less appreciation for his newborn son than his older siblings, but because of his wife's prolonged recovery. She absolutely insisted to be present at the feast, if only for a little while, and with Osythe he had decided it would be easier for the Queen if the gathering was not very large.

Lothíriel had seemed cheerful on the morning of the feast, but when she sat getting ready for the event, Éomer noticed the slight crease on her brow.

"Are you feeling well?" he asked her, thinking the prospect of her having to face a crowd was a bad idea after all. "You know, you don't have to participate if you don't feel like it."

She looked up at him and smiled slightly. She seemed pale still, which she had tried to mask with a red gown that borrowed some glow to her complexion, but there was no hiding this was not the same woman who usually walked in the Golden Hall.

"It's fine. I was just thinking about my family... I know their time is used better in searching for Erchirion, but I would give anything to have them here tonight", Lothíriel said softly and laid down her hands in her lap. He knew she had been missing her father especially, which had perhaps reflected on her letters too, seeing how Imrahil was sending her messages almost every week now.

He moved to her side and gently kissed the top of her head, while she wrapped an arm about his waist.

"We'll go and visit them once you are feeling better", he promised her, and she smiled as a response.

Though it was her first formal appearance after Elred's birth, and there was obviously common curiosity in the air, his queen took her place next to him with the same dignity and confidence as in times before. As far as Éomer could tell, her presence was happily received; many of the well-wishers that approached them also told her how glad they were that she was on the mend.

Even so, after some hour's time, she said she was feeling tired, and when Elred was in the wet-nurse's care, he escorted her back to the royal chambers – he wanted to just pick her up to spare her from more effort, but knew Lothíriel wouldn't appreciate such manhandling – so that she could rest. When he asked if she wanted him to stay, she smiled and shook her head, telling him to go back and enjoy the feast.

"I'm probably going to pass out the moment my head hits the pillow, so it's not like I would provide you with my dazzling company", she told him lightly, and he couldn't help but chuckle. It was good to see her good humour re-emerging.

So he returned to the Hall, and truthfully he was glad for this night, and he hoped it would lift the general mood among his household. Hopefully, they were also reassured that their mistress would soon be her usual self. He had a fairly pleasant time as well, at least until he had the misfortune of overhearing a conversation obviously not meant for his ears.

It happened when Éomer had briefly ventured into the royal chambers, to leave there his coat which had become too warm in the crowded hall. Upon his return some voices speaking caught his attention, and his position in the shadows of great pillars concealed him from the participants of the discussion.

"... no, she doesn't look like she has much left. She would've got better already, if there were a chance of that. My wife gave birth six times and she was always on her feet the very next day", spoke one voice – an Eorling lord from the Westfold, going by the name of Wonred.

"You think he could ever admit his queen is not going to make it? The sky is more likely to fall", said another one, speaking grimly. It was Captain Osgar, the man who had been in charge of the Watch of the Wold before Marshal Deorwine had settled there permanently. He had served as the new marshal's second in command ever since, though Éomer was not certain how Deorwine was able to endure the man's ever-sour attitude.

"Doesn't matter what he admits or not. You mark my words: the Queen will be buried before next spring, and I think he is about as inclined to replace her as Théoden was", came a third voice – it was Hereward, another lord from the Westfold. Now Éomer was beyond ready to intervene this loathsome conversation, but Wonred spoke before he could announce himself, and the man's next words had him freezing in disgust and shock.

"Well, let me just say that my oldest girl, Wulfa, would be happy to try! If she takes after her mother, she should be just fine in providing the King's House with more princes and princesses – real Eorling heirs with no interference from Gondorian bloodlines..." Wonred boasted, causing Hereward to chuckle and Osgar snort in something that was probably meant to be a laugh.

The feeling of dizziness and being sick to his stomach was a familiar sensation, though this particular blend of nausea and anxiety had been mostly gone for years now, only returning to him in some hours of night when he'd remember the south in his nightmares. But those instances were mere shades of _this, _and there was no Lothíriel next to him to anchor him.

Somehow, he was able to move still, to stride across the Hall and push his way through the crowd. If he looked quite out of his mind, he did not know and he did not care. Éomer only knew he had to get away from the maddening noise and get some fresh air, before the spinning in his head became unmanageable. Some still working part of his mind screamed him to get out as fast as possible, before he lost it in the front of a large audience...

The cool air of evening hit against his face as he burst outside and past some guards and guests, down the steps of the Hall... why it was the stables he headed for, he couldn't say.

In the dark, warm shelter of the stables, where the sounds of Meduseld were but a distant drone, his focus returned once more. Perhaps it wasn't odd that the stables should be such a place of comfort to him – it was a place firmly tied to so many years of his life, and in there he was always reminded of who he was. As though he were aware of this thought, Silfren a few stalls away let out a soft little nicker of recognition and greeting.

"Are you all right?" asked a human voice from behind – he didn't turn to face her, because though Éomer considered Ceolwen a dear friend, this part of him was not something he could still share comfortably with anyone else than Lothíriel.

When he didn't answer right away, she spoke again, gentler now, "I heard that nonsense too. Don't worry about it – if you ask me, it was just empty talk."

He had not noticed the Shieldmaiden nearby, but then again he hadn't exactly been paying much attention. And while Ceolwen had a way of making herself seen and heard, it seemed that her time as the Captain of King's Riders had taught her some impressive skills.

"She can't die. She can't..." he muttered in a harsh voice, his nails digging into the wood of the railing by one empty stall.

"And she won't. Lothíriel is already getting better. What do those fools know? If they think the Queen is going to just give up like that, then they have no idea of who she is", Ceolwen said calmly, stepping closer to him. He flinched when she placed her hand on his forearm, but didn't move away – he really didn't need her worrying over his mental well-being. Éomer took a long, deep breath and momentarily closed his eyes.

When he spoke again, he was able to summon a steadier tone, "Those lords from the Westfold... they supported Feran in the Kin-strife, didn't they?"

"Aye, they did", said the Shieldmaiden in a grim, quiet voice. He had known she'd remember, just as she had never forgotten anything important during her time as his captain.

"All that talk about 'real Eorling heirs'... I can't believe the poisonous seeds he sowed are still alive", he muttered and shook his head.

"If they are, it's a pitiful and withered existence. Rohirrim know what is what, and a couple of idiots talking big to feel better about themselves does not impress me", Ceolwen stated, speaking the words like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Now Éomer had to smile, and he could feel the last of his queasiness pass. Now, as he looked at the Shieldmaiden, he could see it _was _obvious. And he was glad she had been there to remind him.

"Thank you, Ceolwen. You are a good friend", he said to her, his words heartfelt; to himself, he thought Elfhelm was indeed a lucky man.

She smiled at him.

"I do my best, my king."

* * *

**A/N: **And here comes a new chapter! I hope you enjoy it. :)

Though Éomer has his own opinions about Amrothos' part in Lothíriel's present state, he eventually understands he can't let those opinions rule his reactions, least of all towards her. So he's fairly quick to relent, because he realises she needs him now, and she needs him to support her. He does so to his best capacity, but it doesn't undo his concern for her. This, as you probably guessed, is a factor in his little panic attack later in the chapter. I would think that while he's generally doing well, his PTSD can still be triggered on an occasion, especially when there's a lot of pressure on him already. Thankfully, Ceolwen happens to notice his reaction and is there to help!

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **Glad to hear that! Hope you enjoy this new update. :)

**Catspector - **Yes, that is exactly what I had in mind - Éomer overreacts because he's so worried about his wife. But luckily he snaps out of it quickly enough and sees that he's not helping her by behaving like this. I think his talk with Amrothos could have been very ugly, but the argument with Lothíriel makes him reconsider it, and so their interaction was probably quite cool and even polite.

**brandibuckeye - **Precisely! When his loved ones are not all right, his temper is very likely to make an appearance!


	61. Chapter 61

_April 7, Edoras_

The news came a month after Elred's birth.

At the time, Lothíriel was still not her usual self, though her strength and spirits had been slowly improving. She guessed it had to do with the disappearance of her brother – the ever-present worry in her mind, the fear that he might not be found, were holding back her full recovery. Yet even with all the rest and medicines, perhaps the chief reason she got through those first days and weeks was the patience and care of her husband. Éomer endured her shifting moods and nightmares, and though she was too unwell to engage in any intimate occupations, he never expressed any frustration. In a moment of weakness, she wondered out loud how he was able to endure her at this time. Hearing the question, her horselord gave her a serious look.

"Do you think I have forgotten how patient and steadfast you were with me when I thought myself a hopeless wretch?" he asked her, effectively silencing all her doubts. With a teary little smile, she said she loved him, and when he pulled her into a tight embrace, she felt so grateful it almost made her dizzy.

In the end, it was probably better that Father sent the message not directly to her, but Éomer, and she guessed he was hoping that her husband would be able to handle the matter more delicately than Amrothos. At any rate, Éomer had been dealing with her more sensitive moods – something her brother had never seen in her – and thus knew her reactions slightly better.

On that day, Lothíriel was in the royal chambers with her children. Elfwine and Elfhild were playing on the floor, and Elred was napping in his cradle next to her. She was reading through some inventories of Meduseld's storehouses and scribbling notes on a piece of parchment. While the kitchen orchard of the Golden Hall had improved their self-sufficiency in producing spices, there were still some that had to be purchased from the markets of Gondor – the colder weathers of Rohan simply were not suitable for the more exotic products.

Her focus was disrupted by the arrival of her horselord. When he entered the room, both children on the floor laughed in delight – Elfwine went for him running and Elfhild crawling. With a smile, Lothíriel watched Éomer grab and lift them both to kiss them, and lively sounds of Rohirric filled the chamber as the children chirped at their father. Quietly, she had to wonder at how much their carefree, innocent joy could lighten one's heart.

"... son, I really must talk with your mother. But if you'll be a good lad, we'll go and see Silfren before dinner", Éomer said to their first-born now; recently, the child had been showing increasing interest in the silver stallion and horses in general. This never failed to bring fatherly pride to the little boy's sire, and she knew her husband was already looking forward to everything he could teach his heir about being a Rider of Rohan.

Apparently Éomer's words satisfied Elfwine, because he didn't complain when the nurse herded out the two children. Elred remained behind, still fast asleep in his cradle.

Lothíriel looked warily at her king, searching his eyes to understand what was on his mind. When the children were out and his expression became sober, she felt concerned.

"What is it?" she asked him right away.

He didn't answer immediately, but came silently and sat down next to her. The slight frown he wore did nothing to console her and impatiently she reached for his hand.

"I have some news. Not all of it is good", he said slowly, looking like he was trying to choose his words very carefully.

"Is it about Erchirion?" Lothíriel demanded to know. The stone on her heart had not disappeared ever since she had heard of her brother's disappearance, but now it was twice as heavy.

"Aye, it is", Éomer answered and looked straight at her. "Your father sent me a letter – I only just received it. He says there is a good reason to believe that Erchirion is alive."

Her moan of relief came abruptly, almost violently, and she hugged tight her husband. He returned the embrace, but she sensed he was not quite as delighted as her; then again, he had said not all of it was good. This prompted her next question.

"What is the bad news, then?" Lothíriel asked and pulled back to regard him. He let out a heavy little sigh.

"It takes some explaining, beloved", he said quietly.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere", she said briskly. Then, softening her tone, she went on, "Please. It's worse not knowing."

"Of course", he agreed and idly picked up her hand. He considered it for a moment before speaking again, "You know your father has sent men and ships to search for your brother. He also assigned some spies to try and find out if there were any rumours about Gondorian sailors... they travelled all the way to Umbar as fast as they could. You see, your father had figured that in a port as big as Umbar, someone might have heard or seen something."

The mention of the city in Harad had her trembling. Lothíriel had not forgotten the sights and sounds and smells of that place – the narrow streets, fragrances of perfumes and spices, the sun burning high in the sky, the dust and the smoke... she shook herself and looked at Éomer, "Did they find out anything?"

"They did. From different sources, they were able to construct an account of what had happened to your brother... bystanders, sailors, fisher's wives – there's always someone you can buy in Umbar, or that is apparently what the spies said. Anyway, what they found was there had been a terrible storm at the sea, and Erchirion's ship was caught right in the middle of it. Fortunately, he and his crew made it through the tempest alive – only, the ship took some serious damage. It was very unlikely the vessel could make it back to some Gondorian port. So, Erchirion decided to take a risk and seek shelter in the Havens of Umbar", Éomer explained in a low voice.

Lothíriel breathed in and out as she processed this information. At the time of her quest, Gondorians had been able to make their way in the city of Umbar. However, now as she listened to her husband speak, she could tell things had changed since those days. Then again, she and her companions in their disguises had hardly been as visible as an Amrothian warship would surely be...

"What happened to him?" she asked in a strained voice.

"That requires another explanation entirely, to be honest", Éomer said and frowned. "You see, when we were in the south, we did not have a very good idea of the games of power in Umbar. Until that time, the situation in the city was fairly stable. Can you guess why that was?"

"No, not really", she answered and shook her head.

"It was because Umbar was _ruled. _Not from any place outside, or by a coalition of powerful merchants and pirate lords. We didn't understand the dynamics of that city, and that is why we had no idea of just what happened when Captain Cairon's ship went down in the sea. You see, there was no alliance. There was just one man, weaving a web like some fat spider pulling the strings..." Éomer said, his voice turning into a low, growling sound.

"Opash", Lothíriel understood and looked at her husband in surprise.

"Aye. According to your father's spies, Opash was the true ruler of Umbar, controlling its people by fear and manipulation. Other merchant lords were under his thumb, half the thieves and murderers in the city worked for him in one form or other, and his mercenaries made sure people stayed in line. You can imagine what his death caused to happen", he said and sat back, rubbing his forehead.

"I suppose 'slaughter' is not far from truth", she said quietly, feeling cold all of a sudden.

"More or less. With Opash gone, there was no one holding the threads in their hands anymore. The dynamics of the city changed instantly... in the end, it was no one else than his cousin, a man named Ushtar, that came on top. One by one he had secured Opash's old connections and relationships, and because he was far more ruthless than his dead kinsman, he was able to overcome the others struggling for power", Éomer said, his face set into a stony expression. He shook his head, "Though I can't say I mourn him very deeply, Opash was more of a trader. If he were still alive and in charge, the arrival of Amrothian Prince in Umbar would probably have intrigued him. He would have tried to make some deal with your brother... perhaps he would have had enough of a political eye to see the potential consequences. Be it as may, Ushtar had a different idea. The moment he heard there was a prince from north in the Havens, he sent his mercenaries on Erchirion's ship. Imrahil's spies say that according to the witnesses in the Havens, a battle took place and many died, but your brother was taken alive. It seems that Erchirion is currently a prisoner in Umbar."

For the longest time, Lothíriel could not speak. What Éomer had just told her was a lot to take in; she sat quietly, just breathing and trying to remain calm. She felt like she was reliving an old nightmare, and in her mind's eye she could see Erchirion... in that image he was in a cage, and she didn't have to wonder why her mind should supply her with such a thing. Dare she even guess what these news might have made Éomer feel?

"Are you all right?" he asked now, his voice quiet, lacking of its usual colour.

"I'm fine", she said, though her throat felt tight with emotions she was trying to hold at bay. She looked up at her king, "What does that man want? Has he sent any demands to my father?"

"He didn't say, but that might not mean anything. The situation may have changed since Imrahil wrote the letter", Éomer answered. Suddenly, he looked tired, like a man at the end of a very long day.

For a moment, she didn't know what to say. So they both sat quiet, thinking of Lothíriel's errant brother. It was horrible to think what was happening to him now... and if she would ever see him again. She had been so relieved to know Erchirion was likely alive, but now her joy had grown cold. If this Ushtar was even more ruthless than Opash had been...

"What happens now?" she asked. "What does my father intend to do?"

"He has asked for my help. He means to wage war against Umbar", her king answered gravely and determinedly. In the steel of his voice she recognised what Erchirion's fate made him think and feel. Even if it had roused painful memories, those were in the shadow of cold resolution and fierce will.

The overwhelming flood just wouldn't end. Erchirion captured, another war in the south, Éomer leaving again... she looked at him and judging by his expression, he knew what she was thinking, and what questions she would ask.

"I know, it's complicated. With Aragorn in Arnor, we are probably going to have to break some rules of propriety. However, I think he'd agree. Gondor cannot stand the capture of Prince Imrahil's own son, and they will need the aid of Rohan. It's not just about any friendship, Lothíriel – it's also the integrity of our realms. Letting them keep your brother as a prisoner is effectively an invitation for attack. The last thing your father wants is pirates rebuilding the might we destroyed in the southern campaign", he told her. Silently she listened to him, fidgeting her hands absentmindedly as she mulled over his words.

"So you will be riding to war again", she said at last, her voice quiet and slightly sad, for she couldn't hide that emotion.

"I must, beloved. Your father needs all the help he can get... but this is not just for Gondor. I also owe a debt to your brother, Lothíriel. When Cairon's ship went down, and Éowyn and Aragorn were stranded on that rocky island, Erchirion was the one who found them. As Éowyn's brother I owe him... and I owe your father. Not only because he saved her from the fields of Pelennor, but also because he let you look for me, and he didn't try to take you away when I desperately needed you. Your Amrothian House has done too much for me to ignore their distress", Éomer answered and cradled her hand inside his own. She looked at their joined limbs, trying to make sense of a confusing storm of feelings which were now roaring in her. There was dread that he should be leaving his family again, the fear for Erchirion and desperate wish to have him home... even a tiny part insisting she should ride south with Éomer.

"How soon will you ride?" she asked him.

"I have already given order to muster riders. I will be departing as soon as there are enough men for war", he answered, and she knew the date would arrive in less than a week, if Rohirrim remained true to their efficiency. Her first thought was to be angry with him, to plan war before even speaking to her of it, but on the other hand she did understand the need for fast preparations. Who knew what torments Erchirion was enduring in captivity?

So she nodded silently and swallowed her ire, knowing he had made the best decision the situation allowed. Lothíriel lifted her eyes and looked at her horselord, already feeling that ache which was always there in his absence.

"Do you think you can free him?" she wanted to know, trying to bury her own feelings – she had no business being upset, not as long as Erchirion was in danger.

"I have high hopes for it, beloved", Éomer said, his eyes confident and his face that of a warrior king in his prime. "Your father's fleet is strong and the Rohirrim will remember how to fight in the lands of the south. If this merchant lord won't surrender your brother, we will put his city between the hammer and anvil. He will beg us to take Erchirion away."

* * *

Upon his departure, Éomer had said the campaign in the south could very well be a long one.

"It all depends on how well Umbar can hold against us. I have faith it won't be impossible to take the city eventually... the merchants and pirates of the Havens do not command the loyalty of Haradrim tribes, and even if they did, I have a feeling we would have at least some allies among the peoples of desert", he said in that morning he was set to leave, and Lothíriel was helping him to prepare.

"You are thinking of Fanara and her son", Lothíriel said softly.

"Aye. However, I don't know if the situation will call for it. Time will show", he said and looked away. Even so, she saw the brief flash of his eyes and the shadow of years ago. But it was only a flash and she knew it would not prevent him from fighting in earnest.

When he was ready, he wrapped arms about her, and looked at her in slight concern, "You will be all right?"

"Of course. I'm already much better. And I promise I'll let Éothain help me", she reassured him and rested her head against his shoulder. She wouldn't cry, not before him – he shouldn't have to ride to war thinking she couldn't take this. Softly, she spoke again, "I know you will be very busy, but please write to me as often as you can."

"I will do that, dear heart", Éomer promised and kissed her, slow and gentle. At the end of it, he murmured against her lips, "Don't worry so much. I promise we will free your brother."

Only an hour later, his family bid him farewell; it was familiar now, seeing him ride to battles and faraway fields, and yet Lothíriel wondered if she'd ever get used to it. However, she was able to hide the aching of her heart, and instead she sent him on his way with a smile.

But when he and his riders had gone, Elfwine reached for Lothíriel's hand, and the child looked at her quizzically.

"When will Father be back?" he asked, his clear voice tearing at the already throbbing sores of her heart. Yet somehow, she was still able to give him a comforting smile.

"I don't know, sweetheart. He is going to look for your uncle Erchirion", she told her son, who frowned as a response and mulled over the words. She had already explained to him that his uncle was in trouble, and he had agreed that his father should go and help free his mother's brother.

"When will I get to ride with Father?" Elfwine asked then, tiptoeing as though that might help him catch one more glimpse of the King's Company.

"You must grow first, dear son", she said, already knowing it would be even more horrible to let her son face the dangers of war. Thankfully, it would be years before that day.

Unaware of her thoughts, Elfwine nodded solemnly.

"I will grow just as tall and strong and Father", he decided, and Lothíriel was suddenly reminded of the dream that had first revealed her first-born was on his way – the dream in which she had seen him like he would be years from now. Realising he would not always remain her little cub, she pulled Elfwine closer to herself.

_Oh, you will, son. You will. _

* * *

_June 7, beyond the walls of Umbar_

With a gasp, Éomer emerged from the nightmare.

His heart was pounding, the cold sweat pearled on his skin, and he was still convinced he was only seconds away from being forced into a cage... strange, that he should still remember the stink so clearly...

Calming down and remembering where he was took longer than usually, and he knew it was because of two reasons. First of all, Lothíriel was not there next to him, to bind him firmly to reality. Secondly, being in this southern land was proving to be a fruitful environment for recurring nightmares. Recently, he had remembered many things and details that had faded as life had ushered in new, kinder days.

He sat up on the edge of his cot, still breathing hard. One would have thought he would have already got used to dark dreams... but then, they rarely did hold him long after he had woken up. Past six years had given him plenty of shield against any demon of the night. Concentrating on those memories – his wife laughing, the first time Elfwine had called him father, their children playing on the floor of the royal chambers – cleared his mind of shadows like a golden beam of sun.

Eventually, his heart returned to its ordinary pace, and Éomer let out a heavy sigh. It was this waiting, he deemed – had they been able to engage the Umbarians in a battle, it would have been easier to keep the memories at bay at nights.

The idea of going back to bed did not invite him, but fortunately the soft voices outside implied the dawn was at hand. So he got up and after a quick wash, he pulled on some clothes. He left his armour on its stand, to wait for when his esquire arrived, but buckled the sword by his side nevertheless. Outside the walls of Meduseld, he never felt quite right without Gúthwinë at his hand's reach... especially here on these deserts, where the memory of his darkest hour was so near.

The guards by the doorway of his tent bowed their heads as their king emerged. He bid them good morning and breathed in, to savour this time of day when the heat had yet to build up. That was another thing he had not missed about this corner of the world.

Éomer noticed he was not the only one up at this early hour, because Deorwine and Folcred were seated close to the fire nearby, with steaming mugs of tea in their hands. The former had been the one to lead the éoreds through the inland road, while Éomer and his riders had sailed from Dol Amroth with Imrahil – the silent agreement had been he should avoid the road where Sapat had ambushed him years ago. While he knew he was not in such a unstable place as he had once been, Éomer had decided it wiser not to tempt the fates while he had a war to fight. Not to mention, sailing with his father-in-law had given some time to make their plans and discuss what was ahead.

"Did anything happen during the night?" he asked, coming to a halt close to the fire, and fixing his eyes on the city of Umbar. The question was more out of starting a conversation and less for a need to know – the guards would have waken him up if the situation had somehow changed.

"A few spies were caught, but that's about it", Deorwine replied, while Folcred pushed a mug of tea into Éomer's hand. He received it with quiet thanks and breathed in the fragrant scent as he still stared at the city of pirates. It lay like a pale jewel against the scrubby deserts, still bearing the hand-print of Sea-kings after the many ages of the world that had passed. This place was not going to be conquered just by a cavalry or by a siege from the sea, and that was the reason reinforcements from Gondor were marching southwards this very moment. Moreover, any day now several of Imrahil's ships should land on shores nearby, and bring Gondorian engineers with belfries and other machines of war. Then, hopefully, this war would move forward and Erchirion's freedom would be that much closer.

"And the men? What is their mood?" Éomer asked, glancing at the two riders.

"Mostly fine, Sire. Some of them are growing anxious, but the majority are in fairly good spirits", Deorwine said. It was slightly odd to have him as the second in command for the Rohirric forces; in times before, Elfhelm had managed that task when Eorlingas fought on foreign fields. However, Éomer had decided to let his friend stay behind. With three small children and overseeing the defence of the Mark, Elfhelm had his hands full.

"We just need to wait for a little while more. The reinforcements will be here soon", Éomer said and sipped his tea, turning to gaze at the city once more. Imrahil had sent messengers to Aragorn as well, and though the King of Reunited Kingdom hadn't come himself, he had agreed Erchirion must be freed. At his orders, Faramir had prepared more forces to be sent southwards... and as soon as they arrived, the situation was bound to change.

"My lord, do you think they will try to use Prince Erchirion once they realise what they're against?" Folcred asked his king.

"Most likely they will try to think of something", Éomer said at length. "But I am sure, and Imrahil is too, that they will not harm him."

"May I ask, why is that?" the rider wanted to know.

The grip of Éomer's hand became tight about the mug of tea. His mind was grim but clear when he thought of the worst alternative. Perhaps the glance he gave to the man was enough, but he still spoke out loud the consequences of his brother-in-law's demise.

"Because they know that if Prince Erchirion dies, not a single stone will be left standing of their city."

* * *

**A/N: **And here's an update! Things aren't so good for Erchirion right now, but help is near, and I think everyone is determined to free him. Still, I do believe this time has brought back many memories, especially to Éomer. But I don't think it's anything he can't deal with.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Thalia - **I do my best! And it's good to know you're still on this ride, even if you don't review so often. :)

**Jo - **Actually, I think Lothíriel and Éomer don't really pay attention to them - not in public at least. If they did, that could make it look like such insolent opinions are worth their while.

**brandibuckeye - **Glad you liked it! :) Now she more or less _has _to get better, what with Éomer away fighting a war again.


	62. Chapter 62

In the sun of high summer Lothíriel felt at last fully restored to her usual good health. Daily walks in the garden or on the streets of the capital brought colour back to her face, some light in her eyes, or so Osythe at least reported. The Queen of Rohan hoped this was true and that it was something Éothain might report to Éomer, too – her health was the last thing he should be worrying about while fighting a war.

But even if she were better, it didn't do much for her anxiety for the outcome of the campaign in Umbar. However, she tried not to ask too much in her letters to Éomer – she knew him and Father were doing all they could to free Erchirion, and her pestering them with questions would not be helpful.

So she tried to pour her frustrations and longings into daily work, of which there was plenty: the realm did not stop when the King was away. The summer seasons also saw an influx of travellers in the capital, and in the bustle of merchants and craftsmen one could easily forget that the realm was actually in war right now. But it also meant Lothíriel could not move on the streets of Edoras quite in the similar way as in the first days of her life as Éomer's queen. Now her visits to the markets and businesses of the city saw her accompanied by several heavily armed guards.

On one such occasion towards the end of July she decided to take Elfwine along. Firstly, she deemed it was good for the people to see their Crown Prince from time to time. Secondly, she hoped her son might learn to know his folk from early on, and feel at home on the streets of Edoras. It was heart-warming to watch him, see his enthusiasm and curiosity for the things he perceived – in such moments, Lothíriel could almost forget the war was still going on in the south and she was none the wiser on the matter of Erchirion's imprisonment.

The streets of Edoras were alive with noise and stir, but the guards made them way and kept an eye on the multitude of people around them. Elfwine held his mother's hand, and occasionally he'd lift his free one to point at this or that thing, and ask what it was. Merchants were more than happy to indulge the Queen and the Prince, and they received a variety of samples of food from the stalls: pieces of dried meats, seasons berries, a bite of roll made in Gondorian style, roasted and honeyed nuts... eventually Lothíriel had to steer away from the food stalls, as she didn't want Elfwine to lose all his appetite for dinner.

She had already decided they should head back to the Golden Hall – Elfwine was starting to get tired – but on their way, they came across a stall of traders from Dale. Their fellow countrymen often came to sell their goods at the markets of Edoras, and they were well-received; they were descended from that same stock of Northmen as Eorlingas, and there was ancient kinship between the House of Eorl and the Lords of Dale. Still, the traders from the northern city did not much remind her of Rohirrim. They were not as tall, and fewer of them were fair-haired. Not to mention, they did not regard her in that straightforward fashion Lothíriel had come to know among her northern people.

Their greetings were enthusiastic as Lothíriel and Elfwine stopped by their stall. The goods they were selling consisted of various wooden toys, some of which even seemed to have come from Dwarven masters of Erebor. She made a mental note of stopping by later and buying something for Ceolwen and Elfhelm's children – purchasing anything now would just have her son pleading for a new toy.

The traders seemed determined not to let her leave empty-handed, and she was busied with two bargaining merchants trying to tell them no – consequently, she was not paying as much attention to Elfwine as she normally would. As a result, she could not prevent one of the traders of picking up her son.

"What a handsome little fellow you are! A true prince if I may say so", said the merchant to the little boy, who looked at him in wide-eyed wonder.

Seeing the stranger holding her son, Lothíriel moved towards them sharply.

"I did not give you a permission to touch him. Put him down immediately", she ordered, her voice lashing out like a whip.

"But my lady -" the man started, making no move as to let go of the child. She stepped closer, wishing to grab her son, but reluctant to hurt or startle him. The air of the marketplace had tensed, and she could feel many eyes on them, waiting to see what would happen next. But Lothíriel kept her eyes sternly fixed on the merchant holding her son.

"I said, _put him down", _she snapped now, and the words were accompanied by the hiss of metal as the guards around them half unsheathed their blades. This quite direct threat had colour draining from the merchant's face, and he complied, placing Elfwine on ground slowly as though he was dealing with some kind of a dangerous animal that might be provoked by a single careless movement. While the little prince did not seem to understand what was amiss, he did move towards his mother, and Lothíriel pulled the child close to herself.

Perhaps her reaction had been exaggerated, but her son was the heir to the throne, and strangers from distant lands had no business touching him without any leave. In Meduseld, people would be constantly picking up her children, holding them, flying them high in the air, giving them piggy-back rides and chasing them around. However, those were people she knew and trusted, unlike these traders. She wondered if her indignation was the common understanding, because now that Elfwine was next to her again, the atmosphere of the market seemed to ease as well.

One of the Dalish merchants, older than the others and possibly their leader, hurriedly moved around their stall, bowing at her all the way.

"Please, forgive us, my lady Queen – Dain here meant no disrespect towards you or your son", he said and bowed once again, his eyes anxiously searching her face.

"Is that so? You could have fooled me", Lothíriel said coldly.

"I am truly sorry, my lady – he just reminded me of my nephew, I wasn't thinking..." Dain stammered, and he too made a series of clumsy little bows. The obvious distress and shock on his face had her relenting somewhat: while the man had been thoughtless in touching her son, he did not mean harm. Nonetheless, she had to make sure these men – and anyone who might misunderstand their boundaries – knew what was not allowed.

"I recommend you start doing that, Dain. You are here as guests to the King of the Mark, and disrespecting his family is disrespecting _him. _You would do well to remember that", she announced in a loud, steady voice.

"Of course, of course... I am truly sorry, my lady Queen", he said quickly, bowing at her once more.

Deciding her point was made, Lothíriel took Elfwine's hand and turned, feeling they had seen enough of the markets for the day. Once they were making for the Golden Hall and the crowd had been left behind, she cast a sharp look at the guards escorting them.

"If you ever let a stranger pick up your prince again, you may consider your service in the Royal Guard finished", she informed them sternly; perhaps her words were harsh, especially considering few of them were rather young members of the household, but this was something she needed to make absolutely clear. Judging by the ashamed looks she saw on the guards' faces, her point was understood.

"Yes, my lady", they spoke in unison, and she eyed them for one more moment before turning and fixing her eyes ahead again. Her son walked quietly by her side, his hand firmly clasped inside hers. His earlier excitement seemed to have vanished altogether.

Lothíriel got the explanation when they were in the courtyard of the Hall, and her son tugged slightly her hand. She looked down at him, seeing a troubled look on his face.

"What is it, son?" she asked him, crouching down before him.

"Are you angry, Mother?" Elfwine asked in a soft, unsure voice.

"Sweetheart, I'm not angry with you", she told him gently, reaching to brush a lock of hair from his face. Though they had the same colour of hair, his was not as soft or tame – rather, it had a way of billowing about his face and sticking to every direction, except when Elva would work some of her braiding magic on his hair.

She let out a small sigh and looked directly at her son, "I just got worried. I thought that man might do something to harm you."

"But why?" Elfwine asked, as innocent as only a child could be.

"Because of who you are, Elfwine. Your father is a great king and he has fought in many wars, but there may be people out there who think that is bad. So they might come here and try to harm you or your siblings", she explained him as gently as he could. It tore at her heart, that he couldn't live in a carefree world free from such evils... but he _was _the Crown Prince of the Mark. The sooner he learnt, the better.

"You needn't be afraid, dear child. If anyone tries to touch you or your sister and brother, they will have to deal with me", she told her son, who smiled a bit at hearing her words. Then he bounced to hug her and with a laugh, she received her first-born in her arms.

* * *

At dinner, Elfwine did not seem to have much of appetite, though usually he rather liked the smoked lamb with potatoes and carrots. Lothíriel was not very concerned, though – she suspected it was just the treats and little samples he had eaten at the markets. Moreover, perhaps the affair with the Dalish merchant and the words she and the boy had shared afterwards were still on his mind.

So, after dinnertime she saw through the nightly routine of baths and putting her children to bed, though she lingered at Eflwine's bedside for a little longer than usually. She told him that she loved him and she'd never let anyone hurt him, and his answering smile brought a similar expression to her own face. She kissed him goodnight, made sure his blankets were securely about him, and then blew out the candles. Thinking of the letter she had received from Éowyn, Lothíriel stretched and made for the royal chambers to tackle some of her correspondence before going to bed.

Then in the morning, when she was getting dressed with the intention of having breakfast with her children, the royal nursemaid came to her door.

"My lady Queen!" her voice called to Lothíriel from the next chamber; she was just about to finish braiding her hair to keep it away from her face.

"What is it?" she answered, tossing her hair over her shoulder and adjusting her tunic. After breakfast and a ride with Frost, she'd hole up in the royal study with Éothain, and the afternoon would be spent in meetings with the council.

"My lady, Elfwine Prince won't wake up. I think he's sick", said the nursemaid, and her words immediately filled Lothíriel's mind with concern. Since their birth, her children had been very healthy, conquering common colds quickly or completely avoiding them. However, there was something in the nursemaid's voice that alarmed her... making her feel like this was not an ordinary sickness.

She was on the move before she could even think of it. Lothíriel exited the room, pushed past the nursemaid, and hurried to the royal nursery. Elfhild and Elred were awake already, and she gave them quick hugs and kisses, but then her eyes set on her eldest child.

Elfwine still slept, curled up under his blankets so that only a mop of dark hair was at sight. When Lothíriel carefully peeled back his covers, she immediately saw his face was glowing with what could only be high fever. This was confirmed when she touched his forehead and felt how hot it was against her fingers.

Ignoring the weight on her chest, she quickly glanced at the nursemaid, "Send for a healer. Then take Elfhild and Elred away – I don't want them getting sick, too. And ask someone to get me Osythe as soon as possible."

"Yes, my queen", said the maid briskly, and she hurried to fulfil the orders. Meanwhile, Lothíriel's attention was already back at her first-born.

"It'll be all right. Mother's here. Everything will be all right..."

* * *

Lothíriel had sometimes thought she had already learnt to know what was fear, for she had known it multiple times in her life since her childhood. She remembered the abstract fear of war in her earliest years, fuelled by the constant talk of the enemy in the east. As days had grown darker and more violent, she had feared for her father and brothers, though she was safely kept in the city of Dol Amroth.

A more childish fear had been that of future, of telling the truth; now, after years of being a wife and a mother and a queen, she could point out all the numerous ways she had been foolish in trying to hide her identity from Éomer. But it was a kind of thing they could now laugh and joke about, though all of it had seemed quite serious at the time.

Then the first southern campaign had taken place, her beloved had disappeared, and she had lived in the fear that he might have died and she would never find him. Maybe it could have provided her with crippling terror had she not been so convinced he was alive. And in finding him she had somehow forgotten about being afraid for a while – Lothíriel mused it was because he had needed her to be strong and fearless.

Later on, in times when Éomer would ride out, she'd always carry fear like a burden, for she knew the dangers of the world; when they carried him back from the battle, it seemed that this burden had become a mountain, weighing down her shoulders. It was not just the dread of losing a beloved husband, but also of her own weakness. To rule a kingdom while raising its next king, and to do these things alone, had seemed like near impossible task.

Indeed, she had thought she had known all shades of dread, could bear it when needed. However, when she sat next to her dangerously ill child, she understood just how little she knew of being truly, mind-numbingly afraid.

Yet Elfwine was just one of the many who contracted the sickness, brought into Edoras from the north by the Dalish merchants. Éothain said it had been many years since the last time a pestilence had raged in the land, for Rohirrim were a hardy people and they did not easily succumb to disease. It did not comfort her though, not when her son was fighting for his life.

The night she sat by his side was the fourth in a row. The days had passed in something of a haze, and Lothíriel had trudged through it mechanically – every spare moment she would stay with Elfwine, her heart sick with fear and worry. Without Éothain's help and support, she doubted she could have done this, especially when Éomer was away. His steadiness helped her to think clearly and calmly of the ways to help those who had sickened like Elfwine, to get them the medicines they needed; similarly, Scýne was irreplaceable in looking after Elfhild and Elred when Lothíriel was otherwise occupied.

Reaching to bathe Elfwine's hot skin with a cool compress, she sighed to herself, trying to fight that lump in her throat that never seemed to go away these days. How neglectful she must seem to her younger children! Yet how could she leave her first-born's side, when each breath he took could be his last?

His breathing was ragged and slow, his skin hot and sweaty against her hand. His eyelids fluttered in some feverish dream, and Lothíriel felt a sob building at the back of her throat, for she couldn't help him. Desperately she hoped that Éomer could be here, and there had been moments she had almost written a letter to beg him to come home. Somehow, even in the time he had relied and depended on her strength, he had always been a source of courage and determination for her. However, she knew how foolish it would be to ask him to come home now: the letters between them took nearly a month of travel, and even if he were able to leave his duty of leading the Rohirric cavalry, he would not be back in time to make a difference. Not to mention, there was no way she could intervene with the campaign to free her brother. She had to endure this without Éomer.

There was a sound of the door opening, but Lothíriel did not turn to see who had entered. However, she quickly recognised the uneven sound of Éothain's limping as he approached.

"How is he?" asked the former captain, his voice low and grave.

"Not any better. The medicines don't seem to do much for him... the healers even suggested leeches, and I drove them out", she answered, grimacing at the thought of the affair. She didn't think her son was strong enough to survive such a treatment, and this thought combined with the strain of past few days had made her explode – no doubt the entire Hall had heard her yelling obscenities at the healers as she chased them out of the royal chambers.

"Aye, I heard", Éothain said, confirming her suspicion. When she glanced at him, she could see a gentle look on his face. He spoke again, softer now, "Why don't you go and get some rest? Neglecting sleep like this isn't good for you."

She shook her head.

"Thank you for your concern, Éothain, but I don't think I can. I have to stay here, in case he needs something", Lothíriel said and looked again at her son.

"I could ask someone to -" he started, but she did not allow him to finish the sentence.

"No, it's fine. I need to be with my son", she told him, somehow able to keep her voice steady and firm. Yes, she had to be here, in case Elfwine didn't... _no. _She could not even think of that. Perhaps he knew somehow or saw something on her face, because he moved slightly closer and touched her shoulder in a comforting gesture.

"He'll get better soon. I'm sure he will", he gently said, but she was not able to look at him or answer. So she just nodded silently.

When Éothain left a bit later, it was quiet in the chamber again, except for Elfwine's laboured breathing. Time and again she'd readjust his blankets, or return to bathing his glowing forehead, hoping to see any change. Though she had been sleeping only a few hours per night, she did not feel tired at all. Then again, Osythe would probably tell her it was deceptive feeling, and that it was only a matter of time she'd collapse from exhaustion. But she couldn't, not as long as Elfwine needed her. So the hours passed and it became dark, and she only moved from his bedside to add some peat to the fire.

Around midnight, she noticed his breathing became even more difficult and his sleep restless. The freezing knot in her stomach tightened and she felt like she could scarcely draw breath from the distress growing in her mind. Carefully Lothíriel lifted her son in her lap, hoping that it would ease his sickened lungs; Elfwine let out a quiet little whimper as she positioned him there against her chest.

"Shh, it's all right. Mother's here. It's fine, sweetheart", she murmured and rocked him in her arms, her eyes blurry with tears.

_Please, don't take him from me, he's so young, he has barely had a chance to live... _her thoughts ran frantically, resisting the dark thought that kept growing with each ragged intake of breath. And she knew it might just drive her mad if she lost this child, for into her love for him was wrapped all the fear and hope she had felt before he had come into the world. Elfwine's conception and birth had released her of an excruciating burden, and his existence had given her so much, that she knew she could not bear losing him. Who knew what his passing might do to their family, or his father, who was already so scarred by pain and grief?

"I love you, Elfwine. I love you so much..." she whispered into his hair, and even as she spoke those words she could feel the tears running down her cheeks.

* * *

The soft patter of rain against the window was the sound to summon Lothíriel from the land of dreams. When she had fallen asleep, she couldn't remember as she blearily blinked her eyes. Her neck was stiff from a night spent in a bad position, but she paid attention to the ache only for a brief moment, for as her mind cleared, it focused on the child in her arms.

Elfwine was quiet and still, and at first her heart picked up a terrified pace, but then she realised she could feel him breathing. It came easier now and the rasping sound was nearly gone. She held him a bit tighter, wondering if this was a turn for better – if Estë had heard her frantic prayers...

Her son shifted in her arms and he lifted his face, looking at her with eyes blurry with sleep. Yet even if he was only half awake, Lothíriel could see that the glow of fever had lessened. He looked confused, perhaps wondering how and when he had come to be in his mother's arms.

"Good morning, sweetheart. Are you feeling any better?" she asked him, fiercely hoping that the worst was over.

"Yes, Mother", Elfwine replied and gave her a sleepy little smile. Seeing that expression, she was close to bursting in relieved tears. Then he laid his head against her shoulder once more, and she did not have the heart to move him back to the bed. She could let him linger there for a little while more... then she'd call for healers to check on her son – though she'd make sure leeches wouldn't be mentioned.

And hopefully, tonight she could sleep restfully in the knowledge her children were safe.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update with some Mommy Lothíriel! Though she loves dearly all three of her children, I think her relationship with Elfwine is slightly different at times. After all, for a while before his birth she thought maybe she'd never have any kids. So I was interested in how she might feel if Elfwine's life was somehow at risk. I hope it was interesting to read!

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **We will see! :)

**brandibuckeye - **It could be helpful in laying some ghosts to rest, but we'll see about that. I think generally Éomer is in pretty good place, so some memories are not going to tip him from balance at this point. And yes, Lothíriel certainly isn't having a very good time right now!


	63. Chapter 63

The end of August also saw the end of the campaign in Umbar.

After bitter months of siege, the city had finally succumbed: her people starving, her proud walls beaten and battered, and her fighting spirit broken. In between Imrahil's ships and the joined forces of Rohan and Gondor, the city of corsairs had at last admitted defeat. And so it was that two days after their surrender, the company consisting of Éomer King, Prince Imrahil and Lord Hurin of the Keys rode to the wrecked gate of the city to receive the captive prince, for whom this war had been fought. Among the Umbarian company, he did not see the face of that man he knew to be responsible for this grievous affair: according to what he had heard, the last days of the bitter war had seen his own people turning against him, and he had been dealt cruel justice for all the suffering his actions had caused. Though the King of the Mark did not take pleasure in any of this, he was fairly certain he'd rest easier when he knew that the villain would not be causing any more trouble in this part of the world.

Though Éomer was aware of how utterly defeated their enemy was, his men were ready for battle anyway, and it would only take one blow of the horn to bring them storming the site. However, as the Umbarian envoys emerged from their damaged city, he could not see any defiance left on their faces. It had been a devastating war, certainly not worth all the grief and ruin it had caused. To himself, Éomer wondered if an offer of aid in the shape of grain and livestock could be made, and if the Gondorians would agree with such an idea. At any rate, he did not think anyone wanted the seed of vengeance to grow here or bear any fruit. There had been enough war between the realms of Men.

But these thoughts he'd have to consider later, because at last Erchirion was brought to sight and the reason for this campaign was at hand. And the moment his eyes fell on his brother-in-law, and those of his crew that had survived, Éomer had a sinking feeling, for he recognised the look of a haunted man all too well.

Erchirion walked slowly and stiffly, resembling more an old man rather than one in the prime of his years. His hair was overgrown, his clothes sagged on him, and his white skin was stretched over the bones of his face to create nearly skeletal look on features which had once been fair. His eyes, burning in their sockets, seemed sunken. In a way, looking at the captive prince was like looking into his own past.

The King of Rohan could then hear a hiss of breath as Imrahil perceived his second son and saw the outcome of what had been done to him. When Éomer quickly glanced at his father-in-law, the man could not hide his shock and horror. He shifted in his saddle, looking like he might just spring from it and hurry over to his son. However, the Rohir touched firmly his forearm – though he could very well understand his friend's anxiety, they had to be patient. And he had a fairly good idea of how Erchirion might react to a sudden crushing hugs.

Imrahil turned to gaze at him, and what he saw on the prince's face nearly broke his heart – he had never seen such an expression on the features of this man, whom he had thought impossible to upset so deeply.

"He's alive, Imrahil", Éomer spoke so softly that only the man beside him could hear him. "And if he has even half of the strength your daughter has, he will survive this."

* * *

After all this time, Éomer still found it difficult to sleep on a ship. The rise and fall of waves against the hull of the vessel was not a lullaby for him, and the creaking of the wood did not reassure him at all. He guessed it had to do with one voyage he could not forget: the darkness below the deck, the ropes around his wrists, the storm wind tossing the ship on waves... and then later on, the sleepless nights he had spent as the demons of his own mind had raged and howled in his thoughts. It had been years, but some impressions would not fade from memory.

So around midnight he got up from his cot in the cabin assigned for him; though there were no strategies to plan now, he had felt he should travel with his wife's family. Not only did he want to show his support, but also to be there in case his help was needed. On the first night after Erchirion had been freed, the wild-eyed Imrahil had sought his son-in-law, and asked if Éomer could talk with the newly freed prince.

"I will, if he wishes to speak", the Rohir had said, knowing all too well no one could make Erchirion talk unless he wanted to do so himself.

He had a feeling there was at least one soul awake at this hour, and so he pulled on breeches and a light shirt before leaving the cabin.

As Éomer had suspected, he did find someone standing at the rear of the ship, staring out to the shadowy sea. Knowing not to startle his brother-in-law, he announced himself, speaking much like he would to a high-spirited horse, "Have peace. It's just me."

He thought he could see a slight relaxing about the tense shoulders of the other man, and he made to Erchirion's side by the railing. He leant his elbows on the wood and glanced briefly at the prince. It was strange to stand here, looking into his own past... and realising just how tall had been the mountain he had climbed to get where he was now.

"Nightmares?" he asked softly, keeping his voice calm and steady in the hopes of reassuring he was not asking this because he wanted to meddle.

"Yes", Erchirion answered at length, staring hard ahead. "Do you still have them?"

"Sometimes", Éomer said and turned to look at the sea as well. "But you learn to deal with it. Eventually, you start to forget, too."

The other man sighed heavily.

"How does one forget or deal with any of this?" he asked skeptically, knowing he didn't need to elaborate what he meant.

"I'm not saying it's easy. It was possibly the hardest thing I've ever had to do... but it's worth every effort. You stand next to the living proof of that", Éomer answered. Indeed, the reward of fighting to regain himself was more than worth it: he was married to the love of his life, he was a father, and he had a home. These thoughts nearly made him smile, but he hid the expression – the last thing he wanted was to gloat at Erchirion.

Erchirion sighed and stood silent for a while. When he spoke again, his voice was very quiet.

"Father would like me to talk. But how can I do that? How could you ever talk about it?" he asked then, still keeping his eyes straight ahead.

"I had your sister. She... she was so patient and calm, and she made me feel like she could still see the man I had been before. What could I do? She deserved to know the truth. And when the truth was out – if only to her – I slowly began to feel more like myself", the Rohir explained slowly. He had never put it into words, not like this... but if it could help his brother-in-law, he was willing to expose the scar-tissue which had once been open wounds.

"Sweet Elbereth. I never really understood what she did for you.", Erchirion muttered and shook his head in slight disbelief. But then he at last looked at the Rohir, and he frowned, "But I don't have anyone like her."

The King of Rohan met his gaze steadily.

"I'm not saying there is only one way to do this. We must all seek our redemption in our own way", he pointed out. "Talking may help. At the very least, it can prevent your thoughts from turning into poison."

* * *

_Early September 7, Dol Amroth_

When thinking of visiting his wife's childhood home, Éomer had not pictured this setting. Truthfully, his initial idea had been a grim one: Erchirion's body would be found, and his family would gather in Dol Amroth to mourn him together. But he had not spoken of this to Lothíriel. After all, she had been still recovering at the time, and he did not want to dampen her mind or steal her hope. So he had kept his thoughts to himself and as a result, he had been somewhat surprised to learn that his brother-in-law was in fact still among the living.

Imrahil had sent one of his faster ships before they had set sail, and messages had been sent to Lothíriel in the Mark, to Aragorn in Arnor, and Faramir in Mundburg. By the time Imrahil's own ship – the one bearing his freed son and the King of Rohan with his company – had reached Dol Amroth, she was already on her way to the city by the sea.

Éomer expected her arrival anxiously, not only because he had missed her, but also because she was bringing the children, too. This meant slower travelling, as they would need a carriage for the royal offspring. But the knowledge he'd see all four made it bearable.

His wait came to an end five days after Imrahil's ship had reached Dol Amroth, and when he stood outside the palace with her family to receive the Queen's Company, he thought with some bewilderment how the last time one of them had been travelling here, she had been waiting for his arrival. At the time, Lothíriel had been his bride, and he an anxious groom hoping to steal some sweet moments in private with her. Years had changed many things, but not his love for her.

But when she entered the courtyard at last, riding Frost with Elfwine before the carriage and surrounded by the green-cloaked royal guards, thoughts of past days left Éomer's mind. He left the company of Imrahil's family and he strode towards his own, to meet his wife and receive his son who was happily calling for him; when she was on the ground Lothíriel gave him a smile and a quick kiss in greeting before she rushed over to meet Erchirion.

For a while, he was busy with Elfwine's eager greetings, but when he glanced at his wife, he could see she was still hugging her brother. Past few weeks had brought some life on Erchirion's face and meat on his bones, but Éomer was sure she too felt like looking into the past. He sighed to himself: though he might wish otherwise, there was not much more he could do. In the end, Erchirion would have to find his redemption in his own way and time.

The arrival of his queen and their children did not see a similar happy bustle as the last time they had been in Dol Amroth. It was not completely solemn, though, for Imrahil's face visibly lit up when he saw his Rohirric grandchildren and gave them a multitude of kisses. It was good to see how much they were able to cheer up their grandfather, who did not seem to be getting over the shock and agony for his second-born son. Still, as soon as greetings were done, Imrahil ushered in his brood, and Éomer with his own offspring felt slightly out of place.

Seeing Lothíriel and the children had arrived close to dinnertime, they gathered in the Prince's private dining hall. In times past, it had seen some happy evenings among this circle of family members, but now the mood was not relaxed, even if Imrahil and Lady Ivriniel were making every effort to keep up the good spirits. As he took his seat next to Lothíriel, Éomer wondered if the presence of Lady Nehir had any impact. It wasn't that he considered her an outsider, but rather because Lothíriel did not yet seem comfortable with her, though Amrothos' wife had already been formally introduced to her as a new member of the House. Sensing his queen's uneasiness, he placed his hand gently on hers, and she turned to give him a small smile. He had yet to greet her properly, but that would have to wait for the time being. Her family needed her more right now.

Éomer let his eyes travel across the company: the weary and concerned face of Imrahil, the more collected Lady Ivriniel by his side, Erchirion staring at his plate with a frown, Amrothos and Nehir glancing at each other as though for support, Elphir's solemn features while Aredhel tried to keep up her smiles, the unnatural quiet of the children who had sensed something was amiss... and Lothíriel's gaze just as busy taking in their individual expressions. All the pain and disquietude he saw here made him nearly regret they had even left Umbar standing.

Thankfully, the atmosphere eased a little with the first course as glasses and plates were filled and the children, both Amrothian and Rohirric, stirred the silence with their voices. Lady Ivriniel asked Lothíriel about her journey from Rohan, and this lead into a somewhat pleasant conversation. At any rate, it did usher in a proper mood for Imrahil to make his announcement a little later.

"As some of you already know, there is one formality yet remaining", he said when the second course had been ushered in, and the company around the table were more mellow. "Truth is, I do not enjoy having to waste time when I'd rather be concentrating on my family, but I don't think there is much choice."

"What do you mean, Father?" Lothíriel asked him.

"I have sent invitations to the nobility in the land, to ask them to join us to celebrate our victorious campaign and Erchirion's freedom", Imrahil said, sounding a bit like he was announcing someone's death sentence. His second-born son and Lothíriel both cringed, which expression made them look almost identical. But while the most faces around the table did not bear much enthusiasm at the prospect of a banquet, Éomer knew very well who was the most reluctant to attend one. After Imrahil had regretfully spoken of this to him and his second-born son, Erchirion had darkly muttered he now understood perfectly just why his brother-in-law had disappeared into wandering for a while.

"Can't it be avoided at all?" Amrothos asked then – a curious remark from him, as Éomer had never known him to dislike a chance to socialise. But on the other hand, even the carefree prince had been forced to mature much during these past few years.

"No, I'm afraid", Imrahil said, leaning back in his chair. He looked around his family, "I know we would all like to spend this time alone, away from prying eyes. However, the victory we had over Umbar is a historical one in many ways... and people will expect to celebrate it. Especially the folk of Dol Amroth, for they had thought their prince was gone, but he has been returned home safely."

For a moment, no one spoke a word, until Erchirion broke the silence in a gruff mutter: "Well, I suppose it can't be helped."

This slowly roused some agreeing sounds among the company. If Erchirion could endure a celebration, then the rest of them would, too.

The King of Rohan glanced at his wife next to him. She didn't look exactly happy, but she kept her silence. Perhaps she felt his gaze on herself, for she turned her eyes towards him, and he felt keenly how much he had missed her – and how tempting was the idea of sweeping her off her feet, and...

His line of thought was interrupted, because Elfwine had left his seat next to him, and before Éomer or Lothíriel really had chance to wonder where he was headed, he was already next to Erchirion. He shifted, ready to rise up and go get his son, but then the little prince had climbed into his uncle's lap.

"Elfwine -" Lothíriel started, but Erchirion looked up, and to Éomer's surprise, he was _smiling. _It had to be his first smile ever since he had walked out of the ruined gate of Umbar.

"It's fine, sister", said Imrahil's second son, and she relaxed on her seat again, as did the Rohir next to her.

"Did Father save you from the bad men, Uncle Erchirion?" Elfwine asked, pronouncing the name very carefully, like Lothíriel had taught him. Though his wife had been teaching Sindarin to their children, it seemed to require more effort at least from Elfwine. Éomer supposed it was because she was one of the few people in the Mark who could converse fluently in Sindarin; his own grasp of the tongue had much improved, but Rohirric had been the language he spoke with his children from the beginning.

"Yes, he did, laddie. As did your grandfather", Erchirion answered softly. The boy nodded solemnly.

"I wanted to come too, but Mother wouldn't let me", he told his uncle, whose smile became even wider, much to Éomer's surprise and delight. If the child could cheer up Erchirion, he was all the happier for it.

"Well, who would have helped her to guard Rohan, if you were away?" asked the older prince.

Now the King of Rohan could feel the corners of his mouth lifting. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised that Elfwine might be able to reach Erchirion; after all, hadn't Elva and Getrúwian been what had made Éothain smile again? He shared a quiet look with his wife, who returned his smile as she covered his hand with hers. She didn't have to speak the words: _we can be proud of this one. _

* * *

In Dol Amroth, nights were different than back in the Mark. The air was more mellow and in it always lived the breath of the sea, and when the daytime sounds quieted, the waves rolling to the shore would still rumble in the distance. During his first visits in this city, Éomer had found it hard to fall asleep, because the sound of the sea was so unfamiliar to his ears which were used to the wind on the plains of the Mark. But he knew how it must be for someone who had grown up by the sea. When Lothíriel had married him, he had sometimes wondered how she could fall asleep without the sound, having listened to it all her life.

Standing on the balcony of his and Lothíriel's chamber, he had been gazing at the stars and listening to the sea for a while now. He had left the company of her family when Elfwine and Elfhild's heads had started to droop, and while he could have let a nursemaid look after the children as with Elred, he had decided to put them to bed himself. After all, it had been months since he had last seen the two, and he had a feeling he should let Lothíriel have some time with her Amrothian kin. While he was anxiously waiting for the moment he'd have her for himself, he knew how they needed her now.

He sighed and leant his elbows on the stone railing of the balcony, fixing his eyes on the silver bridge of the moon over the sea. These past weeks, he had sometimes felt envious of the ordinary riders, who needn't worry about battle strategies or how to help a traumatised kinsman. How easy, how wonderful it would have been, to just go home to his wife and children... he could only hope this would not cause too much concern to his wife. He knew how hard most of this past year had been for her.

The door of the chamber was opened and then closed, and he could hear light footsteps behind himself. Éomer smiled, for he knew the pair of feet which would make that sound. Then arms wrapped around him from behind and all bittersweet thoughts left his mind, for his wife had at last arrived.

He turned and pulled her close, burying his face in her hair, breathing in its scent. Though Rohan was still far away, now he felt like home.

"I didn't realise it'd be this bad. It feels like I'm living some strange version of the past", she said quietly after a while and looked up at him. She seemed sad, not at all like one should be upon reunion with family. But Éomer know exactly why she felt like this.

"Aye. That's how I've been feeling as well", he agreed, lifting one hand to her cheek. She leant into the touch and sighed, closing her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, she looked even more sorrowful, if possible.

"Father looks like he's gained ten years in one night", Lothíriel murmured.

"It's been hard on him, to see his son in pain but being unable to help... I've been talking with your brother at times, and he has told me some things that happened to him in Umbar. Hopefully, it'll help him to deal with it", he told her in soft tones, and now his wife smiled a bit. She reached up to kiss him, winding her arms about his neck.

"Thank you for listening to him. If anyone might be able to understand and help my brother, it's you", she said softly, her breath brushing against his lips.

"I do what I can, beloved", he replied, his grip of her waist turning tighter; suddenly, he felt very acutely how much he had missed her, day and night. The warm glow of her eyes silently confirmed a similar thought had occurred to her.

Her hands disappeared under his shirt, tracing his naked skin, and she whispered, "Let's go to bed. I want to be close to you."

He did not need another invitation, and happily he shut out the world... if only for the night.

* * *

"Is that her?"

"Who?"

"I think she's supposed to be taller."

"Has to be, I saw her arrive with Rohan's king."

"_Who?!" _

"Queen Lothíriel, silly! Prince Imrahil's daughter! The wife of the King of Rohan!"

"She's not as pretty as I thought."

"With her history, she doesn't have to be!"

"Do you think the stories are true? About all the things they say she did?"

"Who knows? She did run away with King Éomer, so I wouldn't be surprised..."

"Can we go and talk to her? I'd like to meet her."

For a moment, Éomer considered stepping from behind the pillar which had covered him from the sight of the four young ladies, and offering to introduce them to his queen. But he decided to spare them the embarrassment of realising their conversation had been overheard by the King of Rohan himself. Be it as may, he had to smile: Lothíriel would be amused to hear that the story of her eloping with him was well remembered in the city of her birth. To be honest, it was something that never truly ceased to entertain him as well.

"I hope you are enjoying yourself at least somewhat, my friend", came Imrahil's voice, cutting Éomer's thoughts from young ladies of Gondor. His father-in-law had approached him quietly, perhaps feeling just as weary of socialising as the King of Rohan did. Though they knew the extent of their victory, it had not given them much joy.

He offered a smile to the older man.

"It's not completely unbearable, Imrahil", he said and accepted a glass of wine with quiet thanks. In wordless understanding they toasted their drinks, and as Éomer sipped the liquid, he saw Imrahil's eyes being drawn towards the three tall princes at the other side of the hall. Elphir and Amrothos had been flanking their brother ever since the beginning of the ball, looking much like they were guarding him. Erchirion stood in the middle and on his face there was a smile that could not fool Éomer: it was rigid and practised, and he had a feeling if he went close enough, he'd see a look in his brother-in-law's eyes which he would be very familiar to him.

"Do you think he's going to be all right?" Imrahil asked softly. He knew his son too well to fall for the show.

"Time will tell", Éomer said at length. "I have seen the courage and strength of your line, my friend. It will help him to carry this burden, and perhaps to live with it one day. But the memory will remain, and he may never be again the way you remember him. However, the best you can help him is to be patient, and to show that no matter what happens, he's still your son."

Imrahil bowed his head and breathed deeply, and the Rohir did not have to see his face to know he was fighting not to cry. He did not enjoy seeing his friend suffering like this, but he didn't know what else he could do. Gently he reached to touch the prince's shoulder.

"I know, Imrahil. I know", he said in a low voice. "Don't lose hope. You behold the living proof it can get better."

Now his father-in-law looked up and his grey eyes, identical with those of Lothíriel, were glistening with tears.

"Thank you, Éomer, for all that you have done. I am in your debt", Imrahil said in a weak, trembling voice. The King of Rohan smiled, and it was genuine now, without the slightest hint of melancholy.

"No more than I'm in yours, Imrahil", he simply said.

When he joined Lothíriel a bit later, she was talking with the four young ladies whose conversation he had been listening to earlier. His queen was telling them about the deserts of Harad and the tribe of Chieftain Varanat, and they were listening to her in wide-eyed wonder. They curtsied at him as he came to stand next to his wife and Éomer offered them one of his more charming smiles. He wrapped an arm about Lothíriel's waist and she moved closer to him, and for one reason or the other, this public display of affection had all young ladies blushing. He guessed it was because in Gondor, he had never seen even married couples touching each other beyond their hands and arms.

He looked at his wife and thought she was rather lovely tonight, despite what the young ladies thought; her hair was piled into a crown of braids and fastened with a golden comb decked with rubies, and the red of her gown was so deep it nearly seemed purple. The colour complimented her fair complexion and the roses on her cheeks, and he was glad to see the unhealthy pallor left by Elred's birth was fully gone.

_Oh, yes._ The ladies knew nothing.

Éomer's musings came to an end when the company of four excused themselves and left the King and Queen of the Mark alone. He lifted his eyebrows, but Lothíriel was more witting. She grinned, "I think they were starting to get uncomfortable with how you were staring at me."

"Hmph. Can't a man appreciate his wife?" he grumbled half-audibly and couldn't fight the urge of planting a kiss against her brow. She smiled up at him, and he thought if they could retire early tonight.

But then her smile made way to a sober look, and she took his hand in hers.

"I saw you talking with Father. Is he... how does he fare tonight?" she asked.

"He has seen better days, but he tries to keep up a brave face for his family", Éomer said and shook his head. As long as he had known Imrahil, the man had always seemed steadier than the very bedrock. However, underneath the calm countenance there was a gentle heart that felt deeply and strongly.

"I wish I could do more for them", she sighed and he felt his heart swelling with his love for her. Hers was a gentle heart as well, but time and again he had seen how the steel of her will kept it safe... at least when her family was not at stake.

Gently he cupped her face in his hand and looked at his Lioness. Years had passed but moments still came when he'd be reminded all over again how lucky he was to have the love of this woman.

"Perhaps we could invite Erchirion to stay in Edoras for a while. It might help him to be away from the sea and the people here", he offered. She nodded solemnly and met his gaze; in that moment, she bore striking resemblance to her father.

"Did you know I love you very much?" she asked, wrapping arms about his waist – she did not seem to be aware of the crowd around them. He didn't mind her closeness, though.

"I'm always glad to be reminded, my dear heart", he answered, quickly deliberating whether it would be considered rude if they retired from the ball already. But then, perhaps that would have to wait for a little while.

Perhaps tonight, her family needed them to stay.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update at last! I've been pretty busy lately, and whenever I've tried to work on this piece, it has strangely turned into _A Long and Winding Road. _I'm actually thinking of speeding up _King and Lioness _a bit, because _ALWR _seems like a very demanding child.

Éomer had a lot to say in this update, hence it's entirely from his POV. Sometimes he gets quiet and I nearly forget how much I like to write from his point of view. Then again it's not so weird that he'd be so vocal when this particular thread goes so close to what he experienced in _ALTE. _

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Wondereye - **Yes, it really doesn't! I think it's especially difficult because Éomer isn't home.

**Jo - **I'm glad you liked it! :)

**brandibuckeye - **She has been having hard time indeed. With all these things she has had to worry about it's been a difficult year for her. But at least Éomer is coming home now.


	64. Chapter 64

In many ways, returning to Edoras was a relief, though Lothíriel would not have wished to admit it out loud. There was solace in the everyday comings and goings of Rohan's capital, in her duties as a queen and life with her Rohirric family. It was a curious change to be honest: once, Edoras had been a place of fighting the glooms induced by her husband's dark moods, but now all the melancholy seemed to have relocated in Dol Amroth. While she missed and worried over her father and brothers, Lothíriel knew she could not fight this war for them.

"Once is enough for one person, my dear queen", Éomer had told her seriously, and she knew he was right.

In Rohan, things proceeded into a sense of normalcy. The King was home, the war had ended in victory, and once again Eorlingas had won renown on faraway fields. And the royal family thrived as well: the heirs of Eorl's House were growing healthy and strong. For the first time after Thengel's rule, in the Golden Hall there was not one but three young lives to grow and carry on the line of Kings.

But if in these days Dol Amroth and her kin there remained Lothíriel's one grief, there were some glad tidings as well: Lady Nehir had conceived and Amrothos was going to become a father. After hearing these news, the Queen of the Mark could not stop grinning, and it was not only because the promise of more grandchildren appeared to have somewhat cheered up her father. When Éomer asked what was so funny, she laughed.

"Firstly, I'm enjoying the idea of Amrothos surrounded by a bunch of little children. That should please him greatly, because I don't think he ever ceased to be a child. Secondly, I just hope they are as mischievous as him and myself were as children", she told him, making her husband snort softly.

"Does that mean you harbour such wishes for our own, too?" he asked her.

"I don't wish anything, beloved. I've listened enough of Éothain's stories about you to _know _our children are wild beasts", she said happily.

"That is rich, coming from the most unhinged woman I've ever known", he shot back, making her smile even wider. After years of marriage and life together, carefree banter was a place where they could be again the young king and his silly princess.

* * *

_April 8, Rohan_

At the time of spring, Aragorn sent word from the north: he and his company were heading south again. Two years they had stayed in the realm of Arnor, and tidings had it the lost kingdom was not quite so lost anymore. Much work would still need to go into rebuilding the kingdom of Dúnedain in north, but the fact remained: Arnor was not only a land of ruins with a scattered people any more.

When Elessar's message came, Éomer made a suggestion to his queen: to ride to meet the company of the King of Gondor and Arnor at the western border of the Mark, and to tour that part of the realm before Aragorn's company arrived. This time, Elfwine and Elfhild would accompany them, and it was one of the first times the King's two children would see the lands beyond their home in Edoras. Elred would have to stay behind, as he was still too young, but his older siblings appeared to be beyond excited. But Lothíriel had hard time saying goodbye to her youngest, even though she knew Elred was better off in the care of his nursemaid, and would want for nothing.

The royal family of the Riddermark, accompanied by Elfhelm and Ceolwen along with their eldest son, rode out of Edoras some two weeks before Aragorn's company was set to arrive at the western border. Apparently, the news that the Prince and Princess of the Mark were participating the trip had spread fast, and in towns many gathered to watch as they rode by, and to see them in the halls of nobles of Westfold. Looking around herself, Lothíriel could see the scars of the Kin-strife had faded, and with them the malicious words that the heir of the realm might not be the King's son; for her family was warmly welcomed in each household and her children eagerly received. Yet perhaps the best moment of the tour was when they visited Heming and Eadgyd at their daughter's farm. Though the old couple were ancient now, they doted on the royal children as though they were their own.

After two weeks, they arrived at the borders of the Mark and set camp on a hill looking over the Fords of Isen. The relations between Eorlingas and Dunlendings had been peaceful for several years now, and so it was deemed a safe place for a camp to wait for Aragorn's company. There Lothíriel was at times reminded of the time of the Kin-strife, especially having Ceolwen and Elfhelm with them.

Then two days before Aragorn was to arrive, the King and his Marshal set out of the camp to cross the Isen and meet the Dunlending tribe leaders beyond the border. It was an occasion unseen in many generations, and hopefully it would mean that this truce between the two peoples was the start of a lasting peace. Only, the Queen of Rohan did not feel entirely untroubled when she watched her husband make ready for the ride: last night, she had dreamt of fire, and though she had no idea of what it meant, it made her feel uneasy.

Seeing her mood, Éomer told Lothíriel not to worry.

"I will have the extra men from Elfhelm's éored, and the exchange of hostages for the duration of our meeting will reassure there is no ill will in either side. I'm certain it will go fine. We should be back by morning. You and the children will be well protected until then, and with Ceolwen in charge, it is a madman who would dare to bother you", he said to her, resting a hand against her neck.

"Just take care of yourself", she said as a response and tiptoed to kiss him. Would a day ever come she wouldn't worry for him? She seriously doubted that.

"I will, beloved. You will keep the camp up and standing while I'm gone?" he asked her.

"As always", Lothíriel answered, and her words brought a smile to his face. He kissed her one more time, promised to see her tomorrow morning, and then went on his way. As for the Queen of the Mark herself, she spent half an hour watching the King's Company as they rode down the hill, over the river, and then passed into the land inhabited by the Dunlendings. She had never travelled that far west, but perhaps in a few years they might pass through those lands as guests journeying for Arnor in north. She had always wanted to see the ruins of the old realm... though by the time they would have a chance for the journey, Arnor would be more than just unsafe roads and ruins.

Her thoughts came to a halt when Ceolwen stopped by her side. Seeing her friend, her mood was slightly lifted; with their busy lives, they were not seeing each other as much these days as Lothíriel would have liked. From that point of view, this was a good chance to catch up properly, without the menfolk in the way.

"You needn't worry about them, Lothíriel. We have had peace with Dunlendings for some years now, and if you ask me, they rather like these circumstances. They won't do anything. And anyway, the meeting will take place very close to the river, so the men will be able to get Éomer out fast in the very unlikely situation something goes wrong", Ceolwen reassured her. But the Queen of Rohan could only think of her dream, of the flames she had seen in sleep...

"You are kind to say so, but I will not have peace before he is here again", she simply said. Her friend frowned, but she did not get to say anything, because there was a small prince pushing between them.

Reaching for his mother's hand, Elfwine looked up and asked, "Will Father be back soon?"

Carefully Lothíriel picked up her son – he was growing so big these days, soon she wouldn't be able to lift him so easily – and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"He should return tomorrow morning, sweetheart", she told him softly.

"Promise?" Elfwine asked her, his dark eyes wide and unsure.

What could she answer him? She couldn't lie, and yet she wanted to make him feel safe and sound.

"Don't worry about your father. He can take care of himself", Lothíriel said as gently as she could. Then, managing to conjure a smile on her face, she spoke again, "He has Uncle Elfhelm with him. He'll be safe."

Elfwine nodded solemnly – apparently her answer satisfied him. He smiled then, "Uncle Elfhelm is funny."

His remark had both the women smiling as well, though Ceolwen's expression was more of a grin.

"He is extremely funny, yes. You should tell him that when they return, laddie", said the Shieldmaiden, her voice amused as she reached to tousle the boy's hair, and both women were entertained by the idea of Elfwine announcing his observation before a crowd of Éomer's men. It lightened Lothíriel's heart, if only a little, and she kissed her son again. There was something terribly endearing about her child in the middle of tall riders – most of whom seemed to become mellow as kittens whenever interacting with the little boy.

"Yes, Aunt Ceolwen!" Elfwine said happily.

Strange it was, how the child's unburdened smiles could lighten her mood as well. Even so, as Lothíriel let her son and the Shieldmaiden lead her back to the camp, she was sure of one thing.

She would not be leaving her tent tonight without her bow.

* * *

Though the royal family had been on the road for nearly two weeks now, it seemed to Lothíriel that her children were everything but tired of it. To them, this trip was endlessly exciting and as a result, by their bedtime, they would be too exhausted to put up an argument – they more or less just fell on the bedrolls and were asleep by the time their heads touched the cushions, and Lothíriel didn't need to sing to them or tell a story to get them to comply. She was glad for it to be honest, because she was not as good at using her voice as Éomer was. For him, it was rarely much of a trouble to have the children under the spell of his voice. Ceolwen had suggested she should try to get some sleep as well, but the Queen of Rohan did not feel particularly tired.

So, having made sure her cubs were safely under their blankets, she pressed kisses on their brows and watched them for a while. Sometimes, it was strange to think of how much her heart had grown – it must have, for how else could it hold all the love she had for her children and for their father? And no matter what happened, even if the very world came down crashing and burning, she knew she'd still find meaning in the four most important people of her life. As long as they existed, she would too.

As sleep was not yet beckoning her, Lothíriel decided to go out for a bit and seek the company of Ceolwen – though not before she had picked up her bow and a vine of arrows. Perhaps she was being paranoid here, but it made her feel a bit better to have her irreplaceable weapon at hand... even if there were no need for it. At any rate, the guards she asked for Ceolwen's location did not seem to find it odd that she would be armed even in the middle of this camp. With their help she was able to find her friend at the edge of the camp, staring into the falling shadows of the night. Though she had been hiding it for the sake of her friend, the Shieldmaiden did worry for her own beloved.

Ceolwen glanced at her as she came to stand beside her, but did not speak, for the companionable silence between them did not need filling. Sometimes Lothíriel would marvel over how good it felt to have a friend so good, that they might understand each other from half a word, and that there were times when speech was not even needed. Before Éomer and Rohan, Amrothos had been the only person with whom she had felt so easy.

The night was a dark one, for the sky was in the cover of clouds, but the fires of the camp gave some light to the shadows. Guards came and went, speaking softly as they kept watch over the camp and the King's family.

"You know, this feels familiar in a strange way", Lothíriel commented after a while, remembering another time they had watched their men ride out into unknown – though at this time, it should not be so dangerous.

Her comment brought a faint smile on her friend's face.

"Aye, it does in a way. Sometimes it feels like yesterday..." Ceolwen agreed softly. Her expression became abruptly serious, "I never expected to have much time with him. Some might say – and my steward Ohthere certainly did – that I married Elfhelm on a whim. I was so sure the underking would descend upon us with wrath once I him no, and yet I was so desperate to live... but now we have had eight years together, and three sons."

The Shieldmaiden looked straight at the Queen, her ice blue eyes lit with some deep emotion. She spoke, "I never told you how grateful I am. Truth is, at the time I did not realise how much I would have to be thankful for, my Queen."

"We all did what we had to do. Without your help, I would not have succeeded in my part", Lothíriel simply said. Ceolwen smiled and reached to touch her shoulder, much in the fashion she had seen riders would greet their brothers in arms in this land.

A silence fell again between them, and their eyes were drawn into the night once more. One might have thought their minds would be a bit lighter than before, but the Queen of the Mark quickly noticed there was a frown on the face of the Shieldmaiden.

Ceolwen revealed the reason for her anxiety soon enough.

"It's quiet", she spoke in low tones. Her frown deepened, "Too quiet, actually."

The two women looked at each other in the same instance. If Lothíriel's face mirrored the fright that dawned on Ceolwen's face, she did not know.

"Go get the children", said the blonde woman in a quick bark, and without a second's hesitation Lothíriel obeyed.

Even as she darted to the tent where her children were asleep, Ceolwen was already shouting commands, calling men to arms; Lothíriel's advance was somewhat delayed by the men that rushed against her like a blond, green tide.

Then she saw the fire arrows. They soared and fell like shooting stars, and a cry was building up in her throat: _please don't let them hit, lend me your shield now, O Lord Oromë..._

Terror gave her wings, and she ran, perhaps faster than ever in her life. But it was not enough: the royal tent was already ablaze by the time she got there. By fate's cruel whim, it was one of the three tents which had caught fire, while the rest of the arrows had fallen harmlessly on the ground.

_"No!" _

Her scream came feral, mad, ripping through her throat like a blade. She ran for the flames, but the unbearable heat pushed her back, though everything in her cried to get in, to get her children... even if the cold voice of reason said they would already be beyond her help.

_No, they are not dead! _

Fighting her despair, she knew she had to try at least, even at the expense of her own life... but then, as she was about to plunge into the flames, there was a bright voice calling to her.

"Mother!"

Lothíriel spun around. There, ten feet from her, stood Elfwine holding Elfhild in his arms, and beside him was Cenric. All three had ash on their faces, and it looked like poor Cenric's eyebrows had burned.

With one leap she was before them. Then, as tears were flowing freely down her cheeks, she fell on her knees and grabbed all three children in her arms. She barely registered Elfwine's muffled _"Mother, it's all right, don't cry" _as she held them close.

"I'm so sorry – I shouldn't have left you, I should have stayed close..." she mumbled in overwhelming relief, holding them tightly in the circle of her arms. It took a while to get control of this emotion, but at least she was not weeping freely anymore when she pulled back to look at the tree children. But she was not able to let go of them, not when the horror of losing them was still fresh in her memory.

"How did you get out?" she asked them. Elfwine and Eflhild would have been asleep, they couldn't have known the danger...

"Cenric came for us. He carried Elfhild out", said her son, looking solemnly at the taller boy next to him, and Lothíriel's own eyes were drawn towards Cenric as well. Somehow, this did not surprise her one bit; this lad was the son of two of some of the most loyal, most faithful people she had ever had the honour of knowing. In his face, Cenric carried that same loyalty and courage which had roused Elfhelm and Ceolwen to stand and fight with her and Éomer.

"Thank you, Cenric. What you have done tonight will not be forgotten", Lothíriel said to the lad, her words deeply grateful. Did the child even know what service he had done for the House of Eorl? In any case she would make sure Éomer knew as well the bravery and daring of this boy.

"Elfwine is my friend", the lad simply said, making Lothíriel smile. She had a feeling that a life-long friendship had been cemented tonight.

But then, in the light of the blazing tent, she caught sudden movement in the corner of her eye. Hair stood up at the back of her head and the Queen of Rohan jumped up on her feet, grabbing her bow as she did. There, some twenty-five feet away, stood seven men... and with a single glance, she could tell they were Dunlendings. How they had entered the camp was no wonder to her. All guards had to be at the other side of it, fighting the companions of these men – just as the villains had intended, as she guessed. It had been but a diversion to get to the three of the four people who could be used to bring the Lord of the Mark to his knees.

"Give us the brats, wench", said one standing in the middle of them and she guessed he was their leader. With their dark hair and clothing made of leather and animal skins, they couldn't be more different from the Rohirrim.

"You will not touch these children!" she growled loudly at the villains, anger boiling her blood. The lust for battle was on her once more, after years of slumber; yet it burned fresh and bright as though the years of peace had not occurred at all.

"Surrender them, and we will let you live", said the leader of the gang, though the grins his company wore did not convince her one bit.

Sharply she pushed the three children behind herself and took aim with her bow.

"Stay behind me. When I tell you to run, you must get as far from here as you can. You mustn't let go of Elfhild, no matter what happens", she told them in fast Rohirric – she'd have used Sindarin, but Cenric needed to understand her too.

"But Mother -" Elfwine tried, but she didn't let him continue.

"Do as I say!" Lothíriel barked the order, her bow drawn tight; the leader of the Dunlendings had stepped forward, his eyes fixed on her as though he was assessing whether she was an opponent to be taken seriously.

"If you take one more step, I will kill you", Lothíriel spoke, her voice clear and strong, and though she was pitted against seven men she was not afraid at all. When she was the only thing standing between the children and these villains, her heart felt no fear. And no matter what happened tonight, at least Elred was safe and sound in Edoras... _Éomer, I'm so sorry... _

The Dunlending man laughed and took another step.

"Do you expect me to -" he started, but he never got to finish – in fact, the arrow she put through his mouth did permanently silence him. For the longest second, his companions stood frozen in shock and disbelief, but then they bellowed in rage and sprang towards her.

"Run! Run as fast as you can!" Lothíriel cried and drew out another arrow, ready to put down at least one more man... until suddenly, she could hear two voices rising, like a bright ray of light through the shadows.

_"Forth Eorlingas!"_

There came Ceolwen, her naked blade ready to strike, riding through the camp; she was closely followed by Alger. In Lothíriel's heart relief sang in a thousand voices, and between her bow and the blades of the two riders, the six remaining Dunlendings had no chance.

It was over in a few minutes and the noises of battle died. The moment the last of the men touched ground, the children came running again, each for their mothers – while Lothíriel grabbed her son and daughter, Ceolwen flew from the saddle and caught Cenric in her arms. Meanwhile, Alger remained in the saddle, his sword still ready to defend in case more villains appeared.

"The battle?" Lothíriel asked the Shieldmaiden as she held tight her son and daughter, and her friend didn't need any clarification.

"I thought there would be a greater number of them, but only twenty came against us. I quickly realised it was but a diversion and decided to come and check on you and the children", Ceolwen explained, making the younger woman shudder – she was alive now and her children were safe because of her friend's quick thinking. The Queen of Rohan knew she would not have been able to take down all seven by herself... tonight, Elfhelm's family had guarded most of the King's family and made sure that Éomer would not return home as a broken man. Just thinking that had the Lady of the Mark shuddering in silent distress.

As the Shieldmaiden spoke, riders were starting to flood the area, putting down the fires; though of the royal tent, there wasn't much to put down anymore. Meanwhile, Lothíriel kept her cubs safely in the circle of her arms, and she was not sure if she could let them go as long as this night lasted.

"Lothíriel, the danger seems to be over now, but I don't think we should stay here for the night. Not you and the children, at least. I would send you to the Hornburg – you are safe there, at least until Éomer returns", Ceolwen spoke without delay.

But even as she spoke, there was the sound of horn in the distance, and they all knew its meaning.

Children knew it too.

"Father!" Elfwine cried out happily. Lothíriel blinked, as she had thought Éomer wouldn't be back before morning. But Ceolwen visibly relaxed, knowing the place would soon be surrounded by the elite riders of the Royal Guard and the King himself would take command, and then Elbereth might help any soul who wished harm for his family.

"You're safe now", was all she could say from her relief, kissing her son and daughter. While she might not know how and why her husband had returned so soon, she surely did not rue it.

Now that the battle was over and the danger was gone, Lothíriel's knees had become wobbly and she felt she may just collapse where she stood. Ceolwen seemed to notice that, because she and Cenric lead her to sit by one bench, left vacant by the guards who were still rushing about putting down the fires. There she sat down, clutching her children close, and she only vaguely registered it when one of the men came to tell her that the King had returned to the camp and would be here in a moment. It was not long until she heard his voice talking to someone; he did not sound one bit pleased, but knowing he was here soothed her mind in a way that was almost dizzying.

Then he emerged from behind the tents, searching the scene frantically with his eyes until his gaze fell on the three sitting on the bench. He strode quickly towards them and Elfhelm was the only one able to keep up with him. His face was dark and his eyes were wild even as he saw his family, and her heart went out to him. She could only imagine how worried he must have been.

"Is any of you hurt?" he blurted unceremoniously as he hurried to his wife and children.

"Don't worry. We are fine", Lothíriel reassured him and smiled, while their son and daughter reached for their sire, calling _"Father, Father" _in enthusiasm. Then Éomer reached for them and dark fury on his face changed, turning into overwhelming relief. He grabbed all three inside the circle of his arms. He spoke no word but she could feel him trembling, hear the ragged sound of his breathing. He knew all too well the danger his family had been in tonight, how close their demise had come.

"It's fine. We are here – you haven't lost us", she spoke so softly that only he would hear her words; he was still fighting to regain his calm. She knew he was not that haunted man who had emerged from torment and imprisonment, had seen him regain peace and happiness. And yet in moments like these she knew all that darkness might come back... if he should lose his wife and children, then the shadow would swallow him whole, and that would be the end of his tale.

"The scouts came to the Dunlending chieftains while we were in meeting, saying they had seen a band of bandits heading for the border. I suppose they had heard of our presence so close to the Isen and were hoping to make use of it. I left immediately and we rode hard... I was so scared we wouldn't make it here before it was too late", he mumbled as he rested his head against that of his wife.

"You needn't worry, Father. Mother and Lady Ceolwen looked after us", Elfwine said. Elfhild nodded emphatically.

"Wasn't afraid at all!" she announced in firm tones.

"It was a close one", Lothíriel stated softly. "But you're here now, and as long as you stay, no danger can threaten us."

Her husband grunted as a reply and pulled back slightly, and she could see he was once more in control of his emotions. He looked at his children, "It is very late and you two should have been sleeping hours ago already. And I need to talk with your mother."

"But we want Mother to stay! What if the bad men come back and she's not here to drive them away?" Elfwine asked quickly, looking from Éomer to Lothíriel. His question made his father's face soften right away.

"Maybe Ceolwen could give you a report of what happened tonight?" Lothíriel suggested.

"Very well then. We shall speak tomorrow", Éomer agreed. He looked calm again, though the spark in his dark eyes showed he was not yet over the shock and dread for his wife and children. Even so, he gave a kiss to each of them and turned to speak to Edelric hovering nearby, giving orders to find a tent for his family for the night. The captain readily offered his own and told Folcred to take the Queen and her children there – and to set a heavy guard about them.

"Sleep well", Éomer said in quiet tones and got up again. He shared a quiet glance with Lothíriel, and she smiled slightly at him. Then, supporting the already sleepy Elfhild in her arms and urging Elfwine to follow, she let Folcred lead them.

Now, knowing her horselord was near, she could seek rest at last.

* * *

**A/N: **And I return with an update! I'm sorry for the slower updating pace as of late - I'm kind of busy at the moment, but I will try to post new chapters to _King and Lioness _and _A Long and Winding Road _as often as I can.

I must admit, I have been wanting to write a scene where Lothíriel finds herself the only thing standing between her children and some malicious individuals. Being the kind of person she is, I never thought once she would be impressed by such intentions!

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **Thank you! I think showing it through Éomer's eyes was really the best way to handle that topic. :)

**Hobbitpony1 - **Thank you so much! I'm glad to hear you enjoy my story that much. :) It seemed to me that it would be very easy for Éomer to feel compassion for Erchirion, considering it's what he went through in _ALTE. _And yes, Lothíriel is quite the lucky gal!

**Catspector - **Thanks! I do believe that, if the person is in any way decent and good, then surviving trauma and grief would make their compassion grow. That's why Eomer is so readily supporting and helping his wife's family. And you are quite right - they have seen much hardship, but being king and queen they can't exactly avoid it at times.

**brandibuckeye - **Thank you! It did seem like such a situation would be all around emotional, having to see a member of the family suffer like that.


	65. Chapter 65

Though he had seen his family was indeed all right, Éomer's mind was not yet calm. It worried and angered him, that danger had come so close to them – obviously there was something afoot in the land he should have noticed earlier than this. At the very least, he should have listened to his wife when she had spoken of her dream... by now, he ought to trust the things she saw.

Be it as may, her dreams were not the only thing to count on when it came to Lothíriel. Though he had failed to listen to her, she had met the danger as fearlessly as ever. She had guarded and defended the children like the Lioness she was, and similar actions were not a surprise when it came to Ceolwen.

Once he had made sure his wife and children were fine, he turned towards Ceolwen. She had been deep in conversation with Elfhelm; if Éomer had been relieved to find his family unharmed, so was his friend as well. However, when he noticed the King hovering nearby, he unwrapped his arms from around his wife and son, turning so that Éomer might speak to her.

"You can send Cenric to stay with Lothíriel for the time being, if you want. I'd like to talk with you", he said to his former captain, who nodded briskly. She placed the sleepy boy in the arms of Stándenu, who promised to take him to the Queen.

"I'm glad you're here now. It has been one mad night", Ceolwen stated grimly once Stándenu had taken her son away.

"Aye, it has", Éomer muttered and shook his head. The most he wanted was to follow his wife and children, to crawl next to them and sleep for a while... but there was too much to take care of here. And while he had the slightest suspicion the earlier attack might be repeated, he would not be able to sleep.

He asked for a report then, and the Shieldmaiden delivered it as concisely as ever. He listened in silence, though her tale had him bristling mutely. At the end of it, he was feeling weary and disgruntled.

"Those villains... I should have seen this coming", he said, rubbing his temples.

"No one could have guessed, Éomer. Even their elders were surprised to hear these bandits were on the move. Clearly they were but a small group, hoping to take the chance when you weren't near your family", Elfhelm pointed out.

"Aye. It would have been quite the prize, to get even one of your children as a hostage. If they had laid hands on the Crown Prince..." Ceolwen said, but she was not able to finish. Her words made Éomer cringe – it was loathsome to think of what horrors his son and daughter might have known, if not for their mother and the Shieldmaiden.

"What do you mean to do? Will you send riders over the Isen?" Elfhelm asked then, which question brought the undivided attention of the riders around them to the King of the Mark.

Éomer sighed and shook his head. He was so tired of bloodshed, of seeing lives destroyed. Though months after the campaign in Umbar had been peaceful, and he had been able to enjoy some precious moments of peace with his family, he still resented the idea of another war. And truth was, war was not warranted now.

"No, I will not do that", he said at length, looking around the company with him. "The Dunlending elders made it more than clear they wish to have peace with us. I believe they were being honest... the men who attacked us tonight were but bandits and outcasts of their tribes. They might have had much to achieve by kidnapping my family, but I believe most of the Dunlendings truly do not want more war. I am done watching them come over the river to burn our lands and threaten our children. Centuries of war has shown it will take us nowhere."

"My lady, gentlemen", he said in a strong voice, standing a bit straighter as he spoke, "I believe a time has come for peace."

* * *

At the time Aragorn's company arrived, the situation at the border of Rohan had calmed down. The ruin of fire was cleaned up and life returned to normal, though Éomer had increased the amount of guards, and Erkenbrand had sent riders to search the borderlands in case more bandits were hiding nearby. Lothíriel was relieved to see that the night of the attack did not seem to have left the children with any ill impressions. If anything, the three seemed more close-knit than ever.

After these eventful days, Lothíriel was glad when the entourage of the King of Arnor and Gondor finally joined theirs, and they turned to ride for Edoras. Aragorn seemed like any man after a long journey, but Queen Arwen beside him was as radiant and fresh as if she were just out for an afternoon ride. In any case, the Queen of the Mark sensed all of them were happy to leave the borderlands and head for the capital of Rohan.

The joined companies of two kings set on their way on the next morning after Aragorn's entourage had entered the Mark, and about an hour into their journey, Arwen guided her horse next to Lothíriel's own Frost. There were still times when the Queen of Rohan would feel slightly intimidated by Aragorn's wife, though in times they had met, Arwen had been nothing but polite and kind.

"Estel and I were talking about your encounter with the Dunlendings. I am sorry that it happened – and your children got in danger", said the Half-elven woman, her soft voice ringing like silver bells.

"It's fine. No one got hurt, except those guilty for the affair... it's going to be a while before we will make such a journey again, though. I don't think my heart still has returned to its normal pace", Lothíriel said, glancing at where Elfwine rode with Edelric, and Elfhild was with Ceolwen. Indeed, her eyes often kept searching for her son and daughter, and last night, she had remembered the terror of thinking they were dead all too well. Hopefully, it would pass in the safety of Edoras.

Arwen gave her one of those mysterious _Elven _looks before she spoke again.

"The dream you had before it happened... have you always had visions like that?" she inquired. It was said Elves were often gifted with foresight, so Lothíriel thought it wasn't so odd that Arwen would be interested. After all, her own father, the fabled Lord Elrond, had been especially farseeing.

"I can't really say. At least, I do not remember such dreams from my childhood and adolescence... if I had visions then, maybe I just didn't understand what I saw. But since I met Éomer, I've received glimpses that are sometimes easy to comprehend", Lothíriel answered. She had never much thought of her dreams and visions – she had accepted them as a part of her heritage as a daughter of Númenórean line.

"It could be your sight needed to mature before you could see", Arwen offered.

"You could very well be right. I was impossibly childish before I got to know him", said the Queen of Rohan. Thinking back, she smiled fondly at her immature antics.

"And your father and brothers? Have they ever had similar experiences?" asked the Half-elven queen then.

"Not that I know of. At least, they never said anything of the sort... but then, they like to say I have more elf in me than they do. Maybe that has something to do with it", Lothíriel said and shrugged.

"Perhaps", Arwen allowed, gazing ahead. She looked at the woman beside herself then, and continued, "It has run strong in the people who came from the ruin of Westernesse. Yet the gift takes different forms, and is sometimes stronger for others. Estel's grandmother Ivorwen was said to be especially gifted, for she could glimpse the future even with her waking eyes."

"It's a bit frightening, to be honest", Lothíriel said, considering the landscape and the large company of riders about them. "To be able to see things happening far away, and not knowing when such vision might occur again – or what it might mean. For example, that last one about fire... I had no idea it meant my children were in danger."

"But it did cause you to be on your guard, yes?" Arwen asked her, at which the younger queen had to nod. A faint smile touched the face of the Half-elven woman.

"Then always pay heed to what you see in your dreams, my friend. Though we live in more peaceful days now, such gift is never idly given", Arwen said softly. She looked straight at Lothíriel, her bright Elven eyes regarding her as though to read her innermost thoughts, "But that you already knew, I deem."

"Do you have foresight? If I may ask?" Lothíriel inquired her.

"Most I have seen of future are but glimpses", Arwen said, "though even a glimpse might bear great significance. My father was exceptionally gifted even in Elvish standards... he would have been able to teach you much more about this second sight. It is a pity he has passed that way which is forbidden to Ilúvatar's mortal children."

The mention of Lord Elrond brought a shadow of sadness on his daughter's face, and Lothíriel did not know what to say. To imagine that she could never see her father again – to be parted from him beyond the ending of the world... but, while she did not claim to know what pain it must have caused, she did know something of hard choices and sacrifice. No such thing as intense love and a life fulfilled could come without some loss.

"I met him once in Minas Tirith when you came to wed Aragorn. It was an honour I never thought to have", Lothíriel spoke, keeping her voice warm and friendly. "When I was a girl, I never thought to meet any Elves. But in the end, I got to visit the very land of Lórien. You often went there, yes?"

The mention of the realm of her grandparents brought a faint smile on the face of the Queen of Arnor and Gondor, and though it was not without a sense of bittersweet, it also spawned a conversation on the wonders of Elven realms between the two queens. For though sadness was wrought into these memories, they were fair as well, and worth remembering.

* * *

_September 8, Meduseld_

A cool breath of draft startled her half awake. Sleepily Lothíriel thought the fire must have gone out, leaving the chamber cooler than was to her liking. Thankfully, she was married to a walking furnace and with him, even the coldest nights of winter were not cold at all. So, without opening her eyes, she turned to her other side in order to snuggle closer to the man next to her. Why had he moved away from her, anyway? She expected his arm to close around her again, and then she could fall back asleep.

She kept snuggling, searching for her horselord, but he wasn't there. The place next to her was empty.

Lothíriel opened her eyes, blinking drowsily. Where was Éomer? Where would he go at this late hour, without saying anything to her?

She did not exactly fancy having to leave the bed and the warm cover of blankets, but she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep again before she had found out where her beloved had vanished. So she braced herself and stood up, grimacing against the cool air. Quickly she buried her feet inside soft slippers to keep her toes warm.

Luckily, some embers still lingered in the fireplace, and with the help of a poker and some dry wood, she was able to turn the embers into flames. She warmed her hands against the glow of rising fire and then turned to wrap a shawl around her shoulders. Thick Rohirric wool, dyed red and embroidered with gold, warmed her like a tight embrace.

It turned out she did not have to look far to find her errant horselord. He was in the other room next to the royal bedchamber, seated by the fireplace there. A roaring fire was the only source of light in the room, and in its dancing illumination he looked twenty years older than he was in truth. But it was not the light that made Éomer appear so – it was the heavy memories on his face which seemed to turn him into a man who carried decades of grief on his shoulders. In his hand, he held a flask of what she guessed was Rohirric liquor. She had never had much taste for it, and even less resistance, and Éomer too rarely drank it other than in feasts or perhaps at Yuletide banquet. Well, he rarely drank it _these days._

This all reminded her all too much of that first year after the Kin-strife.

He did not lift his eyes when she came, though his slight shift on the seat told her he had noticed her arrival. Lothíriel came quietly, her slippers barely making a sound against floorboards and rugs, stepping into the glowing circle of fire-light. She halted next to him and first lay a hand on his shoulder, feeling his tension just under the thin cover of his robe. But he did not flinch at the touch, the way he once had.

Shadows might creep out at times, but that was all they were... just shadows.

Silently Lothíriel moved her fingers, not quite tracing his arm, but her touch nearly whispering at his limb. Eventually, she reached his hand and gently pried the flask from it: this was a poor way to deal with the phantoms of past. Most days and nights, he knew that... it had been quite a while since she had last found him drinking away the night like this. Whatever memory had come to him in nightmare, it must have been especially bad.

She put aside the flask and then returned to her husband. Carefully she sat down on the armrest, and he moved his arm to make space. Then, as she had done so many times she had long since lost count, she wrapped her arm about his shoulders.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Lothíriel asked at last when they were both settled comfortably.

"Just memories. Just things I don't seem to be able to let go", Éomer said, his eyes fixed on the fire.

"We both know it's not so simple", she said gently, seeking his hand in her own free one. His fingers intertwined around hers so tightly it almost hurt, but she did not tell him to let go.

"Lothíriel, these are memories that I may never forget. When we came home after the Kin-strife, I thought that maybe one day I would... but it still comes back to me at times. There might always be nights you will have to wake me up, or find me here, or..." he told her, his voice turning somehow wilder the longer he spoke, until he fell quiet. It was almost like hearing an echo from the past.

"Beloved", she said gently, wrapping both her arms about his neck now, "that is the choice I made – still make, every day. To accept the bad along with the good, to keep looking beyond the darkness to see the light... it's a choice everyone has to make when sharing their life with someone else."

She kissed his brow, soft and slow, and when she pulled back in order to see his eyes, she could see that at least some of the melancholy had subsided. Lothíriel smiled.

"If I were afraid of your darkness, I would have let you go long ago", she spoke so quietly it was nothing more than a whisper; but though her voice was not strong, the words were still invincible. Their effect was tangible as well, because she could feel the remnants of tension leave his body, along with a long, heavy sigh. Her horselord wrapped his arms about her waist, pulled her properly in his lap, and laid his head against her shoulder. She knew the demons and shades of years past were silenced for the night.

In muffled little mutters, he told her he loved her, using his own tongue – often she had seen that, when he was particularly in the hold of some emotion, it was always Rohirric he would speak in. Well, it did make sense, as Elfwine was sometimes the same. For them, her husband and her son, Rohirric was the language of their hearts. Smiling to herself, she answered with her own affection, which made him hold her a bit tighter.

They remained so for some time, speaking no words as the silent watch of the night passed. The cracking of fire was the only sound in the chamber and the dance of flames the only light. Lothíriel might have dozed off there, but eventually her back, which wasn't pressed against Éomer or facing the fire, started to get cold. So she turned her head to kiss him, gladly noticing the peace returned into his eyes and face.

She smiled again again, knowing full well her expression had become a tempting one.

"I'm cold. Take me to bed?"

* * *

**A/N: **This update is bit of a mish-mash, but I guess I wanted to tie in the last one and move on to new things. I'm thinking the upcoming chapters will see the kids a bit older than they are now!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **Always happy to hear that! :)

**brandibuckeye - **I'm glad you liked it! Action is always nice every now and then. :)


	66. Chapter 66

_May 9, Meduseld_

When Elfwine turned six, he began to ask for a sword.

It didn't really surprise Lothíriel that her son would come to his father with such a request: though the fall of Sauron had introduced a new era in the world, less plagued by dark things like orcs, the Rohirrim were still a people of warriors. The memories of battles and strife were deeply woven in the tales and songs of this land, and still there were at times a need for the Riders to face war. as past few years had proved. But altogether the time of such peril as ages past had known was over, and Éomer held it that the currents of the world had changed.

But Elfwine, as his peers, had been born in a time when the past was still near.

"They will grow up listening to the tales of a world that has passed, though the likeness of it may yet linger in some places. They will yearn to have a part of it, because they don't know the grief and loss that came with so many of those events", Éomer said one night after the boy had first expressed the wish to carry a blade. He sighed, suddenly looking much older than his nine and thirty years, and he spoke softly, "That is the tragedy of his generation, I deem."

There was great insight in his words, and as she pondered them, Lothíriel thought he was right; for the struggles he had endured had taught Éomer wisdom beyond his years, and he knew too well the weight of things that were lost and could never be regained.

But Elfwine was his father's son, born with the wild north in his blood, and that was probably the reason she would at times find him bruised almost from head to toe – Lothíriel eventually learned it was because he and Getrúwian had been playing sword-fight with sticks. Her first reaction was to disallow them continuing such games, but Éomer had a different idea.

"They are not likely to stop with this game, beloved", he told her curtly. "The least one can do is make sure they don't hurt themselves over much."

Though her heart ached at the idea of her son being harmed, she knew she couldn't always be there to guard her children, and the Kings of Rohan were warriors. Obviously Éomer was not going to grant Elfwine's wish today, or until he had grown and trained for years, but one day he would ride to war, with his father or alone. This was the bitter chalk of parenthood, she realised: producing new life into the world, loving it with all of her heart, and yet knowing she might not be able to protect and preserve it.

And so, on the first time she saw Éomer sparring with their first-born, her delight for Elfwine learning new things was partly overcast by knowing it was merely an introduction to the warrior's training, which the Crown Prince of the Riddermark would receive as he grew.

In her heart, she sent a prayer to the Powers, to watch over this precious child she and the man she loved had brought into the world.

* * *

_June 9, Meduseld_

It was only a matter of time when the children would start to notice their mother was off at the times their father was away. In the nine years Lothíriel had been the Queen of the Riddermark, she had never quite learned to fully hide her troubled mood of when Éomer had to leave them, but at least she had been able to distract her cubs if they ever sensed her uneasiness. But she knew that as their understanding of the world grew, so would their perception, and how could they be indifferent to her mood when they too missed Éomer?

However, it was their response to her melancholy state of mind that took Lothíriel by surprise, perhaps though it shouldn't have – after all, they _were _Éomer's children.

That day, a week after her husband had ridden south to meet with Aragorn and visit Éowyn and her family, she came to the royal chambers with the intention of changing clothes and washing away the dust in her throat after spending the afternoon in the study, tackling some of the pile of reports which had been waiting for the King's attention. But thoughts of reports and afternoon's work left her mind when she heard them: the quiet little giggles of a pair of children. Lothíriel smiled to herself as she entered, pretending she was still unaware of their little game.

"Boo!" came the shout as she was closing the door and the two children jumped on her from behind it.

"Oh dear! What do you want from me, you little trolls?" she exclaimed, feigning surprise as she captured her son and daughter in her arms. Their weight had her falling to sit on the floor – her little ones were growing big and strong. Only Elred was absent, as he was still too small, and she guessed he was napping under the watchful eye of his nurse maid.

"Will you play with us, Mother?" Elfwine asked eagerly, latching his arms about her neck.

"Pwetty please?" Elfhild accompanied her brother, crawling across her mother's lap.

"Darlings, you know I have plenty of work to do", Lothíriel said as gently as she could, but her words made their faces fall.

"You're working all the time, Mother", her son complained. His little pout was absolutely adorable, Lothíriel noticed silently, feeling her resistance grow weaker against two such mighty opponents.

"We miss Fael too. Want to see Ma smile", Elfhild added – she still kept calling her sire just "Fael". It was quite endearing and never failed to make Éomer smile. Usually it did cause similar reaction in Lothíriel as well, but at this time her daughter's words had her mind sobering.

_They are his children. Of course they would notice... _try as she might, she could not hide this from her offspring.

"Very well then", she said at last, pulling them both close, "but only if you promise there won't be any funny business at bedtime."

"We promise!" her children said in one voice, grinning brightly in delight. Their happiness lifted her mood as well; though perhaps they had not realised the wisdom of their plan to snare their mother to play with them, it was not lost to Lothíriel.

So they arrayed their toy riders and soldiers on the floor to act out some battle from years past, and the chamber was filled with laughter and cries. It was impossible to hold back her smile as Lothíriel watched her son and daughter whisper their strategies as to how to defeat their opponent – which role she was playing for the time being – and she thought they had been paying good attention to their father's teachings, however playfully delivered in a similar makeshift battle.

Eventually she admitted her defeat, and her cubs jumped on her again; she let them pin her on the ground and she laughed, embracing this light happiness that could be delivered by such innocent joy as only children knew.

But then Elfwine's fingers fell on the skin of her forearm – she had rolled up her sleeves, exposing her arms as far as her elbow. Quickly she realised he was tracing a particular patch of skin... the long, thin scar, left by the knife of an assassin. She had not thought of Agon in some time, though the proof of his assault remained etched on her pale skin even now. Sometimes, Éomer would trace that scar, or the one on her side, with his kisses... as though his affection could wipe away the traces of pain she had felt.

"Did you hurt yourself, Mother?" Elfwine asked worriedly. She sat up and gently pushed the fall of his dark hair from his face.

"It doesn't hurt anymore", she told him softly. "I will tell you about it some time, when you are a bit older."

Elfwine still did not seem untroubled. He worried his lip and glanced at Elfhild next to him, who was looking at them with wide eyes. It couldn't have been more obvious that something was still troubling Lothíriel's son.

"What is it, sweetheart?" she asked him, her voice gentle and warm.

"Father has many scars", he said gingerly, as though he wasn't sure if he were supposed to talk about this. She wasn't surprised that he had noticed. Beyond his childlike innocence and happiness, he had a keen mind, just as his father.

"He does", Lothíriel agreed softly, reaching to take the hands of both of her children in her own. "I will tell you about them as well one day. But don't worry about your father. Because do you know what scars mean?"

"What?" Elfwine asked, and his eyes lit up with curiosity just as Elfhild's did. Lothíriel reached closer first to kiss her son's brow, and then her daughter.

"Scars mean you healed."

* * *

_October 9, Meduseld_

It would often appear that Lothíriel was the caretaker of the family. Managing her husband and children with a firm but gentle hand, Éomer often called her the heart of their brood. Sometimes, in the dark hours of the night when all his walls were down and scar tissue was peeled back to reveal the tender insides, he'd tell her they – him and the children – would be so lost without her. According to him, she was the sunlight that made them all flourish and grow strong.

But that didn't mean she wasn't taken care of as well. Éomer's way was just often more quiet and subtle than hers, and when she realised what he was doing, she was thankful. Her well-being was just as important to him as his was to her.

Thad day his show of care and affection came in the form of telling her to go and spend the evening with Scýne, to share laughs with the other woman and forget about her many duties for the night. He reassured her he would take care of their children, make sure they were clean and fed and would put them to sleep at their bedtime. It hadn't really occurred to Lothíriel that she was in the need of a free night, but she wasn't surprised Éomer had noticed – few things escaped his attention, and sometimes he knew her better than even herself. So, with thanks she had kissed him and said she would see him later. Not to mention, she sensed it was good for the children to be all alone with their father every now and then. It might be a surprising trait in a man so solemn, but her horselord was very good with the children, and he had endless patience for their mischief and games. In fact, he participated in those most naturally.

Then, after kissing her three little cubs and telling them to behave, Lothíriel headed out to see her friend.

She sat with Scýne until the sun had gone down and night had come. The older woman had a free night as well: apparently Éothain was looking after their children with the help of Elva, who was not so small a girl these days anymore. After she had spent an entire year pleading for his permission, Éothain had finally promised her that she could join the lads of Edoras for battle-training. As the girl had spent many hours of her young life watching riders sparring with each other, she already knew quite a deal about swordsmanship – a fact that had quickly silenced those among her peers who did not think a girl should be training to become a rider. Scratching his head, Éothain had said it looked like all his gift in battle had gone to his first-born daughter.

As for Elva herself, she had already stated that she would become a great warrior, just like Lady Éowyn and Ceolwen and Lothíriel Queen. The last-mentioned was rather delighted to be included in such a mighty company.

Altogether it was a pleasant night, and Lothíriel felt light and cheerful when she returned to the Golden Hall. Guards greeted her as she passed, bowing their heads and opening the doors of her home to let her in. There warmth and familiar smells of wood and smoke welcomed her, and she thought she would have recognised this scent even in a dream. It was quiet now in the Hall, as people of the royal household had gone their ways for the night. But she rather enjoyed this late hour and the gentle shadows and silences. Between her children and husband, she rarely had time to take pleasure in this calm which also spoke of a greater peace in the land of the horselords, and so she did not make any haste now as she walked slowly through the Hall which was her home.

It was quiet in the royal chambers when she entered. The scraps of supper had been cleaned away, and toys had been collected neatly in a basket at the corner. Only a ruffled rug spoke of an evening spent between a certain Rohir and his three children.

She found them in the bedchamber, sleeping together in the bed – her precious pile of Rohirrim. Éomer himself was in the middle, his children around him, their hair hiding their little faces. Elfhild was safely nestled between her father and her older brother, who lay sprawled, as he usually did (and taking the space of two people at least while he was at it).

For the longest moment, all Lothíriel could do was just watch. There they were, the four people she would commit terrible acts to protect and defend... their peaceful faces were the most beautiful thing in her life. An errant tear made its way on her cheek and she quickly wiped it away, though it was nothing more than a tear of happiness.

As quietly as she was able, she undressed and pulled on a night shift. She didn't bother undoing her hair from the braid or brushing it – she could do that in the morning. Then, after a quick wash, she tiptoed towards the bed, holding her breath. The children had not moved but Éomer was awake now, and he was watching her quietly. She smiled at him and he returned the expression, and then he reached to carefully pull Elfwine by his shirt bit to the right, to make space beside the sleeping child. The boy did not wake up at being moved, but he did let out a small yawn and a sigh. There she settled next to him, wrapping one arm about her son, who snuggled closer to her. As sleep was already starting to overcome her, Lothíriel mouthed _"good night" _to her king, who answered as noiselessly. Then, content in the knowledge her family was safe and sound, the Queen of the Mark allowed herself to drift off to the realm of dreams.

* * *

**A/N: **And here comes one more update before Christmas! I'm leaving for holidays, but I mean to be back by the start of 2016. If I get any time to write during the holidays, I should be able to bring forth the next chapter of _A Long and Winding Road, _which I must say is going into some rather unexpected places.

As for this story, I'm trying to advance it into the years of adolescence of Lothíriel and Éomer's kids. Turns out they're pretty delightful to write about! :)

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Hobbitpony1 - **Yes, the one thing you just don't do is try to lay hands on her kids! Lothíriel can be quite protective of those she loves. And indeed, dark memories often make their appearance when the mind is more vulnerable, especially in sleep. But fortunately for Éomer, his wife is pretty good at dealing with it.

**Jo - **Glad to hear you liked it! I've been looking forward to write more about their children growing up. :)

**brandibuckeye - **Thanks! It was a nice change to me as well.


	67. Chapter 67

_Late May 11, Meduseld_

After a wearisome council meeting that had droned on for the most of the morning until afternoon, Éomer entered the royal chambers of Meduseld. Stretching his arms, he thought of the tasks awaiting him this afternoon, and then what he most expected and wished for: spending the night with his family. In his youth, he had never known what contentment he might one day take in simple pleasures of being near to one's most beloved kin.

It was then he saw the structure in the chamber and heard the voices of his children, whispering to each other and laughing. A smile spread on Éomer's face as he regarded the blanket fortress built on some chairs and what probably was the table. Fondly he recalled building a few of those back when he and Éowyn had been small.

"Who goes there?" asked the voice of Elfwine from the fortress, having heard the arrival of their father. He was emulating the guards of Edoras rather impressively.

"Just a weary traveller", Éomer replied, hiding his amusement the best he could. The antics of his offspring was something that never failed to bring a smile to his face. But soon as he lifted the blanket, he was bombarded with what he recognised as some kind of seeds. Elred exclaimed: "Take down the beast!"

"No! I am slain", Éomer lamented and fell down on the floor with a thud, closing his eyes.

First there was a furious bout of giggling, and then he felt small hands and knees as his children climbed over him. He remained quiet and unmoving, though he had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from smiling.

"Did we kill Father? Mother will be so angry!" Elfhild asked then. The poor lass sounded genuinely worried.

"He's just pretending", Elfwine huffed and lifted the hand of his father and let it drop, while Elred shook his shoulder.

"Wake up, Father!" demanded his younger son.

"Clever prince", Éomer growled and grabbed at the trio; Elfhild shrieked and was able to make her escape, but the two boys were not so lucky. "I have you now!"

"Elfhild, go muster the Rohirrim!" Elfwine wailed and tried to squirm to freedom. But Éomer held the two lads tight against his chest; he was still stronger than them, and would be so for a few years yet.

"I will muster Mother!" she announced and ran into the arms of Lothíriel, who had arrived so quietly that no one had noticed her stopping to watch the scene at the door. His queen laughed and caught their daughter in her arms.

"Are you little rascals tormenting your poor father?" she asked fondly, casting a smile at her husband on the floor. He had yet to release the two princes, who now slouched in defeat on him.

"Mother, help!" Elred called to her. Lothíriel laughed again and approached Éomer.

"Would you release my sons, O great beast?" she asked good-humouredly, while Elfhild followed, _"you'd better, or else!" _

"Aye, but only in an exchange for a kiss", he informed her, which made Elfwine and Elred moan simultaneously. The older of the boys was in the age when kissing was considered disgusting, and the latter was keen on following his brother's notions.

"That is a price I will gladly pay", Lothíriel said and kissed the top of her husband's head. In turn he let go of the two princes.

"Thus with a kiss I am conquered", he announced. His sons, aggravated to have their beast so punily defeated, crawled back into their fortress. But Elfhild came to him and wrapped arms about her father's neck.

"Father, will you come ride with me?" she asked, her grey eyes wide and pleading. It was not easy to reject such a heartfelt plea, but Éomer had his afternoon full of duties he had yet to attend to, and he had already been loitering for too long. Sometimes, he truly loathed being the King.

"I must be getting back to work, daughter", he told her as gently as he could, and immediately he saw her face fall. So he hurried to add, "But we shall go riding tomorrow. Would that suit you, Elfhild?"

She nodded and looked at him hopefully, "Will you promise, Father?"

"Aye, I will."

* * *

_Early June 12, Edoras_

Sometimes Father could be just so unreasonable.

Elfwine had been asking for a horse of his own for a year now, going through what he considered a fairly impressive variety of tactics. He had also presented his sire with a vast collection of arguments in the favour of having his own horse, and Father would listen to them patiently. However, his answer was always the same: _"Not before you are older." _

When Elfwine had lost his temper and demanded when exactly that would be, Father had just shaken his head and informed him he would know. Somehow, Elfwine's father did not seem to have any idea of how frustrating it all was. Even turning for Mother's help did not avail, though it seemed to the Prince that she could always change Father's mind whenever she wanted; to Elfwine she just smiled and told him to talk with his father. This frustrating cycle did not seem to have an end at all.

It was quite hopeless. And so he, the Crown Prince of the Riddermark, was stuck with a pony whenever he wanted to ride. The only times he'd get to ride a real horse were under his father's strict supervision, and to his endless exasperation his sire seemed to always find something to criticise about Elfwine's posture and handling of the steed. He was quite cross about that, at least until Uncle Éothain whispered to him, "Where do you think your father learned to ride the way he does? Your grandfather Éomund was just as merciless, if not even more."

This cheered him up and Elfwine decided he'd learn to ride just as his father. Still, it didn't make him grow any faster, and yet each time he watched the King's Company ride out, he yearned to join them. Still, whenever he voiced out this wish to his mother, she'd look at him funnily and tell him he'd know enough of war when he grew up.

In any case, Elfwine wasn't growing as fast as he'd have liked, though he was already as tall as Cenric and Getrúwian. At least it comforted him a little bit that they were all stuck with riding ponies for the time being – for one reason or the other, all three of their fathers seemed to agree on that particular matter. According to Cenric, they had come up with it just to make their sons miserable.

And then there was Mother. Not only did she agree with Father, but there was no escaping the notice of her hawk-eyes; so, whenever Elfwine wanted to go out riding, several guards would always be following him. There are times in a lad's life when adults are not needed, but when he tried to explain this to his mother, and that Getrúwian never needed to take guards with him when he went out, Mother was unmoved. She would look at him solemnly and remind him that Getrúwian was not the heir of the Riddermark. There was little he could say against that; however when Father said she wouldn't let him ride out without guards either, Elfwine felt a bit better. Surely, if a mighty warrior like his sire couldn't go out alone, a prince could be content with taking a few men along?

Be it as may, these were the conditions his parents had set whenever the Prince of the Mark wanted to ride, and so after finishing his lessons with Master Guthmaer, he and Getrúwian headed out to the plains. Laughing as they went, they raced their ponies along Snowbourne, and tried to ignore the guards following them.

"When do you suppose we'll get to ride to war with my father and his men?" Elfwine asked his friend; Getrúwian too looked forward to that day, much because of his sister. Elva had become a Rider only this spring, and she was a Shieldmaiden like Aunt Éowyn had been, like Aunt Ceolwen was. She'd stride with the riders of the King's Guard, and her laugh was loud and her hands were strong.

"My father said I would have to wait until I'm sixteen", Getrúwian said and sighed in exasperation, though he was closer to the required age than Elfwine – for him it was only a few years now. But then the prince considered it might actually be worse for his friend, because his sister already had become a Rider, and Getrúwian had a lot to live up to with a Shieldmaiden as a sibling.

"Mine said the same", Elfwine said, sighing as well, "and Mother wasn't happy about it."

"I think that's what mothers are supposed to do. My mother is always unhappy when Elva rides out with the King's Company", Getrúwian said sagely, and the two lads were silent for a while. The Prince of the Mark thought it would have been nice to tell his overly protective mother that it was nothing, and she needn't worry. But then there was Uncle Éothain: he had been a great warrior, but he had lost his leg in a fight, years before Elfwine had been born. It had been a terrible battle, but it was rarely mentioned, and only in quiet voices – when he had asked his father if he had been there too, his sire's face had become strange and dark, and it had even scared Elfwine a little, because it was not an expression he had seen before. Quickly it was added on that frustratingly long list of things his parents would tell him when he was older. Best he could figure, it all had to do with the words dropped occasionally in conversations he would overhear: there was _the first southern campaign, _and the more serious tone that always came up with _Kin-strife. _And if Mother was around, eyes would flicker to her direction, and from the quiet respect of their gazes Elfwine knew she had done something terribly brave.

But if that were true, why couldn't Mother see he wanted to be just as brave as her and Father?

The Prince of the Mark shook his head and looked at his friend, "Come, Getrúwian. Let's race to the crossing."

"We both know you're going to win", said the older lad, "You're smaller and lighter, and your pony is faster."

"But you're not going to get better unless you practise", Elfwine said, itching to feel the wind on his face as they raced on the plains. One of the best things he knew was when he'd get to ride Silfren with Father, because in the Mark there was no other horse in par with the stallion's speed and stamina, unless it was another of _mearas. _

Getrúwian still wasn't complying, and so the two spent a while arguing about it, and the young Prince did his best to convince his friend. The guards followed from some moderate distance, though Elfwine had watched King's Riders sparring enough times to know they would spring to action in seconds if they observed the faintest threat emerging. But now he was so in the middle of his talk with Getrúwian that he did not see anything before the guards gave a shout.

"Elfwine Prince!" their voices rose, and their horses neighed loudly when suddenly urged to fly forwards. The head of the King's son snapped up and about to scan what had roused the guards, and then he saw _them. _

It was not the first time the Crown Prince of the Riddermark saw elves. He was well familiar with Legolas, who sometimes visited Edoras on his way to meet Gimli in Glæmscrafu, and he remembered the tall Elven healer who had helped his mother when she had been expecting Elred. But truth was, knowing them could not have prepared him for this Company, or their leader. These were a different kind, more ancient than Legolas, and they did not seem to belong at all on this sunlit field as they rode to meet the two boys next to the river. Frontmost was an Elf as tall as Father, with hair of shining silver, and face neither young or old. His eyes found Elfwine's and they studied him in a way that made the young prince feel like his mind was being read – and yet in turn it was almost like he could see years long past in those wise, ageless eyes.

When they reached the speaking distance, the leader of the Elves spoke up, and in his voice echoed starlit years before the Sun and Moon, as in the stories Legolas had once told Elfwine and his siblings.

"Well met, Prince Elfwine", said the tall Elf, bowing his head slightly. The young heir of the Mark returned the gesture before confusion descended on him. How did this Elf know him, unless he had heard one of the guards shouting his name? And yet he felt the stranger had _known, _even before... just by looking at him.

The guards had now surrounded their prince, but glancing around their faces, Elfwine saw they knew there was no danger here. Quietly, they bowed their heads at the company of the Immortal before them.

"Well met, my lord", he answered, just as his mother had taught him. But he could not stifle his curiosity, and so he asked, "Have we met before?"

It was a reasonable question. Maybe this was one of his parents' friend, who had visited Edoras some time in the past, and he had just been too young to remember it?

The Elf smiled, even more enigmatic than Legolas could be at the best of times.

"You hold the image of your parents, Prince Elfwine, just as I saw it years ago", he simply stated. It was such a strange thing to say, and it raised quite a few questions, but the young prince had been educated to treat visitors with respect – he should invite this group to his home, as was right and proper. Getrúwian was silent beside him, as the older lad had been until now, and the guards awaited quietly as well, their faces full of wonder.

"I am Celeborn, friend of your father and mother. When we last met, I promised I would visit them one day. The time has now come", said the Elf before the prince could give any pleasantries he had been taught, and the words had him silenced. Now he understood very well who this stranger was, because how many times had Mother told him and his siblings about the fabled Lord and Lady of the Wood?

So, the Crown Prince of the Riddermark bowed at the Elven Lord best he could while in the saddle.

"You are welcome in the Mark, my lord. May I take you to see my parents?" he asked, and with a smile, Lord Celeborn nodded.

"That would be a pleasure, Prince", he answered, his voice echoing with the sounds of distant years.

Elfwine turned his pony and breathed in and out, his skin crawling with a strange sensation. Then, holding his head up high, he lead the noble guest to the house of his father.

* * *

While Lothíriel had known for years that one day Lord Celeborn would arrive, it still surprised her somewhat when the Elf appeared in the court of the King of Rohan. At the end of their visit to Lórien, their host had promised to pay a visit to them some time, and she had kept that promise in some dusty cupboard of her mind, out of sight but not fully forgotten. The years that had passed had just been busy and so full of life that she had not exactly been waiting for the day when Lord Celeborn would make an appearance.

And yet, when she saw him riding for Meduseld, side by side with her first-born son, she realised it was the only way it could be. After all, Elfwine _was _his gift.

Fortunately, Éomer was home as well, and so they were able to receive their guest with every honour imaginable. Many of the folk of Edoras and of Meduseld remembered well the last visit of Lord Celeborn in the capital of Rohan, but there were those who had not lived here then, and especially the children gazed at the Elven company with awed eyes. Indeed, their presence was as though a breath and an image from the past, of days half shrouded in legend.

A great feast was made to honour the Lord of the Wood, though it did not seem proper to call him that anymore. For Lothíriel knew he was not going back to his realm of old when he left Rohan. It was a sorrowful thought, to imagine the land of Lórien as it must be now that last of the Elves had left it. But deciding she'd rather remember the place as it had been at the time of her and Éomer's visit, she did not give much thought to the empty woods or the silent airs. In the end, all things must pass, even the realms of the Immortal – at least, so it was here east of the Sea.

That night, when Lothíriel went to say good night to her little ones, Elfwine called to her, asking her to his side. He had not left the feast easily, but a day had yet to arrive when his head was stronger than hers.

But like his father, his temper was cooled off by the time Lothíriel came to check on him before returning to the feast. When she had kissed him and was already heading for the door, her son's voice called her back.

"Mother?" Elfwine spoke softly, and she turned to look at him.

"What is it, sweetheart?" she asked, returning to his side. She saw him hesitate for a moment, but eventually the young prince opened his mouth again.

"What did Lord Celeborn mean when he said he had seen the image of me before?" he asked in a soft little voice, the kind that made him so much younger than he was in fact. The question did not surprise her, because Elves had a way of causing bewilderment and wonder even to fully grown people.

She did not speak at first – she took seat on the edge of her son's bed and reached to brush her hand across his cheek. It was very soft, as can only be the skin of a child who won't know the fine edge of the razor in many years still.

"It is because he must have known somehow. Elves have foresight even beyond what we can imagine, and Lord Celeborn is counted among the very wise of his people", she said gently, smoothing Elfwine's hair. She let out a soft sigh, "You see, before you were born, your father and I were afraid we wouldn't be able to raise a family. We were sad, because we thought these halls would never hear the voices of our children."

The memory of that time did not sting anymore – how could it, when she had her three cubs and each day she saw them grow and learn? But it did make her appreciate them all the more.

"It was at that time Lord Celeborn invited us to visit his realm of Lórien. You remember the tales I used to tell you about that place?" she asked her son, and he nodded, his eyes wide as he listened to her. With a slight smile, Lothíriel went on, "So we travelled to stay as his guests for a while, and it we were quite happy there. And after we had come home, I discovered I was expecting you, dear son."

The Queen of the Mark leaned down to kiss the brow of her son, and she said softly, "I suppose Lord Celeborn knew you would be born, sweetheart. That's probably why he knew you today... because of him, we called you Elfwine."

Her son lay silently for a while and his dark eyes were thoughtful. It made him look a lot like his father; though his face he had inherited from his mother's kin, his expressions were often almost identical to those of his sire.

"Did you ever go back, Mother?" he asked after a while.

"No, we did not. You were on your way, and our life was always too busy", Lothíriel answered, shaking her head slightly.

"Do you think I could go there some time? With you and Father?" he asked then, making her smile. Of course he'd ask this: Lórien was the place where he had been made possible.

"When we left Lórien, I resolved I would never go back there. There are things that only happen once, and our visit was one such thing... we didn't speak of it with your father, but I feel he had thought the same. But you, Elfwine, must do after your own mind. Your life and your choices are your own", she told him gently, resting her hand against his cheek. Indeed, no matter how she wanted to guard and shelter her children, she knew a day would come she'd have to let go... just as her father had let her go when she had left to look for Éomer. Hopefully, when the day came, she would be able to follow Father's example.

But as for now, her children were still young, safe in their beds, and she had a feast to attend to. So she reached to kiss Elfwine one more time.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart. It is late already", she said to her son, this dear child she had dreamt even before she knew him. He flashed her a smile and she tucked the blankets tight around him, to make sure he'd stay warm through the night. Once more she kissed her little prince and murmured against his hair, "You and your siblings are a precious gift, Elfwine. Never forget that, just as I never forget it."

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update! I rather enjoyed writing this one, especially the part from Elfwine's point of view. I've never stepped into his boots before, so to speak, so it was quite interesting for me. Hope you like it too!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Kiiimberly - **My pleasure! :)

**Hobbitpony1 - **Oh dear, I'm quite taken with the compliment! Thank you!

**Jo - **Thanks! I'm glad you liked it, and the bit with Elfwine's POV. :)

**brandibuckeye - **Thank you!

**Eomers - **Thanks a lot! It's always great to hear my stories have the ability to lighten up someone's day. :)


	68. Chapter 68

_Late April 13, Meduseld_

One day of spring, thirteen years after the Kin-strife had ended, Lothíriel heard her youngest laughing outside the doors of Meduseld. It was a joyful sound free of care, and though the past decade had often brought such bustle in and about the Golden Hall, it remained a thing of beauty in her ears.

The noise invited her out to see what was the cause of it, and what did delight Elred so much. What was the lad up to?

So she made way outside, and as she exited, bright sunlight briefly blinded her. It was a very sunny day in the Mark and the world was fair in the glory of new spring.

The sounds that had so called for her attention were caused by the scene below the stone steps in the courtyard. Elred was there indeed, wielding a wooden play sword in a battle against his father. Time and again Éomer would push him back, but then he'd let the boy gain some ground again, and so they danced back and forth on their battlefield. Their swordplay had also some audience: household guards and stablemen had formed makeshift teams to support either the King or the Prince, which seemed to greatly delight Elred. The young prince was laughing, his eyes sparkling with excitement, and every now and then Éomer would instruct him: "Good, pay attention to what you do with your feet. Never underestimate how important it is!"

The breathless feeling of wonder and something intimidated took her almost immediately. Lothíriel took a step back and then another, until she could feel the bench next to the twin doors behind herself, and she fell down to sit. As she sat there trying to catch her breath, she could see another time and another courtyard, south in Gondor, in the house of a smith... a young boy had challenged Éomer to swordplay while she did business with his father the smith. Only, when she had arrived to the scene, she had seen a golden-haired boy.

And there he was now in the front of her waking eyes, the son she had seen years before he had come into the world. How had she not remembered earlier? Then again, she had just thought she was seeing things... perhaps imagining a life beyond the road they had travelled then. Lately she had not much thought about that time, but now it returned to her strong and clear, and her eyes filled with tears; yet these were not the sorrowful kind, but somehow filled with gratefulness. They had battled and won, and even now, years after the events of Kin-strife, the rewards of victory would still take her like this.

"Mother? Are you all right?" asked a soft voice next to her. Lothíriel looked up to see her eldest son standing beside her, wearing a worried expression so alike to Éomer's, she could not help but let out a small laugh. Recently, he had been growing tall as a young tree – none of his old clothes would suit him anymore, and he was all elbows and knees, but growing strong from his warrior's training. Somehow, the boy did not seem to be able to run out of ways to get himself dirty, which apparently had to do with how gangly and clumsy he had become as of late. Old Osythe, though she was starting to lose her eyesight, would proudly gaze at the prince and tell everyone who might listen that the heir of Rohan had the exact bearing of his father when he had been at that age.

"I'm fine, Elfwine. I was just..." she started, but did not know how to continue. How should she explain this, when it overwhelmed herself too?

So she just smiled and picked up her son's hand in her own, "I was just thinking of how lucky I am to have all four of you."

He smiled as well, reaching down to kiss her brow.

"You think you are lucky?" he asked her warmly, sounding so like his father. It was strange sometimes, to see this face which resembled Prince Imrahil so much, and yet all his mannerisms, his voice, his very bearing were as though Éomer himself had taken up a different face. Well, that was if Éomer were as clumsy as a foal just starting to learn how legs are supposed to work. Yet if one believed what Osythe said, then indeed Elfwine was truly his father's son.

Though her mind remained on these thoughts, her son had already gazed ahead. He was looking at his sire and brother, who continued their sparring unaware of being observed by the two on the terrace.

"Mother, when do you think Father will let me ride to war with him?" Elfwine asked, making Lothíriel move her eyes to him. So eager to prove himself, thinking he somehow had to earn being worthy of called the heir of Éomer Éadig...

"You must ask him that, son", Lothíriel told him in a firm but gentle voice. "He was sixteen when he first became a Rider, but the need for swords was greater in those times. Don't be so eager for war, Elfwine; you do not know what you wish for."

Her first-born frowned and did not speak, but she knew her son too well not to miss what was on his mind. His desire to do great deeds, just like his father had, was too powerful to be smothered by her warning words. Lothíriel suppressed a sigh and fought against heartache, wondering what was it about sons and fathers. Perhaps even Éomer himself could not change Elfwine's mind in this. But then, what could one expect from the son of two people as stubborn as herself and her king?

As she looked again at Elred, so glad and enthusiastic in the lesson his father was giving him, she wondered if he too, as well as Elfhild, would one day ask her the same thing as Elfwine. Lothíriel realised it might be inevitable. They were Éomer's children, they had his blood and his courage, his will to act. And she, if she wished to be true to them, must let them pursue their own paths.

But not yet... not quite yet.

* * *

So passed the days of their offspring's childhood; it was a time full of laughter, full of _life. _Éomer had long since forgotten what it felt like to be a part of a family such as this, but as his children grew, he was reminded of it every day. And sometimes, when the scar tissue itched and the memories of the south were near to the surface, he only needed to see the faces of his sons and daughter. One thing was always very clear: each day was a gift, and each day that he woke up as a husband and a father took him further away from the dark days of imprisonment, of forgetting who he really was.

Though the duties of the king kept him busy, Éomer tried to take part in his children's education as much as possible. While most of their schooling was overseen by a learned man of the name of Master Osfrid, their parents had a part: with Lothíriel they learned Sindarin and histories of Gondor, but Éomer himself taught them in politics and strategies of war. Elfwine and Elfhild were very eager for the latter, but Elred showed more interest in the former. Yet somehow, Elred's enthusiasm was able to draw in the attention of his older siblings, and when the three began to have debates of whatever issue Éomer had presented to them, he could only listen and watch while quiet pride grew in his heart.

He also instructed them in riding as often as he could, and tested their skill with arms. Elfwine had inherited his gift for swordsmanship, but Elfhild was an archer as talented as Lothíriel herself. And while Elred was taught to wield arms as well, he did not seem to share the more warlike qualities that his older siblings possessed.

Having been born in Meduseld, and raised among their father's people, the three children of the King would perhaps always be more of Rohan than of Gondor. But it did not mean Lothíriel did not teach them about the land of her birth. Often she would tell them stories about their Númenórean ancestors, and of Imrazôr and Mithrellas. When they spoke Sindarin among themselves, too quick for Éomer to follow with his less than adequate grasp on the Elven tongue, he knew they were far from the windy plains of the Riddermark. To Elfhild especially the character of Mithrellas seemed to speak strongly, which did not surprise Lothíriel.

"I was just as enamoured with the idea of her when I was young", said his Lioness with a fond smile. _Like mother, like daughter, _Éomer thought to himself – and when he saw Elfhild running at the heels of Elva, or coming up with some mischief, or perhaps when her laughter rang in the Golden Hall, he knew the girl had inherited her mother's spirit.

And some nights Lothíriel would spend sitting outside with Elfhild, teaching her about the stars, just as late Prince Adrahil of Dol Amroth had once taught his young granddaughter. Though much that had once been was forgotten, much was still passed on, from one generation to another.

But something Éomer had not foreseen was Elfwine's need to prove he truly was an Eorling, and nothing less than the son of the King. And so, when he was thirteen, it came to pass that one day a guard came racing to the council chamber, where the King and his advisers were gathered. The whole company looked up from the maps and reports laid out before them, and Éomer asked what was the matter.

"Sire, Elfwine Prince has taken out Silfren and is riding him!"

The Lord of the Mark straightened himself, trying to process the words in the middle of his surprise. He was not astonished that Silfren would allow Elfwine to lead him out and ride him, but rather the fact his son had decided to do this thing. He frowned, wondering at the lad's motive: was Elfwine simply showing off to his friends? It appalled Éomer if it were so, as he and Lothíriel had tried to teach all their children that being of the House of Eorl did not put them before anyone else.

"Has he got far?" Éomer asked the guard, keeping his voice level and calm.

"Just past the Gates, my lord", came the quick answer.

"Send someone after him. Tell him his father would like to have a word", said the King of the Mark, and the guard rushed away as fast as his feet would carry. In any other situation, Éomer might have ridden after the lad himself, but after Silfren had come to him, he had not known another steed. Whenever he had considered the matter, it always seemed somehow wrong for the _mearh _stallion to have replacement – and it was not like someone could just steal him. Well, unless the thief happened to be one of Éomer's own children, and though he couldn't say right away why Elfwine had done this thing, he didn't think it was maliciously intended.

When the guard had gone, Éomer turned to glance at his advisers; all four of them were looking at him quizzically.

"Gentlemen, excuse me. I must see to my son", he simply said, and the lords around him gave low mutters in agreement.

Éomer strode swiftly outside, Captain Edelric trailing his steps like a second shadow, and servants made way to the King of the Riddermark as he passed. Guards opened the twin doors of the Hall, and he stepped outside into the bright, brisk day of March. He was pleased to see that Elfwine was already returning, climbing the great hill with Silfren. It was not the first time the prince sat on the back of the great stallion – however, it was the first time he did so unaccompanied by his father. There was wind in his hair, a flush on his cheeks, and in the eagerness of his expression Éomer saw something that uncannily reminded him of Lothíriel. Still, he assumed a stern look, readying himself for a scolding.

But then, before Éomer had a chance to raise his voice and call the name of his son, he took notice of the faces of people in the courtyard. They had stopped by to watch their prince as he rode, and further along the road there were more of the people of Edoras. Suddenly, he understood this was not about showing off.

He made his way down the steps of the Hall and met his son and Silfren at the centre of the courtyard. Elfwine's eager expression had faltered now and made way to a worried look – no doubt the lad wondered if his father were very cross with him.

"You need to hold yourself straighter when riding, son", Éomer said calmly, making him frown. This did not seem to be the reaction he had expected.

Elfwine slid down from the back of the _mearh, _but his father turned his eyes at Silfren. The stallion moved his head to nuzzle the face of his friend, which made Éomer smile. It occurred to him then that Silfren would never let Elfwine use him simply to show off; should the Prince try such thing, the horse was likely to throw him off his back, and make sure the only injury the lad would get would be to his pride.

No, it was not about parading about Edoras... and somehow, the way he always did, Silfren had known. The first time Éomer had ridden with the Silver stallion, it had reminded him of who he was, who he needed to be. Perhaps Elfwine's first ride alone was to find himself also... after all, he _was _a son of the Riddermark and the heir of Eorl. And like his father before him, he needed to prove himself, too – if only in his own eyes.

The King of the Mark patted the neck of his equine friend, allowing him to be cared for by the stablehands, and turned to look at his heir, who stood waiting, a nervous look on his face.

"Walk with me, son", Éomer said, keeping his own expression smooth.

"Yes, Father", Elfwine said in a small voice, and side by side they made their way to no direction in particular. Guards fell behind them, knowing the King wished to speak with his son in peace.

"Are you angry, Father?" his son asked suddenly, his voice trembling softly. The lad was growing so fast these days, some mornings it seemed almost like he had stretched an entire inch during the night. His movements were often clumsy and his face and manner were yet those of a child, but every now and then he would, unbeknownst to himself, show the promise of the man he would one day be.

"I'm not, Elfwine", Éomer answered, glancing at the boy next to him. "but I do wonder why did you take Silfren out without asking."

He had an idea already what his son had been doing, but he wanted to hear Elfwine explain it himself.

"Father... I – I did not mean harm. I just wanted..." the lad started uncertainly, biting his lip in a way exactly like his mother. Lothíriel sometimes said Elfwine was very much his father's son, but Éomer saw her in him, too.

"What is it, son?" he coaxed calmly. Elfwine looked down for one moment more, but then he looked up at his father, his dark eyes full of doubt.

"Father, I wanted to... to show everyone that I'm..." the lad struggled to speak, but didn't seem to know the right words to explain what moved in his mind. He took a deep breath and tried again, perhaps a bit steadier this time, "You told me only Eorl's heirs could ride the _mearas, _Father. So I thought that maybe if people saw Silfren accept me, then they would know I really am Eorling."

The words of his first-born made Éomer halt. He looked straight at the lad, this child for whom he and Lothíriel had so desperately wished. Of course, he had never forgotten about the mutterings at the time she had been expecting their son, but he had never guessed how they might still live after so many years.

"Elfwine, who made you think you're not my son?" he asked his child, keeping his voice level though somewhere deep furious things were stirring.

"It's nothing, Father", the boy hurried to say; though Éomer was making effort to remain collected, the young prince had rightly sensed the shift of his mood. Elfwine continued, "It's stupid, really. The other lads just said I look more like a Gondorian than an Eorling... I wanted to prove them wrong. And I remembered what you had told us about Silfren and _mearas, _and so I thought that if people saw me riding him alone, then maybe it would convince them."

A moment passed none of them said anything. Éomer breathed deeply and looked at his son, who met his gaze silently... those dark eyes, innocent still and eager for his sire's approval.

The hands of the Lord of the Mark were gentle as he laid both of them on the shoulders of his heir.

"Elfwine, my son, you were born inside the walls of Meduseld – the very heart of the Riddermark. Can those lads say the same?" he asked gently. Then he sighed softly, "You look much like your mother, that is true. But it is not looks that make the man who he is. Son, _you _define yourself. No one else has the right or the ability to do that, unless you give it to them. What truly matters is inside you, not on the outside."

He leaned down then, so that he might meet his son's eyes a bit closer and make sure that no doubt would remain in his son's mind.

"I see why you wanted to ride Silfren. And I understand why he allowed you to do it... I think he wanted to show you the same thing he once showed to me", Éomer said, his voice solemn and soft.

"What did he show you, Father?" Elfwine asked eagerly, staring up at his father.

"That you are worthy. That you mustn't be afraid when fates speak your name. And that by accepting who you are, you can become stronger than you ever imagined."

Elfwine's eyes were wide and full of wonder. He let out a soft gasp, and then he threw his arms around his father, hugging him tightly.

Deep in his heart, the Lord of the Mark knew his son would never question again whether he truly was an Eorling.

* * *

**A/N: **Seems like Elfwine is getting pretty vocal in this one! Well, there simply isn't enough stuff with him, so I must do what I can to make up for the lack of stories about him. :) Also, I hadn't guessed how much I'd enjoy writing Éomer being a dad!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Hobbitpony1 - **Indeed! It seems when you're still a child, you just can't wait until you grow up. For Elfwine, it's also somewhat about proving himself. He's young still, but he feels like he needs to convince everybody he's worthy of being the King's heir.

I guess Celeborn is often forgotten in the shadow of Galadriel, though he is quite the character himself, as you say.

**brandibuckeye - **Then I hope you also liked these bits with Elfwine, though they're not from his POV! :)

**Jo - **Thank you! :)


	69. Chapter 69

It came to pass that war called Riders of Rohan once more in the seventeenth spring of the Fourth Age. Once more it was at the call of Gondor to fight their common enemies: in the east, Variags were rising again, hoping to get vengeance on their defeat in the hands of Rohan's king. They had not forgotten how Éomer and his riders had ambushed them in the snowy landscape of Mordor's ruin, and how many had fallen that day for the blades of Eorlingas.

As always, Éomer mustered his riders and prepared for war, but Lothíriel wondered grimly if a day of lasting peace might ever grace them. She did not speak her unhappiness out loud, though, and yet she did not have to. Éomer knew her too well

And though she was well familar with the preparations for war and the tension in the air when the King meant to ride to battle, something was different this time.

That something was Elfwine.

His parents had known a day would come he'd ask to join his father for his campaigns. He had too much of Éomer in him – and just as Éomer before him, Elfwine was desperate to prove his worth on battlefield. Only, the lad's motivation was not to get vengeance for his father who had fallen, but rather win the approval and praise of his living sire. He was so eager for it that when Éomer told him he was not yet ready for battle, his fit was enough to rival some of the tantrums Lothíriel remembered throwing in her younger days. However, against the iron will of his father, Elfwine's outburst held no power.

Once he had stomped off, Éomer sighed and shook his head, and then he turned towards his wife. She had not taken part in the confrontation, knowing this battle must remain between her husband and son. So she had remained in the bedchamber while the argument had raged on, and only after Elfwine had left did she join Éomer.

"If I were you, I wouldn't be surprised when he comes to ask you to change my mind", he told her. As an answer, Lothíriel smiled wryly.

"My dear heart, I would be surprised if he _didn't", _she said, making him lift his eyebrows slightly. Her smile widened. "You wonder why I think so? Why, he is his father's son."

As they both had known, the young prince did seek out his mother once his mind had calmed down somewhat to consider if there were any way around his father's decision. Lothíriel was writing a letter to Éowyn when Elfwine appeared hovering at the doorway, wearing a hopeful look which would have revealed his intentions even if she had not known them beforehand. It was strange, she sometimes thought, how easy it was for her to sense his moods and thoughts. Perhaps that was just a part of being a mother.

"Come in, sweetheart", she said, not lifting her eyes from the letter. She didn't need to do that in order to know how he was looking like – how tall he was growing, how his hair fell messily on his shoulders, and how his face was slowly but surely starting to become more like a man's than a boy's.

Elfwine entered and she turned to look at him, smiling slightly, "What is it?"

Her son hesitated for a moment and frowned, looking so much like his father when he did – she hid her smile – and then spoke, "I was... I was wondering if you could speak with Father."

"About what, son?" Lothíriel asked gently, feigning warm ignorance as she waited to hear what words he had come up with to try and convince her.

"About the campaign. Maybe, if you talked with him... he'd listen, I know it. He always listens to you. You could persuade him to let me ride with him for Gondor", Elfwine said quickly, his eyes alight with a wild hope.

"Absolutely not. I fully agree with your father, Elfwine. You are not ready for this campaign", she said steadily, folding her hands in her lap. They had known this day would come, sooner rather than later. She had anticipated the aching feeling that would come with her son's request, and knowing his young, hot heart burned too eager for acts of bravery to understand why his time had not yet come.

Hearing her answer, Elfwine's face fell.

"I want to go! I want to fight alongside Father, just like you did!" he exclaimed, taking a quick step towards her.

"I know you do, and you will one day, because this world has never seen a shortage of wars. But you are not ready yet, Elfwine, you are still too young. You must be patient, son", she told him calmly.

"But Mother! I'm the heir of the Mark and I must be a warrior! Eorlingas _are _a people of war!" he said heatedly, his dark eyes blazing with the tide of his temper. But she had spent nearly twenty years dealing with temperamental horselords, and she was not moved.

"Elfwine, I know that very well – perhaps better than you do", she said sharply, and her words seemed to make him feel taken aback.

"Father was already riding when he was at my age", he said anyway, grumbling as he spoke.

"He was a year older than you are now, and he was a Marshal's son, not the King's", Lothíriel reminded him. "The world was different then, Elfwine, and more dangerous. Orcs and Dunlendings actively threatened the borders of the realm, and young lads had to leave their homes to defend their families and fields, even though everyone could see they were not ready yet. Some of them never came back from the battles. It is not a life you should envy, my son."

Elfwine looked like he was growing short of excuses. His mouth formed words that did not come out, but still he wouldn't give up. He was truly the son of his parents.

"But... but, why does Getruwian get to go, then?" he demanded in a despairing attempt.

"He gets to go because he's three years older than you, and because Elva is there to look after him", Lothíriel said calmly. She shot a stark look at her son, the kind she had to use only rarely, "Now, are you going to come up with more excuses? I might tell you it is useless. The answer is and will remain no."

Elfwine glared at her but said no more; he turned hastily and left, cursing half-audibly as he went. Lothíriel sighed and shook her head – she knew how hard it was to stay behind. But there was no way she'd give in.

How right Éomer had been, when he had said _this _would be the tragedy of their children's generation...

* * *

The night was the last one before Éomer would ride for Gondor, and for war. As always before he departed, a throbbing ache had settled in her heart; years had passed since their journey and the quest to throw down the usurper, and yet the bonds held still. In the quiet of her thoughts, Lothíriel knew she would always need her horselord, would always be bound to him by love and fate.

Perhaps their children had sensed they wished for some time alone, and so all three had come up with ways to spend their night, leaving the King and Queen of the Mark with some dearly desired time alone. Sitting by the fire, they talked about the campaign, the strategies he had been planning with his lieutenants, and how soon he hoped to be back.

They spoke of their first-born son as well, and his wish to join the campaign.

"We knew he would be asking this as soon as the next war came. To be honest, I do not think he will be at peace before he has had a taste of battle", Lothíriel said, shaking her head slightly.

"I just wish he would listen and understand why it is not yet possible", Éomer said, sighing as he pushed his feet closer to the fire.

She smiled at her husband, "Did you always listen to your uncle when you were at Elfwine's age?"

"No", he allowed, a wry expression rising to his face, "I did not."

He rubbed his forehead wearily and cast a look of fatherly suffering towards heavens, "Béma, I never realised what a monstrous lad I was."

His words made her laugh softly, and she reached to pat his knee affectionately.

"I think you turned out just fine. I, for one, have no complaints – except perhaps sometimes about your stubbornness, love, which your son seems to have inherited", she told him warmly. He snorted.

"If Elfwine is stubborn, that's from your side of the family", he informed her, his eyes glinting with good humour. But then suddenly it vanished from his gaze, and Lothíriel could see the idea dawn to him – as it had dawned to her after her conversation with their son.

So she smiled slightly and got up from her seat. She made it next to him and took seat on the armrest, wrapping her arms about his shoulders.

"Elfwine has grown up listening to tales about what Éowyn did. I do not doubt for one minute he might consider to imitate her... I have already instructed two guards to keep an especially close eye on him for the coming night and day", Lothíriel told her horselord.

Her husband's face broke into a smile once more.

"You invaluable woman. This place would have long since gone to the dogs if you were not here keeping order", he stated and pulled her into a long, deep kiss.

After a while, when she had slipped into Éomer's lap and she had pulled back to rest her head against his, he spoke again, "You'll keep an eye on him while I'm gone, won't you? I don't want him doing anything rash."

"Of course I will, love. Just as I always do", Lothíriel answered. She leaned into another kiss then, and held on tight to him; when her lips were still only inches away, she asked, "You'll be careful?"

"As always, my dear Queen", he promised and pulled her close against himself. Relishing the feel of him, Lothíriel closed her eyes and breathed, imagining a world where she never needed to see him leave her side.

Tomorrow, he would be gone once more.

* * *

Elfwine sulked for the better part of the two months his father was away at war. Lothíriel did not pay much attention to it, not beyond keeping an eye on the lad as she had told Éomer she would – she supposed it was only normal now that he was nearing manhood, and the fact he was already as tall as Éothain and almost as strong did not help. Eager as any young man, he was absolutely sure he was ready, and not anyone, probably not even Oromë himself, could convince him otherwise.

When the second month had nearly passed since Éomer had ridden to war, he sent a message to his wife, announcing the campaign was nearly at its end. While she was glad to receive these tidings, his letter contained something else that took her unawares, more or less.

It was his letter which also had her waiting for Elfwine at the steps of Meduseld when he returned from his battle training, leaping up like a young stag. Seeing his mother, his step slowed down and he looked doubtful.

"Am I in trouble, Mother?" he asked her right away, which had her lifting one eyebrow.

"Do you think you should be, son?" she asked back, making him blush. She couldn't deny being fond of teasing him, which probably had to do with how much he reminded her of Éomer. As she loved to tease the father, so she loved to tease the son.

Before Elfwine could say anything more, she reached for him and continued, "Come, walk with me. There is something I need to discuss with you."

"Of course", he answered and readily offered his arm to her. Thankfully, at least some of the manners she had tried to teach him were sticking. He would certainly need it in the very near future.

Once they were inside the Hall, she began to talk.

"You father's most recent letter arrived only today. He says the campaign is going well, and he expects it will come to an end in less than three weeks", Lothíriel started, spying from the corner of her eye the frown that came to the lad's face. No doubt he was thinking of how much he wanted to be there with his father, and to enjoy the victory on battlefield.

"He wishes us to join him in Minas Tirith once the war is finished", she continued, gazing ahead now. "Once there, you will take the place of Prince Eldarion."

"Mother?" Elfwine asked, sounding surprised.

"You know your father and King Elessar once made a pact that their heirs would spend a while in each others' kingdoms. They have decided that time has now come... you'll stay in Minas Tirith and learn from King Elessar, and meanwhile Prince Eldarion will be here in your place, tutored in the wisdom and ways of Eorlingas", Lothíriel explained and looked at her first-born again. She asked, "What do you think, sweetheart?"

"It's a great opportunity. I will try to make you and Father proud", said her son, his voice and face bright with resolution. It almost looked to her like he grew several inches then, eager to stand up and take his place as a lord of Men. Lothíriel hid her smile, and was glad to have done so when he suddenly went on, "Mother, were you scared to leave your home?"

When he made that question, his voice was quiet and soft. She held his arm a bit tighter.

"To be honest, I was too busy to be scared", she answered at length, remembering the fierce determination that had filled her the moment she had learned Éomer might be alive. So overwhelming it had been, it had not left any room for fear... though years had passed, the quest to find her beloved remained vivid and clear, and she expected it always would. In a way, that journey had defined her, and made her who she now was.

Lothíriel looked at her son again, "I could not afford to be scared, really. The life of your father depended on it."

"Could you tell me about it some time, Mother?" he asked her. He and his siblings had often heard bits and pieces, but somehow the right time to share the full story had never arrived.

"I could, but I'm afraid your father should have to be there as well. You see, I only have one half of the story. And to understand it fully, you would need to hear his version. Not to mention, I think he'd like to tell about it himself", she said softly. Gently she squeezed his forearm, "He did not say anything in the letter, but I know him very well. And if I guess correctly, the time will be right when you come home again."

"You're sure, Mother?" Elfwine asked, his eyes bright and excited.

_Yes, you are right, Éomer... he's ready. _

* * *

The campaign against the Variags came to an end as the summer was growing older. The allied kings of Rohan and Gondor returned to their own kingdoms victorious once more, and the streets of Mundburg were full of noise and music as their troops marched home. Éomer's own homecoming was yet ahead, and he would pursue the way back to Edoras when the formalities were over in the White City; however, knowing he'd meet his family there did seem like the most important thing about his home was near anyway.

Yet once they would return, one would stay behind in Mundburg: just as Éomer and Aragorn had once agreed, Elfwine would stay in the White City for one year, and in turn Eldarion would come to visit the capital of the Riddermark. In that time, two princes would learn of the ways and wisdom of their closest allies. The idea was both fond and bittersweet, for he knew that once Elfwine returned to the Mark, he would not be a child anymore.

As his and Aragorn's company reached the Citadel of the White City, Éomer's eyes were fast at search. Quickly enough he spotted what he had been waiting for: his queen and his children, standing together with Arwen and her offspring before the Tower of Ecthelion. For the briefest seconds, he considered of very sharply they stood out, the gold and green varied in their attires and the northern air somehow resting on them even in this city of Gondor. Lothíriel smiled brightly and in the sight of her, as ever, something unclenched inside him, and he was aware of being freed of some burden weighing on his shoulders. Elfhild waved at him eagerly, while Elred was trying to emulate their older brother. Elfwine stood taller than the last time Éomer had been home, towering over his mother, and easily mistaken for man full grown. Still, he was not yet comfortable in the quiet, stern dignity he was attempting to wear like a mantle. With a few years of experience and wisdom, it would settle on his shoulders, just like it had settled on his father's.

Éomer wasted no time dismounting and striding to meet them, acutely aware of how much he had missed his family while on the far fields fighting the enemies of Rohan and Gondor. Lothíriel came first; their children fell slightly behind and approached him as soon as their mother was securely by his side, his kiss still fresh on her lips. Elfhild did not hesitate from bouncing to hug her sire, but her brothers hovered awkwardly nearby.

"Good to see you, my young rascals. Have you been behaving? Caused much headache to your mother?" he asked them fondly, noting how much they had grown since he last was home.

"Mother has been teaching me archery! Can you come with me to the training grounds so I can show you, Father?" Elfhild asked so excitedly it almost looked like she was vibrating. Her grey eyes sparkled, her hair was as insane as Théodwyn's had been, and freckles danced across her fair cheeks. Béma, in a couple of years the lads of Rohan would not know what hit them!

"Did you fight many Variags, Father?" Elred asked for his part, which question made Elfhild inquire if there had been many archers in the battles. He was growing tall as well, and perhaps a bit broader than Elfwine. And in his face, Éomer could very well see his own reflection, albeit younger by decades.

"Calm yourselves, you two! Your father has only just arrived. There will be plenty of time for stories later on", Lothíriel scolded them gently, but Éomer's own attention was focused on his first-born. While his younger siblings were quite vocal about wishing for their father's notice, Elfwine seemed to be seeking it silently. His expression unsure, he searched Éomer's eyes, looking like there was a question on his mind he did not dare to speak.

With a slight smile, the King of the Riddermark reached to rest his hand on the shoulder of his heir.

"We will talk later, Elfwine", he said quietly. "There is much I'd like to discuss with you."

"Yes, Father", the lad said, bowing his head before his sire and king.

It was before the night's celebration that Éomer met his son in the Court of Fountain. Elfwine had already dressed for the occasion, and he kept tugging at the collar as his father arrived to meet him. Quietly Éomer joined his side, and for a while they stood gazing over the White City. Idly he remembered how decayed and empty this place had been when he had first seen it after the Battle of Pelennor fields... how the ruin of war had spread on the green fields before the walls of the city. During the first decade of his rule, Aragorn had been busy, and now Mundburg truly was again deserving of the name of the City of Kings. Osgiliath too, once a ruin of rubble and stone, was growing to become a jewel of the realm.

"Did your mother talk to you about what pact I had made with Aragorn?" Éomer asked his son at last, glancing at the young man from the corner of his eye.

"Aye, she did, Father", Elfwine said, nodding as he spoke.

"Good. I trust you have also prepared for your stay here in Mundburg – and practiced your Sindarin, as it is used much in Aragorn's court", Éomer said, resting his hands on the railing before them.

"Mother has helped me with it a lot. Elred too. He's always been better at it than I am", Elfwine answered. Like Éomer himself, Elfwine appeared to understand the Elven tongue fairly well, but he had some trouble forming it in his mouth. But as Sindarin was the tongue Aragorn used with his family, the lad was sure to receive a thorough schooling in it while he was among the royal family of Arnor and Gondor.

Éomer turned to fully look at his son now, noting once again how much the lad had grown. His young face was resolute... so determined not to show any uncertainty or fear for the time ahead of him. For though he would be among friends, and treated like Arargorn's own son, truth was this would be the first time in his life he was separated from his entire family. He and Lothíriel both knew they needed to let him be the man he desperately wanted to become.

"It is a great opportunity, Elfwine, to stay here in Mundburg and learn with the masters of the city. Pay careful heed to everything they teach to you, and what Aragorn tells you. I expect you to listen to him and respect him as you would listen to me", he told his son solemnly.

"Yes, Father", the young Prince answered. His eyes were bright, glimmering with the fire of youth; knowing what this meant to his son, Éomer could not help but smile slightly.

He reached to rest his hand on the shoulder of his son. It seemed like only yesterday that this young horselord had been no larger than his sire's palms, fitting easily in the arms of his parents'. Now he was at the brink of manhood... and what a man he would make!

"Elfwine, once you return home, you will not do so as a boy. I am hoping you shall take your place as the heir and Crown Prince of the Mark. You shall join my councils to learn what it means to rule the Mark, and ride with me to war if there is such need. And you will move to Astdun for a while, where you shall join Elfhelm's éored, to serve as his rider", Éomer said, looking straight into the eyes of his son and heir. He saw how those widened and lit up, as though he had just told his son something he had been waiting to hear for years.

"Really, Father?" he asked eagerly, looking like he could barely fit inside his own skin.

"That's a promise, son", Éomer said, smiling at his son's excitement. Suddenly, he could remember what it felt like to be so young, and so full of things to give. Then, somewhat more soberly, he added, "I also believe at the time of your return, I should like to tell you about the first southern campaign."

Elfwine's eyes remained wide, but his expression did become quite solemn. All his life, he had heard bits and pieces about that story, but never the full tale... and never the darkest, the grimiest parts of it. And certainly never the truth about how close it had been his father had died or lost himself utterly. Yet though Elfwine did not yet know the full extent of his sire's struggles, it seemed to Éomer that the lad had always sensed the evils of that story. Once he returned home, he'd be ready to hear all of it; for Elfwine would be king after Éomer, and he should know what it meant not to give up. And as his son, he would understand just how brave was the woman who had carried and birthed the heir of the Mark.

But if it were important to his son, so it was to himself: for the darkness he had lived through had never seemed farther away than it was now, this moment, when he stood with his son and saw all the promise and all the hope that lived in Elfwine.

"It would be an honour, Father."

Later on, when the night was growing older and Éomer found a moment to exchange a couple of private words with his queen, he pulled her with him to the side of the great hall of Merethrond. He had read the same bittersweetness in her eyes that had settled on him, but like him, she did not speak it out loud. Indeed, they both knew they needed to let their son try his wings.

And yet it was more than that. For as the King and Queen of the Mark stood watching the crowd, their eyes would often be drawn to their offspring. There was Elfwine with Eldarion, and Elfhild was apparently glued to the heels of the latter, much to the lad's bewilderment. Once Aragorn's son travelled with them to Rohan, Éomer felt he would be having quite the interesting times with Elfhild around. As for their youngest, Elred was talking fast with his cousin Elboron, and both were wearing the looks of conspirators.

Once – long ago now, it seemed – he and her had been the ones in that spotlight, young and hot-headed. Now new, fresh faces had stepped into the light, as was their right.

Leaning close against him, Lothíriel let out a soft little sigh. She spoke quietly, "You know, it feels like it was only yesterday that I could hold all three in my arms. When did our little cubs grow so big?"

"Don't ask me. Only yesterday I could carry all three of them on my arms and shoulders", he answered, wrapping his arms about his queen. She sighed again and placed her hands on his, and for a while they remained so.

"You needn't worry about Elfwine, love. He'll be safe and sound under Aragorn's wing. And Éowyn is not far either – she already promised to keep an eye on him as often as she can", Éomer reassured his wife after a moment's silence.

"Intellectually I do know that. But if I have learned something since our children were born, it is I can never stop worrying about them", she said and shook her head slightly. He leaned down to kiss her temple; though letting go was not easy, Éomer was sure that together they could do this too.

After all, no grief or burden could crush him as long as he was sharing it with his Lioness.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update at last! I've been sick lately, and terribly busy, so there has not been much time for writing. But I'm doing my best to update as often as I can!

Poor Elfwine just doesn't seem to grow as fast as he'd like to! Yet on the other hand, I think his parents think he and his siblings have grown much too soon...

* * *

**Hobbitpony1 -** I always thought he'd be a terrific dad. Pity there's so few stories about him with his kids! And yes, children can be quite the treasure on the most unexpected moments. :)

**Jo - **Yes, that was quite a tender topic for him. But luckily Éomer knows just how to reach his son.

**brandibuckeye - **Thanks! It's very fun to write too. :)


	70. Chapter 70

After the celebrations were over and the royal family had bid farewell to Elfwine, it was time to head home. It was strange to think the young prince would be gone for an entire year, and though there would be correspondence between him and his family, Éomer knew things would not be the same from this day on.

As for Prince Eldarion, he seemed as eager for his stay in Rohan as Elfwine had been to take his place in Mundburg – at least for couple first days on the road. But as the journey continued, the heir of Arnor and Gondor, unused to being in the saddle for such lengthy periods, became quiet and sullen. To his credit, he never complained before the King and Queen, and Éomer quickly realised it was because the lad was desperately trying to keep up with Elfhild and Elred, even though the lad must know he was not going to catch up with a lifetime of experience in just a few days. And when the Lord of the Mark watched his daughter as she let her mare dance around the prince's gelding, he could not help but smile; ahead of them were some very interesting days.

"Do you think we should just turn back to Minas Tirith and talk with Aragorn? I'm sure he'd agree something could be arranged between those two", he whispered to his wife, whose expression betrayed she too had noticed what was going on. She smiled wryly and shook her head.

"Let us first see if it's a passing fancy... and if he can endure Rohan. Believe me, if Eldarion can't stomach Rohirrim day and night, then any arrangement between him and her would be quite a disaster", she said with the voice of experience.

"You would know, wouldn't you?" Éomer quipped fondly at his queen, who smiled as a response.

"Oh, I do", she stated, and her smile became a grin.

Once they reached Edoras and the royal family returned to their everyday labours, there was first some excitement over the presence of the Crown Prince of Arnor and Gondor. Not a few lasses quickly set their eyes on the son of King Elessar, and apparently many of the young lads of Edoras would have liked nothing better than to become the prince's new best friend. However, Éothain at least treated Eldarion no different on the training grounds – not a few times, the lad would return to the Golden Hall looking like he had taken a thorough beating in the hands of the former captain. To Eomer, Éothain said the boy just had to unlearn a lot of things in order to understand the skill and intelligence that went into strategies of Rohirrim.

And if he had to unlearn many things on training grounds, so he did also in other parts of daily life. One day about a month since arriving in Rohan, Éomer saw the Crown Prince of Arnor and Gondor limping inside, covered in mud, and looking as horrified as one would get. Knowing well not to ask questions when the lad was so in the middle of nursing his wounded pride, the King of the Mark asked rather for his wife's insight.

Lothíriel's answer was delivered with a knowing little smile.

"I understand he was flaunting his title to the point where Elva and Elfhild decided to teach him a lesson of their own", she said, and Éomer needed not to hear anything more.

"Do you think Elfhild should spend less time with Elva?" he asked though, frowning slightly as he spoke.

"Absolutely not! Elva is precisely the kind of older sister to Elfhild I would have wanted and needed at her age. Believe me, beautiful things will come out of that friendship", Lothíriel told him firmly, and he believed her. After all, Elfhild took much after her mother, and so his queen was best disposed to understanding their daughter. And, remembering how lonely his Lioness had been when growing up, he spoke no more.

Even so, he was somewhat concerned what would be Eldarion's reaction to being "educated" by Elfhild and Elva, and if it would drive him away from the young princess. But like Lothíriel could have told him, the affair did not end the budding companionship between them. Rather, it seemed to her parents from that day on, the two were inseparable.

As for Elfwine, he wrote frequently to his family, recounting his days in Mundburg; though it sounded like the lad was learning a lot among Gondorians and in Aragorn's tutelage, Éomer still sensed that his son went through occasional bouts of homesickness. Not to mention, he sometimes complained about how different the courts of the White City were, and how much he had to make effort in order to follow the intricacies of their etiquette. But while Éomet himself had never been one to care much about etiquette, Lothiriel told him it was good their son was learning.

"Times are different now, beloved, and the world is changing. It's growing less wild and dangerous. Rohirrim must keep up with it, if they wish to prosper. Not to mention, Elfwine can't yet boast being a living legend, like yourself", she said to him. After a moment's consideration, he agreed with her.

With a wry little smile, he asked her, "When did you become so wise, my dear heart?"

And there it was, the mischievous sparkling of her eyes, that could not be smothered even as years passed and they both grew older and wiser. Indeed, it was like Ceolwen had once said: Lothíriel's spirit was ever as green as spring. And because of that, in her smile he could grow young too.

"Didn't you notice? I always was", she stated lightly, wrapping arms around his neck.

"I seem to recall you made a very good job of hiding it", Éomer said, unable to resist the temptation of teasing her.

"I'm a master of disguises", his wife announced, her tone so pompous he couldn't but laugh.

Béma, how he loved this woman... and he knew he always would.

* * *

The presence of Prince Eldarion was soon old news, and most often people acted as though he had always been in Meduseld. The young prince held Elfwine's place in the table with the family of the King, and few times a week he would join the other royal children for lessons with their father. As the days passed, it was not difficult to come to regard the lad as one of their own offspring. Moreover, though Lothíriel knew Eldarion and Elfhild did not report all their adventures and mischief to her or Éomer, she could see the young prince was having the time of his life in the rather different world of Edoras.

Spring came again, and then summer, and after a year's time the return of the Crown Prince of Rohan grew close. Although each day that had passed Lothíriel had missed her first-born with an ever-present ache in her chest, still the life of the royal household was busy enough that time more or less flew by. And when her son returned, it would not be as a child, but as a young man.

In the end of May, Éomer sent orders to Elfhelm to ride and meet the Crown Prince at the border of two realms as he journeyed home. Meanwhile, a celebration was prepared in the capital of the Riddermark: the return of the King's heir was a matter of great tidings, for time had come for him to take his place among the lords of Rohan. From the moment Lothíriel knew they were on their way, she felt she could not rest, and often her eyes would be drawn towards the Great West Road in the hopes of catching a glimpse of a great retinue, and a dark-haired head in the middle of it.

And so, eventually, came the long-awaited day, and all things were ready in Meduseld – not just for the return of the Prince, but also the guests arriving with him. Éowyn and Faramir were coming with their family, and Amrothos and Nehir with their young twin daughters. Even Erchirion, ever tormented as he had been since his imprisonment, was travelling to escort his nephew to Edoras. Voices of family and kin would fill the halls of Meduseld, as they had in times past.

The King and Queen of the Mark stood on the steps of their home, and with them and around them were their people, all awaiting for the riders to arrive. Sun was westering and summer was high, and air was heavy with expectation. Elfwine Prince had been gone for an entire year, and though most of the folk of Edoras had taken a liking to Prince Eldarion, they did look forward to coming of their future king.

Lothíriel remained by the side of her king, and he was as in her dream years ago: wise and venerable, clothed in green, but bearing more of silver on his brow than the gold of his youth. Yet though age had breathed more and more of its frost in his hair, he stood tall and straight as an oak that can't be bent by years: here stood king crowned by fate. Glancing at him, she knew she was not as young as she used to be, either, but perhaps years had granted her some wisdom as well.

Then came their son, riding up the hill, and surrounded by Elfhelm's riders. His dark hair stood out, though he was arrayed as any lord of Rohan – clearly, he had not developed a taste for Gondorian fashions during his time in Minas Tirith. His hair was braided and fastened at the back of his head and a green mantle flowed down his shoulders, which had grown broader during his absence. When Elfwine dismounted, he stood half a head taller than the last time his mother had seen him. Soon he would be equal height to his father.

Elfwine's eyes glimmered as he lifted his hand to greet his family, and he smiled as Éomer would. It truly seemed that he grew more like his sire with each passing day, even if he had spent an entire year away from Rohan.

There came Éowyn as well; life had treated her kindly in past years and the solemness on her brow had been replaced by much laughter. Beside her, Faramir remained as ever, steadfast and smiling, and their eldest son Elboron stood beside him as Éowyn might had she been born a man. Amrothos and Nehir followed suit: joy of living had returned to his grey eyes stronger than ever, though he sported his first streaks of silver, but Nehir's long braid remained black as raven's wing. She still arrayed in bold colours of her own native land, though the fashion of her attire held a stronger dash of Gondor than before. Their daughters, a pair with Nehir's looks and Amrothos' easygoing grins, looked like they were about to wreak serious havoc.

Erchirion came alone. Years had not been as kind to him as to Amrothos, and bitter thoughts had carved lines on his face since their last meeting. His hard gaze softened only momentarily when he saw his sister's family – and yet, Lothíriel thought, that his smile did momentarily reveal the man he had once been. But to say she had not expected it would have been a lie, as in letters from her Gondorian family, she had often felt a sense of apprehension whenever Erchirion was mentioned.

But then Lothíriel's thoughts came to a halt, for she saw Éowyn touching Elfwine's shoulder and speaking to him softly. As the crowd gathered in the yard cheered, the young heir of Rohan stepped forward alone, and he came climbing the steps of his birth home. How fair and young he was that moment, like a promise of spring and future!

He came to his father, who stood waiting for him, and his smile became solemn and reverent.

"Father", he spoke, bowing his head, "I have come home."

Éomer smiled. He lifted both his hands and laid them on the shoulders of his son, taking in the change and growth. Though one had been born fair-haired and the other held shadow upon his head, the kinship between them could not be missed.

"Welcome back, son."

* * *

In the honour of the return of Elfwine Prince, a great feast was made in Meduseld. Such were the demands of proper conduct, though Éomer himself would have preferred something more private. He'd have liked to sit down with his son and his sister, listen to their tidings and speak with them until night grew old. Lothíriel would have preferred something similar, or so he sensed, but they both knew better. Tonight they would play the parts of host and hostess, and stories between family would be shared later on. Not to mention, he knew what the young folk preferred, and it was not sitting quietly and just talking about events of late.

Still, he had to admit there was something enjoyable about a feasting crowd in the Golden Hall, the voices laughing and singing, and seeing the joy on the faces of his people. These were the moments that would always remind him of what could have been, had he not fought, and hadn't Lothíriel found him.

There was more happiness than just his own, or his people. For seeing the smile on the face of Éowyn, and noting how well the years had treated her, Éomer felt quiet, gentle contentment. Now her despair was but a distant memory, her life was full and her days were light. Though it had not been easy to let her go, seeing her happiness was all the repayment one could ever hope for.

_Uncle, _he thought to himself, lifting his cup to his lips, _wherever you are, I hope you see her now. _

He was glad to be able to exchange at least a few words with Elfwine, who seemed to be brimming with stories about his stay in Mundburg, but also with joy to be home again. However, knowing young folks should not be held back by the prattle of the old, he urged his son to go and enjoy himself. Looking around at his children in the hall, a fond feeling came to him. Elfhild was, as usual, attached from hip to Eldarion, and Elred was often glancing to the direction of Ceola, few years his junior, and the youngest child of Ceolwen and Elfhelm. Smiling to himself, Éomer recalled how surprised both had been when she had conceived once more – they had not expected to have more children. Yet it had happened, and they had finally received that daughter both had so wished for. His smile widened when he thought Elred would not have easy time courting the only daughter of Ceolwen and Elfhelm, but knowing how headstrong his youngest could be, Éomer was certain the lad would not give up easily.

Elfhelm, as though summoned by his king's musings, arrived to his side. Armed with a tankard of ale, the Marshal came to the side of his lord, smiling as cheerfully as ever. He too had gained on years, but the glint of his eyes remained as ever.

"So", said the older of the two, "how does it feel to be the father of a young man?"

"Shouldn't you know, old friend?" Éomer asked his friend with a slight smile, and glanced at where Cenric, Getrúwian and Elfwine were sitting and talking away. The prince seemed to be describing something in a lively fashion to his two friends, who did not seem to know if they believed him or not. All of them had grown tall and strong, and the brilliance of youth was in their eyes. In a moment of bittersweetness, Éomer felt a bit like he was looking into a time many years ago, when himself, Éothain and Elfhelm had sat here just like that...

"Aye. But I must warn you. It takes time to get used to, and you keep wondering when you got so old", Elfhelm said, looking like the nostalgia was not lost to him, either.

"I already do", Éomer answered wryly and in silent understanding they toasted their cups. He looked at his friend more seriously then, "Once the celebrations are over, I'll be sending Elfwine to serve with you."

"With me? I had thought you'd want to keep him here, as a part of the royal guard", said the Marshal and lifted his eyebrows slightly.

"I think it's better for him to serve with someone else. I am his father – I cannot let that interfere with his training. And you are not only one of my closest friends, but also a very experienced leader. I know you will look after him, but you won't allow him to slack because of who he is. Before he is truly ready, Elfwine must become a real rider, just as we did when we were young", said the King of the Mark.

The Marshal considered his words and eventually nodded in agreement.

"Aye, that is wise, my friend. Don't you worry about a thing – I will teach him well", Elfhelm promised, and Éomer knew he could trust his friend's word.

So the night passed in feasting and gladness, and Éomer had all expectations no disturbances would come to pass. But in this, he proved to be wrong. For an hour or two before midnight, when he was deep in conversation with Faramir, a sudden raised voice caught their attention. From the other side of the hall, an angry noise was growing over the music and laughter. With some resignation, Éomer noted he was not surprised when he recognised the one causing the racket: years had not eased Erchirion's anger, much to his regret.

"Excuse me. I believe I'd better go and take care of him", he said to his brother-in-law, who nodded seriously. Faramir seemed to understand without a word Éomer might be best equipped to deal with this matter, even though he was not kin by blood.

The Lord of the Mark made his way through the Hall swiftly, and his people made way to him as he strode. Judging by the looks shot towards Erchirion, who was currently trying to get a serving maid to give him more ale, they had already made notice of the prince's outburst. Right now, it was somewhat unintelligible, which likely had to do with empty tankards around him. It surprised Éomer, as he had no recollection of ever seeing Erchirion so drunk, not even in those dazed days in the Fields of Cormallen after Sauron's fall. Amrothos had been the one of three brothers who went ahead and swam in barrels of ale and wine until he passed out, but Erchirion had always known when to stop.

Lothíriel got to the scene at the same time as Éomer, looking concerned as she approached.

"I'll take care of it", he said to her under his breath, and she nodded silently, trusting him to handle the affair.

Erchirion's eyes were starting to splay and he grunted something incoherent as Éomer wrapped one arm under his shoulders.

"Come along, Erchirion. Let's take a walk outside", he said firmly, paying no heed to the half-hearted protests of his kinsman. It took some effort to get the drunken prince through the crowd and into the fresh air of the night, but eventually he managed it and they left behind the feasting crowd. First he thought to take Erchirion to the garden, but decided quickly against it – he didn't want the other man passing out in some bush and least of all throwing up in Lothíriel's famed kitchen orchard.

Thankfully, Erchirion regained some use of his legs and they were able to get down the steps of the Hall, but as soon as they were down, his ale overcame him. In seconds he was retching and emptying the contents of his stomach on the ground. The sight was not fetching, but this was still better than him getting sick inside the Hall.

"That's good. Just let it out", Éomer murmured softly as he patted the back of his brother-in-law. Erchirion kept gagging for a while, even after nothing more seemed to be coming out; when he lifted his eyes once more, his gaze was slightly brighter.

"Come here. Drink some water", said the King of Rohan, his words half an order and half a suggestion. Erchirion allowed himself to be led to the fountain at the side of the steps leading up to Meduseld, and he drank several mouthfuls of fresh spring water before briefly dunking his head in it. When he straightened again and spluttered water, it seemed like he was feeling much better.

"Do you want to talk about it, Erchirion?" Éomer asked now, deciding his kinsman was more capable to talk about whatever was troubling him.

"About what?" said the prince, somewhat defiantly, before looking away.

"You know you can't fool me", said the younger of the two calmly.

Erchirion said nothing, but he did not have to. The expressions on his face, the raging and shifting of contradictory emotions, was enough. The King of the Mark felt a kind of an ache deep in his chest, seeing how little time had done to heal the wounds. But then, he had never expected things to go same for Erchirion as they had for him.

"It has not got easier, has it?" Éomer asked, as gentle and soft as he was able.

His question made his brother-in-law look at him sharply. Now anger mounted over the agony, flaming in his eyes as raw as it had once been in himself.

"How dare you ask me that?" Erchirion snapped, his voice rising once more. "How can you pretend to even understand?"

"But I do, Erchirion. Do you think I've forgotten? Do you believe I never wake up in the middle of the night, thinking I'm still in the cage?" Éomer asked back, not quite as sharp but just as unrelenting.

For a moment they stared at one another, and briefly the Lorcd of the Rohirrim thought perhaps Erchirion's mood was already cooling down. But then he saw it blaze again, and his brother-in-law paced back and forth in helpless anger.

"I see it clearer here than anywhere else. I see it in the way my sister looks at me, the way everyone tiptoes around me! Why should you get this all while I'm stuck, crippled inside my own mind? Why did you get to heal when I'm left broken and bitter and alone?! Why did you tell me it gets better?!" he ranted, occasionally throwing a furious glare at the other man. Yet though the glance of his eyes was piercing and dark, it did not disconcert Éomer. After all, he was looking at phantoms he knew very well... phantoms he had defeated years ago.

"I never said or promised it would go the same for you as it did for me, Erchirion. I wish to Béma you could have it easier, and I have wished so from the moment you were freed. But I do not have the power to heal you or slay your demons", he said, soft but steadfast.

Erchirion ceased pacing. His tense shoulders hang low and he bowed his head. From the faintest shaking of his form Éomer knew he was on the brink of tears... and he remembered the first and the last time he had cried after the south, how he had wept in Lothíriel's arms. For him, it had been a invaluable moment, because it had been then he had spilled out much of the poison in his mind and soul. Had Erchirion ever cried like that? Could it even help him, especially now that years had already passed?

Gently, carefully, he laid a hand on the shoulder of his kinsman. He could easily feel the restless tension in the other man, and just as easily he did recognise and remember it. Though it had been years, he had not forgotten.

"I know it's unfair", Éomer spoke softly, "And you deserve none of it. No one does. And I wish with all my heart I could tell you how to fix everything. But we are men who walked through fire, and now we must live with the memory of that inferno. There is no easy course in life for us to take, Erchirion, not with what we have had to suffer. We must bear these scars as long as we live, but at least we may choose whether to keep them as a memory of shame and weakness, or as a proof we endured and lived on... even if it sometimes it would feel easier to just give up."

Imrahil's son did not speak. He did not need to – his tears, quietly but heartily shed, said more than any word ever could. Then, to the slight shock of the younger man, he grasped Éomer's arm in a vice-like grip; and such was his agony that he never hesitated before hiding his face against the shoulder of his kinsman. And knowing just what he was going through, the King of the Mark let him do so.

Later on – much later, it seemed – Éomer returned to the Hall. The night was old and most of guests had left or retired, and he guessed Lothíriel had too. So, after exchanging a few words with his steward, he too headed for the royal chambers.

He was not surprised to find her awake, reading by the light of a candle. Her long dark hair was spread open on her shoulders, and she had changed into a night shift; as he looked at her, something warm and light spread in his chest, chasing away whatever bitter thoughts the conversation with Erchirion had left in his mind. His wife was still beautiful, and she was still his beacon of light and clarity.

He guessed she had felt too concerned about her brother to go to sleep. With a smile, Éomer leaned down to kiss her brow before turning to undress.

"How is he?" Lothíriel asked as he kicked off his boots.

"I made sure he got to bed safely", he answered at length, thinking of the strange expression on his brother-in-law's face when they had said good night to each other. For one reason or the other, it brought a smile to his face.

"Was he very bad?" Lothíriel wanted to know, her worry shining through the words.

"He was... at first. But I think he's going to be all right", Éomer said, looking at his beloved queen. She searched his face and seemed to understand, because there was some hope in her eyes.

"Do you mean..." she whispered, but her voice trailed off.

"I don't think he'll ever be the same as before", he told her, though he softened his words with a slight smile. "But then, was I ever the same afterwards?"

Lothíriel smiled. She knew exactly what he meant... after years of marriage, she understood him from half a word. Sometimes she didn't even need that.

She reached her arms for him, and he went, gladly as he always had. In her arms – the safe haven, the place of healing – was his true home.

"Thank you for helping him, my love. I do not think anyone else could have done it."

* * *

**A/N: **And here's an update! I think both Éomer and Lothíriel have grown much wiser than either of them ever expected to become. But that's what life and responsibility does, I find!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **Yes, he's Éomer's son, so I would think it's in his blood! In fact, it might just be in all their veins. ;)

**brandibuckeye - **Indeed! I don't think it's easy for any parent who loves their child dearly, but it's the only way they can do right by their kid.

**Harmonii - **I must admit, I was not thinking to bring Amrothos, Nehir or Erchirion back in this chapter, but I guess your review inspired me! Though in the end it turned out more about Erchirion than Amrothos. That's probably because Amrothos and Nehir are pretty happy and living a trouble-free life (well, as much as their daughters allow them to), so there's not so much to say about them as Erchirion.


	71. Chapter 71

A few days after the celebration, Lothíriel joined her brother in the garden of Meduseld. Asking around, she had learned his whereabouts, and also the information that he often went there alone. This did not surprise her: the garden was one of the most peaceful places in all of Edoras, and like Éomer before him, Erchirion was desperately eager for solitude.

She found him strolling slowly by the kitchen orchard, occasionally leaning down to inspect some plant in the meticulously kept bed. The place had truly bloomed since the days she had first taken up the task of making it beautiful and useful again. It was not only a haven of peace, but it also provided the royal kitchens with many various kinds of goods. Years had not made Lothíriel a gardener, but she did enjoy the tranquil atmosphere, and whenever she had time, she would sit by a young sapling of an apple tree. One day, hopefully, it would bear fruit as well, and bring joy to the inhabitants of the Golden Hall.

"Thinking of taking up gardening, brother?" she asked Erchirion in good humour, and he looked up at her. As always, the expression on his face, the kind he was not probably even aware of, made her heart twist.

"Actually, I have been thinking about it", he admitted quietly. "People back in Dol Amroth don't seem to consider it a good hobby for a prince, though. But I often go to Emyn Arnen and spend some time in Éowyn's gardens. She doesn't mind."

"She probably understands it better than most people", Lothíriel agreed. Her brother allowed her to link her arm with his, and for a while they walked in silence, enjoying the peace and quiet of the gardens. She knew she was not the only one who had a soft spot for here: both she and Éomer often came to this place, together or alone. Sometimes, when he'd feel stifled in the royal study, he'd take a walk in the garden – apparently, fresh air helped him to think the more troublesome affairs of kingship more diversely. And at times, when he would teach his children, it would happen in the gardens. One of Lothíriel's favourite things had been to see them sitting there, talking and debating as sunlight danced on their faces.

Eventually it was Erchirion who broke the silence.

"Your husband was a great help the other night. I'm very grateful to him", he said softly.

"I think he knows. He has not forgotten what it's like", she answered, gazing ahead.

"Did he... back at the time, did he ever harm himself?" her brother asked, somewhat hesitant.

"Not to my knowledge. And he never mentioned considering it... he probably felt even then it wouldn't help in any way. But that is not to say he would have cared much if something had happened to him", Lothíriel said at length. She had not forgotten either, but these memories could not frighten her. Years of life and laughter had made sure of that.

She looked at her brother, not quite able to hide her worry for him, "What about you, brother? Do you think of harming yourself?"

"The thought has occurred at times", he admitted, his voice very low. "Even the idea of permanent harm. But then I think of what it would do to our father, and I... I couldn't do that to him. He already suffers enough because of me."

He sighed then and went on, "So many fought and died to free me. If I were to take my life, then all that would be for nothing. I am bound by duty and honour to live, even if it's only a half-life."

Lothíriel's heart ached for her brother, yearning to help him to find his peace. But though she had done so once for Éomer, she knew it was not something she could do again; with her horselord, all of it had come almost instinctively. But Erchirion was her brother and he was so different from Éomer. Perhaps it was right, what her king had once told her: no one could do such a deed twice.

They stopped, and her brother looked at her, smiling sadly as he placed his hand on her shoulder.

"I wish you didn't have to worry about me, sister", he said gravely.

"You are my brother, Erchirion. Your happiness, just as all of our family's, means a great deal to me", she answered.

"I know", he sighed and wrapped his arms about her, and she hugged him tight. When he spoke again, it was softly, "Your and Éomer's story brings me hope. Perhaps I can be as lucky as you were, one day."

* * *

"Elfwine Prince. Your lord father requests to see you in his study."

The words were delivered to Elfwine by a rider of the Royal Guard few days after he had returned to his father's Hall The young heir of the Mark had been outside with his friends and his cousin Elboron, and they had been showing him around in Edoras – his mother's previous home. A strange thing was, Elboron could easily have passed as one of Eorlingas, while Elfwine himself knew there were some who mistook him for a Gondorian. In times before, it had been a tender spot for him, and he had been desperate to prove himself as the son and heir of Éomer Éadig. However, the unforgettable ride with Silfren and the words he had shared with his father afterwards had made sure he never doubted this again.

But as they climbed up to the Golden Hall, and the guard said Elfwine's father wanted to see him, the prince excused himself and told his friends he would see them later. Then, not wanting to make his sire wait needlessly for him, he hastened to the royal study of Meduseld, passing through the Hall and greeting people as he went. He smiled as he thought of his childhood days: often he'd play under Father's desk while he worked, and Elfwine would pretend his sire's feet were two great trees. At some point he might grab at the trouser-covered legs and then Father would lift him high, laughing as he did.

The smile still lingered on his face when he knocked at the door and Father's voice called him in. However, as he stepped inside and saw the solemn looks on the faces of his parents, his mood sobered swiftly. Mother was seated next to Father, and they were looking at each other in silence; her hand was on his, and she seemed like there had just been some serious conversation between them.

"Father? Mother? Is everything all right?" Elfwine asked, and his question made them both turn their eyes at him. If Father was the Sun with his silver-gold mane and tanned skin, then Mother was the Moon, for her hair was still dark as the night and her clear skin never assumed the warm glow most of Eorlingas would bear during and after summer.

"Take a seat, son", Father said, gesturing at the free chair before them. They had moved seats from around the desk and by the window, something Elfwine had never seen before.

He took seat and looked quizzically between the faces of his parents, those dear faces that meant the world to him. He had missed them terribly – _Father's wisdom, Mother's laughter_ – during his stay in Mundburg, though he had never said so.

"What is it?" Elfwine asked, impatient for whatever they had in mind.

"My dear son", Father said at last, and the young prince noted how quiet and strange his voice was, not at all how he usually sounded like. It had him sitting up a bit straighter.

"Son, the years of your life, and those of your siblings, have been of extraordinary peace and prosperity in our land. True, we have had wars, but those we have fought on far off fields due to our friendship with Gondor. It is many years now that we have truly had to defend our borders with body and shield... Elfwine, it is time you learned it was not always so – and how close it came that this fair and good land perished in a fire that is in ways more terrible than anything else. That fire we call the Kin-strife, but it was not ignited here in the Mark. Truth is, the origins of those events must be traced back to the first southern campaign", Father spoke, soft and slow, and his features bore something Elfwine had never seen before. His face, usually so bright and strong and wise, now held the dark and heavy memory of some dreadful shadow. And, already having bits and pieces of this tale, Elfwine felt he would soon understand exactly what it meant.

"I am listening, Father. Please, tell me your story", said the young prince of Rohan, eager to learn and to listen – so that he might become as judicious and brave as his father and mother were.

The King and Queen of the Riddermark exchanged another glance that was full of things known only to them. But perhaps after this day, Elfwine thought, he might understand at least some of it.

Father sighed and sat back in his chair, crossing his legs and intertwining one hand with Mother's fingers. When he spoke again, his voice had grown strong again and resolute, but the shadow remained on his face. And still, as he spoke, Elfwine could see the clear shine of his father's eyes, and he knew it was stronger than any darkness that had been.

"It all began with pirate attacks on the coasts of your mother's birthland, two years after the Great War of the Ring had ended. We were eager for more peaceful days, so that we might build our homes again and make them fair once more. And so when Aragorn asked for my help, I rode to south to aid him in a war that would change my life and your mother's for ever..."

* * *

The year saw many things pass, the childhood days of the King's children and Osythe's time as the chatelaine of Meduseld chief among them. Alfled, Gamling's niece, had come to replace the old woman: from her first day, she showed she would one day be as efficient and all-knowing as her predecessor. Still, Osythe's leaving seemed to be a grief to all who took part in the daily comings and goings of the Hall. She had been a mother, grandmother and an aunt to many of them, and especially the royal children appeared very affected by the dear woman leaving. However, she was much too old to keep up with the many duties of the position, and her failing eyesight did not make it any easier.

But if things were changing in this bittersweet respect, there were also some strange yet hopeful tidings as well. For when the Gondorian company had departed for their homes, Erchirion had stayed behind, saying he was in the need of a change in scenery. His sister's family were more than happy to accommodate him, and it brought Lothíriel a measure of relief to notice that he seemed to be in better spirits than ever since his captivity. Perhaps the conversation between him and Éomer on the night of the celebration had helped to close some wounds. Be it as may, Lothíriel was not surprised to see her husband and brother sit together in many of the nights that followed, talking quietly between themselves. What matters they spoke of she did not know, and neither did she ask.

It was not long after the celebrations that Elfwine was to leave the capital again – his father purposed him to serve with Elfhelm for a while, to learn to become a real Rider. It was not easy to let him go so soon after his return, but Lothíriel kept her thoughts to herself. She had also sensed a new kind of maturity in her first-born, and she knew it was not just caused by his recent stay in Minas Tirith. Ever since the day and night spent in telling him the story of the first southern campaign, and what it had caused to happen, Elfwine seemed to have entirely left boyhood behind.

_Almost _entirely, as she saw on the night before his departure to Astdun.

At the time, she had been sitting and talking with Ceolwen, and was now heading for the royal chambers – it was getting late, and her friend still had some preparations to make before their departure next morning. With Elfhelm and Ceolwen watching over him, Lothiriel knew Elfwine would be all right.

She was halfway through the great hall when the twin doors of Meduseld were pushed open, and three people staggered inside. There came Cenric and Getrúwian, and between themselves they were supporting the limp form of Lothíriel's son.

"Is he all right? Has something happened?" she asked in alarm, but the apologetic look she received from the two lads did not exactly imply that Elfwine was in some immediate distress or pain.

"He's just really, really drunk", said Getrúwian; as though to agree, Elfwine let out an indistinctly suffering groan. Lothíriel's concern dissolved almost right away. Being ridiculously drunk was not fatal, not when his friends were looking after him.

"I see. Thank you for bringing him home", she said then, though she did maintain a strict tone. She didn't want the boys thinking she approved of such behaviour. And she would have to find out where had they got enough ale to get the young prince into this condition.

Cenric grinned sheepishly, "He's our friend. And Da would kill me if I just left him there."

"Your Ma would kill you first", Getrúwian pointed out helpfully; this seemed to genuinely disconcert the other lad.

Lothíriel suppressed her snort and gave a stern stare to the boys.

"Either way, it would have been absolutely orcish to leave him there. Now get moving, you two. I need to get him to bed", she ordered, and instantly the two straightened up with _"yes, my lady!" _spoken in unison.

Not many people were up and about at this time, so few witnessed the delivering of the Crown Prince into his bed. Elfwine did not seem to know much of the way there – he just hang between his two friends, who were holding him upright. When Lothíriel opened them the door to the prince's chamber, they half escorted, half carried him in. Once inside, they took him to the bed, where her son more or less collapsed.

"Thank you, lads. You may go now – I will take it from here", Lothíriel said to the two boys. She looked at them firmly, "And please, if you have any pity and consideration for the peace of mind of your mothers, don't make appearances like this before her."

"Yes my lady!" said the two young men, again in unison. Then they hurried out, leaving the Queen alone with her drunken son. She let out a small sigh and turned towards him then, reaching to pull off his boots. Lothíriel was not very surprised to find Elfwine in such a state – he was young, it was his last night home before heading for Astdun, and he had little to no tolerance for ale. She knew it was just a part of the age he was in. Still, she hoped this would not become a frequent occurrence. Then again, as she had resolved before, she knew Elfhelm and Ceolwen would keep the young prince out of trouble.

He groaned as she pulled off his second boot, rolling to his side.

"Ma?" he asked – he hadn't used that word since he had been a little boy.

"I'm here, son", she replied gently and placed his boots neatly next to the bed.

"I feel sick", Elfwine slurred.

Wasting no time Lothíriel grabbed a basin from a stand and placed it next to the bed, and it was only seconds after that he retched. She sat next to him and brushed away his hair while he emptied his stomach into the basin.

"That's good. Let it all out", she said in quiet, comforting tones. Eventually there was nothing for him to throw up anymore, but he kept gagging still, and she could feel cold sweat on his brow.

He fell limply on the bed at last, breathing heavily and looking quite pale and exhausted. She guessed he was done retching, so she carefully moved away the basin, and then reached to pull a blanket over his form. A smile rose to her lips – it had been years since the last time she had tucked her first-born in bed. But once she was done, a trembling hand grabbed her own.

"Don't go yet, Mother", Elfwine mumbled, sounding quite miserable.

"Of course not", she replied and sat down next to him again. She reached to smooth away his messy hair from his face and asked, "Feel any better?"

He made a gruff sound that could have been yes or no.

"You should try to sleep, son", she told him gently. The next day would be a long one for him, and she knew Elfhelm was unlikely to show any mercy to the Prince, no matter how much he was suffering from having too much ale tonight. Like any Rider, Elfwine had to learn that duties in an éored were more important than drinking oneself silly.

"Is Father going to be angry with me?" he asked at length, making much effort to speak clearly.

"I don't know. But don't worry about it now. Just try to get some sleep", Lothíriel said. As an answer, Elfwine sighed and held tight her hand. He seemed to fall asleep in seconds.

Despite herself, she had to smile slightly. For in that moment, her son was just a little boy.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update! Hope you enjoy it. :)

I must admit, I'm really enjoying writing about Elfwine. Maybe I'll have to see in the future if I can come up with a proper story about him!

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Tibblets - **Thank you for your comment! That is pretty much what I've been trying to do here (and also in _A Light that Endures)_: showing PTSD is not an issue you can just sweep under the rug or wish away.

**Jo - **I'm imagining Elfhild is missing Eldarion quite a lot now!

**brandibuckeye - **Thank you! To be honest, I really want to finish this story some time, so there will probably be more time jumps in upcoming chapters.

**Hobbitpony1 - **Thanks! I'm glad you liked that bit. :) I enjoyed quite a lot writing it, too. Hopefully, the conversations between him and Éomer, and now his stay in Rohan will help him somewhat.


	72. Chapter 72

_August 18, Meduseld_

Three months after Elfwine's departure to Astdun, Lothíriel came upon a scene she had not expected at all: her brother Erchirion had Alfled, the new chatelaine of Meduseld, pinned to the wall of shadowy corridor and he was kissing her. The soft little moans Alfled was making confirmed she more than welcomed it and her fingers tangled in Erchirion's hair were pulling him tight into her.

For the longest moment, Lothíriel could only stare. So this was why Erchirion had been frequently in and out of Edoras for past few months! First she had taken it as a sign he simply came to get away from Dol Amroth, but it appeared he was enjoying the capital of Rohan for something more than just its climate.

Knowing better than to interfere, the Queen of the Riddermark traced back her steps the way she had come from – she remembered the night she had agreed to marry Éomer, and they had been kissing each other, only to be interrupted by Amrothos. From experience, she knew how frustrating it could be to be disturbed like that in the middle of a very good kiss.

Even so, as Lothíriel left the couple in the middle of their affections, she had to wonder: did Alfled know what she was getting into? Did she understand it was not easy or simple to be so intimately involved with someone so troubled? Of course, she wanted her brother to be happy and find some peace, and she wanted him to be able to have what she had with Éomer. But she also knew how hard it was for both parties.

Be it as may, Alfled was a nice woman and Lothíriel felt she ought to know what she was walking into. If she didn't... well, it would cause grief and great unhappiness to both her and Erchirion.

She took the matter up later that day when they were done inspecting the stores in preparation for taking in the harvest. Though Rohan had been graced many plentiful years as of late, she liked to be prudent about the stores of the royal holdings - one never knew when a thinner year might come, or another war would demand for extra effort and supplies.

Before she spoke up, Lady of the Mark gave a thoughtful look at the face of her chatelaine. Alfled did not exactly possess the classic Rohirric beauty, but there was something calm and steadfast about her being, which perhaps was what had drawn Erchirion to her. During the time she had been the chatelaine of Meduseld, she had shown great capability in running the tasks of the large household, and there were moments when she reminded Lothíriel uncannily of Gamling, her late great-uncle.

"I hope you don't mind me asking", said the Queen of Rohan at last, "but I was wondering if there were some sort of an arrangement between yourself and my brother Erchirion."

Only a slightest blush touched Alfled's cheeks, and Lothíriel hurried to add, "Be calm. I'm not speaking as your queen, but as his sister."

"To be honest, I don't really know. He comes and goes as he pleases. But he never takes me for granted", said the chatelaine at length. Then, in a slightly softer voice she continued, "I know he's a troubled man, my lady, but he's also a good one. He has always treated me well."

"He is a good man indeed. I don't think my father could have ever raised anything else", Lothíriel said and smiled slightly. But she grew more serious then, "Still, it doesn't change what it did to Erchirion to be imprisoned in Umbar. You say you know he's a troubled man. I admit I wonder if you really understand what it means?"

"Oh, I have seen it, and I do think I understand", Alfled stated firmly. "Did not your own husband emerge from something similar with your help? Doesn't that prove it can get better?"

"Alfled, I'm not sure what it proves. Yes, my lord husband once had these same demons to fight off. I know they still exist, though mostly they are in slumber these days. But they're always there, and that's something you must understand and accept if you mean to build something lasting with Erchirion", Lothíriel told her chatelaine as gently as she was able. She didn't want the other woman thinking she somehow disapproved. Their life was their own, and they must make their own choices. However, it would not stop her from sharing her own wisdom - especially when she wanted to spare them from pain.

The other woman did not seem to know what to say, and the Queen of the Mark laid her hand on her shoulder.

"Don't be disheartened. If you care for him, then it's not impossible. But it's not going to be easy, either. I'm only saying this because you must know what you are walking into, if you wish to be with him", Lothíriel said, looking straight into the eyes of her chatelaine.

Silently Gamling's grand-niece met that gaze. Eventually, she spoke once more, "What about you, my lady? How did you get into it?"

Smiling wryly, Lothíriel shrugged.

"I was young and fearless and foolhardy. And somehow, it worked."

* * *

For better or for worse, Erchirion and Alfled had to make their own choices, and Lothíriel knew all she could do for them was simply give advice, if such was needed and asked for. Still, in the quiet of her thoughts and in the private talks with Éomer, she was well aware of the challenges her brother and the chatelaine would have to face if they should stay together. Alfled loved the Mark and was not likely to leave it, while Erchirion's great love had once been the sea. Though his misadventure in Umbar had left that love slumbering for a while now, who was to say it would not awaken one day? There was also an age gap of over ten years between them, and Erchirion's healing since his freedom had been strenuous.

Be it as may, she spoke no more of the matter to Alfled, and Éomer remained quiet as well. Even if he agreed with her as far as reason went, she also sensed it was important for him to see the prince and the chatelaine find a path that suited them both. Perhaps, in a way, he saw in them himself and his wife, as they had been so many years ago.

Sometimes, it was hard to believe almost twenty years had already passed.

In the end, Lothíriel's brother and his lover did make their choice: when she conceived with his child, they announced their betrothal.

At their wedding, hosted before Yuletide in Meduseld at Éomer's insistence and Erchirion's hearty agreement, the Queen of Rohan thought her poor brother seemed happier than ever since his misfortune; bearing a crown of winter flowers on his head, he was staring at his newly-wed and pregnant wife, who had never looked more beautiful. It was perhaps also the first time Father did not appear like he was not constantly worrying about his second-born son.

Had the Golden Hall ever been quite so full as it was that night? Lothíriel remembered feasts from years ago, particularly the funeral of Théoden King. Now many of those who had been here that night had families of their own. Aragorn and Arwen were there with their four, Éowyn and Faramir with three, Ceolwen herding her three sons as Elfhelm carried Ceola their daughter on his shoulders, Éothain and Scýne with their own trio... Elva and Elfwine were wrestling arms while Halflings Meriadoc and Peregrin cheered on, but Elfhild seemed attached from hip to Eldarion, and Elred discussed something passionately with Gimli. And then there was Amrothos trying to chase down his twin daughters while Nehir laughed behind her hand, and Elphir and Aredhel's two regarding it all rather skeptically.

As Lothíriel exchanged looks with Éomer, she thought she saw unshed tears in the eyes of her husband. When she put her hand in his, she knew it was sheer happiness: who would have guessed these halls would come to know so much life?

* * *

In their childhood and youth, Elphir had always been closest to a scholar among Imrahil's children. Lothíriel had even wondered if her eldest brother would have been happier in pursuing a career of an intellectual. But Elphir was nothing if not dutiful, and so he was determined to follow in the footsteps of their father. At any rate, she had thought it was not likely her other siblings or herself should have found contentment in pursuing a life of acquiring knowledge. So, when Erchirion shared his plans with her and Éomer, she received them with some surprise: her brother wished to travel the Mark, interview Rohirrim of their customs and songs and history, and write them down. This project would provide him with a purpose and would allow him to stay in Rohan with his wife and child, who was due to be born in summer.

"Trust a Gondorian man to come up with a idea like that", Éomer commented to Lothíriel with a wry smile, but despite his Rohirric notions, she could sense he was glad. The world was changing and Rohirrim must change with it, or be forgotten in the past for ever. And he had already proved many times over that he was a king for the future and for prosperity.

So Erchirion received the blessing of the King and Queen of the Mark, and if his labours proved fruitful, then perhaps the future generations of royal line would grow up learning the things Erchirion had written down.

Their daughter, a small girl with a head of golden hair and eyes grey as the sea, came into the world with the summer. Named Ailred after her maternal grandmother, she was also last of the first generation of Imrahil's grandchildren - this Lothíriel knew with the surety of foresight when she held the child in her arms after her birth. Still, with the way Cenric son of Ceolwen and Elfhelm was eyeing Elva these days, she had a feeling Erchirion's daughter would not know a lonely childhood. And when in August with the harvest the two indeed wedded, Ceolwen's goodnatured amusement knew no boundaries.

"Elva missed Elfhelm by a generation. It is a good thing he had plenty of sons for her to pick from", she stated humorously to Lothíriel and Scýne, and the two of them kept muffling their laughter through the ceremony, much to the common confusion of their husbands.

So was life, with its griefs and joys, with growing and decaying and finally letting go. Peace had been dearly bought at more fronts of war than just the Great War of the Ring, but it was truly these years that bore the fruit for all the sacrifices that had been made in the name of freedom.

At the time of the Kin-strife, when Éomer had first started with the task of taking back the Mark, people had called him _Árisen and Éadig. _Yet even then, Lothíriel had not guessed just how high her husband would rise, and how truly blessed his years would be.

* * *

In the years that followed, many things came to pass.

The time Elfwine had so eagerly waited for arrived, and so he rode to war with his father, to prove his worth and might. Lothíriel watched them go, her heart as heavier than she had ever imagined it could be. For Elfwine was not her only child to follow Éomer; Elfhild was going too.

"She'll never stop complaining if we don't allow her. Beloved, she just wants to be like you. She needs to have her great adventure, just as you did", Éomer had said to Lothíriel when she had objected. Then, before she could say anything more, he had kissed her. Against her lips, he had whispered, "I'll look after them, beloved. That is a promise."

And she knew she had to agree. She had to let them fly – after all, hadn't her own father let her face some much more perilous circumstances? At least now, she knew Éomer was keeping an eye on their children, and they had entire Rohirric cavalry by their side.

In the end, her horselord was right. A month into the campaign, he sent her a letter, describing how Elfhild had single-handedly saved the life of Prince Eldarion on the battlefield, and how the two were even more closely knit than before: _"Beloved, if we don't soon arrange their betrothal, it would be a grievous error."_

And so indeed was it negotiated: on her first and twenty birthday, Elfhild would marry Prince Eldarion of Arnor and Gondor. Looking at her dear daughter, Lothíriel felt the bittersweet tightness in her breast. Elfhild was no longer her little cub, but a person of her own and a woman fierce and brave.

Somehow, her horselord's words brought her comfort: "Like mother, like daughter. She's proud to call you the one who carried her."

As always, Éomer remained her rock and her constant.

The marriage of Elfhild and Eldarion was a grand occasion, almost in par to the great celebrations at the end of the War of the Ring. A great gathering came to Minas Tirith to honour their union: lords and ladies from distant lands, and not smallest among them Chieftain Varanat of Harad and his sister Chieftain Nata. Years had been kind to the two children of Fanara, and they stood with the dignity Chieftain Mir had once possessed. Few ever understood the significance of the meeting between them, King Éomer and King Elessar.

Lothíriel took her leave of her only daughter bitterly. She knew Elfhild's life was now in Gondor, and yet their parting was more difficult than she had guessed. As she looked at her child, now full grown and married to a prince of a great kingdom, the Queen of the Mark thought she could still feel the movements of her daughter in her womb. But a time had come for her to let go, and with Éomer's hand in her own she was able to walk to her mare Frost. Though Rohirric handmaidens would stay with Elfhild, she only wished the tears she had seen in Elfhild's eyes would dry up soon.

But that was not the only wedding fates had in store. The next one came in the following summer, as Elfwine wedded Leofe, daughter of Scýne and Éothain. The two could not be called childhood sweethearts; however, when the Crown Prince had returned from his service at Marshal Elfhelm's district, sparks had been flying between the two ceaselessly.

So their parents agreed that it was merely sensible to let them be together. In the memory of a wedding ceremony she and Éomer had never had, they prepared Meduseld fine and fair for their son. He was a child of a different age, and his mother and father were only happy for knowing he would never need to face obstacles such as they had. And as the day of wedding finally came, Lothíriel thought she had never seen Elfwine looking more happy, or more handsome. Tall as his sire was, and now with broad shoulders of a man, he was strangely both the image of her own father and Éomer.

When he took the cloak which had passed from Théodwyn to her, and now to Leofe, Lothíriel's vision went blurry with tears. Odd was the human heart, to be able to feel so much happiness and so much sweet sadness at the same time!

Éothain was lucky enough to see the wedding of his youngest child to the Crown Prince. Luck he called it indeed as the weakness took him with winter; he stated he had lived long over his due, and both his King and Queen knew he believed he should have died when his leg was taken. Yet as he lay on his death bed, the Lady of the Mark felt his life's work was far from ready yet. The night Éothain died was one of the very few times she saw Éomer cry. After all, Éothain had been his captain and dear friend from the very early days, and there was no replacing him as the years lengthened.

As if there were not enough changes, Edelric also moved to take the place of his father Erkenbrand as Marshal – he was replaced by Folcred, who was to train Elva to one day to rise as the King's Captain. It was the young Shieldmaiden's calling, just as it had once been her father's.

"It's in her blood. She truly is his daughter... he would be so proud", said Scýne with a slight shake of her head and a sorrowing smile. When Lothíriel placed a hand on her friend's shoulder, she knew both Scýne and Elva regretted Éothain had not lived to see his first-born take up the mantle he had once carried so proudly.

Though Elva would not be the first woman to act as the King's Captain, the promise of her eventual elevation did speak of a change in the world. Things were not as they had been in times past, and once Éomer even commented he felt the time was ripe for a female Marshal, if such should prove her worth among the young riders of the Mark.

"World has changed since the old days. _Eorlingas _have changed", he said as he spoke with his queen of these matters. They stood looking over the plains; evening's light was on him and showered him in gold - he was still as handsome as the day she had first seen him. He glanced at her then, "There are three important reasons to it I can name."

"What would those be?" Lothíriel asked, standing near to him, as was her place.

"The chief one, perhaps the most prominent as well, is Éowyn. A generation of Rohirrim has grown listening to the tales of how she faced and slew the Witch-king on the fields of Pelennor. She did what no one could... no man can ever surpass her deed. There have been Shieldmaidens before, but none like her. She changed the table – and she made way for you and Ceolwen", he started his explanation, looking straight at her now. "After Éowyn, you showed that even a princess from south could fight and prevail. You proved that anyone can make the difference. What you did before and during the Kin-strife carried from Éowyn's legacy. And Ceolwen... she was one of the first to join her strength with mine. She helped me to win the battle against Feran, and then she became my captain. She was good at it and men respected her. You and her showed unique leadership in a time of need."

Éomer looked away again and once more he turned to gaze upon the plains around their home. Edoras had grown since the first time she had stepped inside its walls, and now the many new homesteads were built beyond the old walls of the capital. Life ruled in this place once more and it was growing like a great tree, sustaining and sheltering so many people.

When he spoke again, it was in soft tones, "These things we have learned many years ago already. It is time to make use of what we have seen."

When Ceola daughter of Ceolwen and Elfhelm reached her full maturity and skill, and her father grew weary of the many duties, she was indeed the obvious choice for the new Marshal of the East-Mark, like her father before her. She soon proved she did not just have the name of great and famous parents – she had also inherited their strength and bravery. It was no wonder that eventually, Elred's eyes were fixed on this young Shieldmaiden, brilliant as her mother had once been. And so, when Elred came to his inheritance and took up the lordship of Aldburg, it was with the understanding that soon there would be a Marshal in that town again, as there had been in times before. When their youngest child held his father's old seat, it felt like one more piece clicked into its place. After all, Aldburg was the seat of the men of Éomer's line, and Lothíriel knew her husband was happy to know that legacy would be carried on.

But if these years saw much growth and changed, and even if the Mark flourished in a way previously unseen, there was nothing like the night when Elfwine and Leofe's first child was born. A pair of fresh grandparents, Éomer and Lothíriel stood holding their grandson, and that was the moment they knew the fullness of what they had fought for and won.

* * *

**A/N: **Here comes an update at last! This moderately short chapter covers a pretty long span of years, and truth is I originally meant to write about them a bit more specifically. But I need to be honest here, and that is I'm struggling to keep up with this story. I simply don't have as much energy for writing these days as I used to have, and I want to concentrate on _A Long and Winding Road _more fully. Not to mention, it would be nice to be able to update _Her Tattooed Knight _some time soon. So, as a result I've decided I need to bring _King and Lioness _to an end. There will be a couple more chapters to wrap things up, though - I don't want to just drop this like a hot potato.

As for Erchirion and Alfled, I don't know if the intimate relationship is as much of a healing factor for him as it was for Éomer. Actually, I think he may find much more solace in his work and doting on his daughter.

Anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Jo - **I would love to write more about Elfwine - for example his wedding day - but maybe I should save all that for a story about him... we'll see. Alas, I'm a romantic at heart, and I'd like to see Erchirion reach some peace of mind! I think having a family might help a bit.

**PadfootCc - **Then I will keep that in mind and see if I can come up with a story for him! :)

**brandibuckeye - **Yes, mothers and their children always have that special bond (that is, as long as they have a healthy relationship). :)

**Harmonii **\- I obviously need to think about that more, then! :) There really isn't too much stuff with Elfwine.

Hope this solution to Erchirion's marital life pleases you! I guess I could have spent more time building up the relationship between him and Alfled, but for reasons mentioned above, I'm trying to wrap this up as neatly as I can. And to be honest, it really didn't seem right to me to just leave him hanging.

I'm glad you like Nehir! I'm rather fond of her too, though she's only a minor character. Still, I've always imagined Amrothos is exactly the kind of character who ends up with someone like her, if he is to marry.

I think in most if not all my stories, Elphir and his wife have an arranged marriage, but they grow to love each other despite their differences - about the way you said. In this one, they have two children. As for the names, I usually just search Tolkien-related sites and look for a name that seems right and fits the character.


	73. Chapter 73

Four and thirty years into the Fourth Age, a message came to Edoras: Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth was dying.

His last request, one that was spoken in full understanding and without the impact of his sickness, was to see his daughter. So Elphir sent fast riders to Edoras; through the Dimholt Road, the journey could be made quickly. So it was less than fortnight she heard of what was happening... and without hesitation, Lothíriel headed for Dol Amroth with her husband by her side. This was not something he would let her do on her own.

Her aunt Ivriniel had passed away only a couple years before, but she had only got there for the funeral – this time, she intended to say goodbye.

Father had been the rock of her childhood years, the one to reassure her, and to tell her to be who she was. He had loved her unconditionally even though she had not been the proper princess or a perfect daughter – and even though at times, raising her must have been quite the challenge. And so, how could she let him slip away without as much as a goodbye?

By the time she got to Dol Amroth, others had been to see him already. Elphir and Amrothos with their families lived in in the city, and Erchirion had been visiting his birth home with his little daughter. So Lothíriel was really the only one who had not yet paid their respects.

As she and Éomer had ridden in haste for the city by the sea, they had not sent a messenger before them – and at any rate, Elphir probably knew she was coming as fast as she could. So their arrival did not see such formality or ceremony as in times past, and they quickly made their way through the city's streets. Just as Edoras, it had seen much change during the years: it had grown larger and wealthier, what with all the commerce that now took place in the lands of Men. It was many years since a corsair ship had last been seen from the walls of the city and the Prince's ships now roamed the seas with less war-like intent as before.

But Lothíriel had not come to admire the city: she was hastening to see her dear old father. The gates of the palace were wide open when they arrived and Amrothos hurried just outside as the King's Company halted in the courtyard. The guards on the walls must have seen their approach from afar.

"Amrothos! Is Father still alive?" Lothíriel exclaimed to her brother before even dropping from the saddle to the ground.

"He is, sister. You're not too late", said her sibling, and she let out a relieved breath. Once she had slipped down from the back of her steed, she threw her arms about her brother. He held her tightly for a long time, neither of them knowing how to let go.

Tears burned her eyes as she held her brother. After all these years, she could still feel like a vulnerable little girl, even though she now had grandchildren of her own. Their dear, dear Father...

"I know, Lothíriel. I'm scared too", Amrothos whispered into her hair. Though he had possessed a carefree spirit and personality through his life, on that moment he too sounded like a young boy. Obviously, this was something that would impact them all deeply. And once Father was gone, nothing would ever be same again.

She pulled back at last, smiling tearfully at her brother. He returned the smile just as shakily.

"I'm glad you could make it. He has been asking for you", Amrothos said, wiping a hand across his eyes. Lothíriel swallowed hard.

"I need to go and see him right away", she said, ready to dart for the twin doors of her childhood home. But Amrothos gently grabbed her hand.

"Aredhel just told me he's sleeping. Maybe you and Éomer would like to freshen up after your journey before you go to see him?" he offered, glancing from her to the tall Rohir, who had quietly come to stand by her.

"I believe it would be a good idea. We did not exactly stop and take a breather on our way here", Éomer said, his voice soft and gentle. He had been steadfast from the moment the news had first arrived, holding her through her first shock and grief. He knew what it was like to lose a beloved parent. And his unfaltering support had long been the constant of her life.

Not trusting her voice, she merely nodded. Then Éomer's hand was there in her own, squeezing hers comfortingly. If she were going to make it through this, it would be solely thanks to him.

It was not really upon any vocal agreement that they stayed in her old room. It had been their chamber in years past whenever they stayed in Dol Amroth, and it was kept clean and ready for whenever the royal couple might visit the city. Few things had been changed since Lothíriel had left Dol Amroth, and so looking around in the room was as though gazing through years into the past. Sometimes, it was bittersweet sight, but never more than now. It was times like these that really reminded them how past was something that could never be regained.

Her husband did not push her into speaking as they washed up and changed their way-worn clothes into fresher attires. Still, she could feel his eyes occasionally drawn to her, at which time she'd offer him a tiny smile.

When they were ready, he reached to take her hand in his.

"Are you ready?" Éomer asked her gently.

"I don't think I'll ever be", she answered truthfully, holding his hand tightly and finding there the courage she needed, "but let us go."

* * *

Father's chambers had always been the same. Lothíriel did not remember him ever changing them, not since she had been a child. Once, she had asked Erchirion about it. Her brother had told her it was because the rooms of the Prince were how their mother had arranged them; in her memory, Father had kept everything exactly the same.

However, when she stepped inside that day, she saw something had changed. Father did not lay in his massive bed – instead, he had been moved to a smaller bed by the window. Lothíriel knew instantly it was so that he could see the sea. While he had never been as passionate about sailing as his own sire or his second-born son, the sound of waves rolling to the shore was as dear to Father as the voices of his children and grandchildren.

He lay with his eyes closed. His almost entirely white hair was spread about him on the pillow, and his face was ancient and weary even in sleep. Seeing him this way, and yet remembering the strong, tall man of her childhood, Lothíriel felt her throat tightening.

"Ada..." she whispered in a broken little voice, feeling like she was very young again.

She had not meant to disturb her father, but he shifted and opened his eyes, peering around with a look of profound weariness. And yet there was some light as well, especially when his gaze fixed on her.

"Garafiell... you came back. You came home", he murmured, moving as though he was trying to get up, but she quickly went to his side and gently pushed him back down.

"Yes, Father, I'm here. I came for you", she said and tried to smile, even despite the burning in her eyes. It was years since he had last called her "Little Wolf".

"I thought I would never see you again", Father rasped, searching her face almost desperately. She understood: he was not entirely in this moment with her, but rather in a time long ago... in a time it would have made sense for him to use the old pet name.

"It's all right. Everything's all right now", she reassured him, taking his hand in her own.

"Garafiell..." he mumbled the pet name and coughed, but gently she laid her hand on his shoulder. How frail he seemed!

"Shh, Ada. Just rest. I'm here", she told him softly, smoothing silver strands of hair from his brow.

For a while, her father just lay quietly, but his eyes remained staring at her, showing only overwhelming happiness and relief. His hand tightly clasped hers and though he was weak, she did not think she could have removed her limb from his grip even if she had wanted to.

"Do you wish me to leave?" Éomer spoke quietly, perhaps thinking she wanted to be alone with her father. But she did not get a chance to answer, because her sire's eyes had already moved to regard the tall Rohir.

"Éomer? Is that you?" Father asked, sounding somewhat incredulous.

"Aye, Imrahil. It's me", answered her husband in soft, calming tones.

"I thought you were..." Father muttered, blinking his eyes with some confusion. Lothiriel swallowed hard; seeing him like this, his mind so befuddled, was more difficult than she had ever imagined possible.

"I know. But your daughter found me", Éomer answered, reaching to brush his hand through her hair.

"She would do that, wouldn't she?" Father asked, smiling once more as he turned to look at her. "She's a precious thing, my daughter is."

"That she is", agreed her horselord, his gaze moving to her as well. In his eyes, dark and aged and wise, shined his love for her – ever steadfast and strong.

It was all she could do from bursting in tears right there. Swallowing hard at the lump in her throat, she held on tight to the hand of her father, as though her grip could make him stay.

Strange, how after all these years and so much life, letting go could still be so _hard. _

* * *

Éomer's children arrived in Dol Amroth a few days later: when Elphir had sent the news about Imrahil's declining state, the entire royal family had agreed they wanted to pay their respects to the dying man. Elfwine and Elred had stayed behind to make sure things would run smoothly in their absence; the Crown Prince had insisted his parents to make haste and go ahead while his grandfather still lived. Knowing now Éomer could trust the Mark in his sons' hands, he had left the realm perhaps with more peace of mind than ever before. One day, his heir would make a fine king.

As Lothíriel rarely left the side of her father, she was not present to welcome their children into the city. Elfhild had arrived only the day before along with Eldarion, rushing to her grandfather's side much like Lothíriel had. It was just another way the daughter and the mother were alike, the love they bore to Prince Imrahil. Thankfully, the old prince's condition had improved slightly, lending him some brightness of mind. As far as Éomer knew, Imrahil and his children had spent hours and hours just reminiscing the old days until the dying man had finally fallen asleep.

"Faeder!" Elfwine and Elred called to him in Rohirric as soon as they had entered the courtyard, their speech and air out of place as Eorlingas ever were in these southern courts. His sons dismounted swiftly and came striding for him side by side, wind from the journey still in their hair: one dark as night and other gold as the sun. Where Elfwine had grown to resemble Imrahil, Elred was the image of Éomer himself. And yet his heir had his mood, and Elred was more like Lothíriel's kin.

"Sons", Éomer greeted them, smiling slightly. "How was the journey?"

"It was fine. We made haste, as we did not know how long Grandfather Imrahil is going to last. Is he still alive?" Elfwine asked solemnly, while Elred nodded silently in agreement.

"Aye, he yet lives", Éomer replied in quiet tones; he had no idea how much his father-in-law had left in him.

"And Mother? How is she?" inquired Elred with some concern.

"She stays with him most of the time. It's hard for her to let go of him. You know how warm their relationship is", sighed the King of the Mark, shaking his head slightly.

"I can imagine", Elfwine muttered softly, looking down at his feet. Suddenly, he looked much younger and afraid. With the instinct of a father, Éomer knew exactly what his first-born was thinking.

"Don't worry, son. I've still got many good years in me", he reassured the Crown Prince, who looked up at him with a bittersweet expression on his face. Something similar was on the features of Elred.

Elfwine shook his head, obviously in an attempt to rid himself of that unpleasant thought, and smiled at Éomer once more. His change of topic was welcome as well, "You'll be glad to hear I left Edoras up and standing, though Eadric might just tear it down in our absence. He wanted to come along as well, and he wouldn't hear it when I told him we would be travelling too fast for him."

"He even tried to persuade me to let him ride with me", Elred put in, his solemn expression becoming lighter.

"I seem to recall another young horselord who was miffed with being left behind", said the Éomer with a fond smile. His elder son grinned.

"If that is so, then I'm only my father's son. Don't think Aunt Éowyn hasn't told me a story or two about you, Father", he quipped.

Despite all, especially their reason for being in Dol Amroth, Éomer had to smile. He had always had an easy relationship with his two sons, even during their stormy years of youth. One might have thought he and Elfwine would have clashed more often when they were so similar, but instead it had caused them to be usually in accord. And Elred had too much Lothíriel and Imrahil in him – he had her way of handling people and the old prince's calm wisdom.

In their hands, the Mark would be safe and prosperous.

Éomer reached his hands for the shoulders of his sons in a fond, welcoming gesture.

"Come along, lads. Your grandfather will be glad to see you both."

* * *

The chair in the antechamber was not particularly comfortable, but somehow Éomer had still been able to doze off in it. When he startled awake some time after midnight, there was already a dull ache in the back of his neck. With a soft groan he reached for the spot and rubbed it, hoping to ease the tension. Béma! In his youth, he had been able to sleep in the most uncomfortable places and positions without feeling the faintest bit of stiffness when he woke up. Truly, when in tales and songs the wisdom of the old age was praised, they usually failed to mention things like this.

His line of thought came to a halt when the door to Imrahil's bedchamber was softly opened. Éomer sat up straight, holding his breath; Lothíriel had told him to get to bed hours ago, but he had decided to stay close by. His wife was strong and brave, but that did not mean she needed to face this alone.

It was his queen at the door, as he had somehow known to expect. She spoke no word, but her tear-stained face explained all he needed to know. Stiffly Éomer got up on his feet and went to meet her, pulling her in his arms. Her grip of him was tight as she buried her face in his shoulder, shaking with quiet sobs. No matter how many years went by, the passing of a loved one was never without pain.

He held her quietly, gently rubbing his hand against her back. It had to be the thing he hated the most, seeing his beloved in pain and knowing there was only so much he could do to make it better.

"It's all right", he murmured softly in her hair, wishing he could have taken her grief to himself. But then, he knew Lothíriel would have told him it was enough that he simply _was. _

His wife pulled back slightly and looked up at him, blinking tears from her eyes.

"I shouldn't be crying. We got to say goodbye, and he... he was so peaceful and calm. He had no regrets. Elbereth, why must it hurt so badly?" she mumbled, wiping at her eyes.

"The pain is how you know how much you loved him", Éomer simply said and kissed her gently. She returned it, and when eventually she pulled back, he could see a calmer expression on her face again.

"I'm glad you're here with me, beloved. I couldn't have done this without you."

Elfwine was making his way through the courtyard of the palace of Princes in Dol Amroth. A few days after the funeral of his grandfather, he had been sparring with his cousin Alphros to find out what was the fuss about the Swan Knights. He had found skill in his maternal cousin, though perhaps not similar to his own; then again, Father had made sure Elfwine had been thoroughly educated in arts of war. The Crown Prince liked to think there was also a good deal of talent inherited from his sire.

At times, he could feel it living in his bones, the desire to do great and terrible things, just as his father before him. Yet the years had shown him the time of such acts was past.

Near to the great doors of the palace, he saw his uncle Amrothos. Ever since Elfwine had been a child, he had always seen his youngest maternal uncle as carefree and glad, living the life with similar vigour as Mother.

"Elfwine, have you seen your mother?" Uncle asked, smiling as he strode to meet the prince.

Wiping sweat from his brow, Elfwine looked at the older man, "Father took her out to ride with Silfren. I think they both wanted some time alone."

"Ah, of course", uncle said and nodded. A slight frown touched his brow, "She took it rather heavily, the passing of our father. But I imagine Éomer would know how to cheer her up... he always had a special knack for it."

Elfwine had to smile fondly at that. Indeed, during his life he had never seen anyone be able to make his mother smile the way his father could. And in return, when Father looked at Mother, he would almost seem like a young man again – light-hearted and free of care.

"Were they always so close? Even before... well, what happened in the south?" he asked Amrothos. He didn't know how much his parents had told his uncle, and he had never asked. It was a troubled memory especially for his father, like an old war wound that sometimes ached with the ghost of pain.

"Oh, they were. One doesn't often see two people falling for each other so hard as they did", said his uncle with a fond smile and a gentle shake of his head. Then he grinned, "By the way, did you know I'm the one who set them up in the first place?"

"You did?" Elfwine wondered out loud. "They never told me that."

"Hmph, that doesn't surprise me. They always wanted the credit for themselves", Amrothos stated, wrinkling his nose in feigned distaste. But quickly the expression melted into a grin again and the older man patted the shoulder of his nephew. "Nehir and the girls are with Aredhel for the afternoon, and I happen to have a bottle of some fine liquor straight from the Havens of Umbar. Would you like to come and find out whether those pirates are as good in making liquor as they are in robbing an honest man's purse?"

* * *

Elsunn was the last of Elfwine's children to come into the world. She came unexpected as well, for the Crown Prince and his wife Leofe Éothain's daughter had not expected to have more offspring than their two sons. When the newborn child was placed in her grandmother's arms, Lothíriel felt again that strange surety of what would happen. One day, she and her granddaughter would do something significant together... and whether it was related to that or something else, the old queen knew the name of her son's daughter would be remembered in the histories of Eorlingas.

It was at this time Éomer had to admit his age had finally caught up with him. When orcs from the mountains formed a desperate band and came down to attack the villages of the Wold, it was not the King who lead the defences against this onslaught of orc activity, the kind of which had not been seen in many years. Rather, Elfwine went in his stead. Where the father looked at the departing riders with regretful longing, and the son seemed to think to have a taste of what his sire's life had once been, Lothíriel had to hide her smile. The two did not even seem to realise how similar they were.

Be it as may, accepting the truth was not easy for either of them. Their steps were growing heavier and their bodies less agile. His hand did not wield the sword with similar vigour as it once had, and for her drawing the string of the Elven bow did not come so easily anymore. When Lothíriel found her first white hair, she stared at it for good twenty minutes until her beloved came and kissed her brow. All that she needed to know was in the warmth of his eyes.

Life was temporal, their love was not.

As their years lengthened and the sun of their shared life westered, they came to see the fruits of their many labours. The Riddermark had grown fair and strong, great herds of horses thrived and multiplied in the valleys, and their people had been renewed. There was laughter and song in the green dales and many rich harvests of golden barley were brought to granaries; when a thinner year hit in the realm of Arnor, it was Rohirric grain that now helped the peoples of Eriador over the difficult time. Travellers came from far and wide to trade in the city of King, filling the streets of Edoras with sounds and smells of distant lands. Roads were paved with stone, houses were built, and many foals and fillies of Silfren's bloodline stood as a symbol of the riches the rule of Éomer Éadig had brought into the land.

If their people were thriving, so was the House of Eorl: no longer a dwindling house but great and strong one, famed through the realms of Men. From Éomer and Lothíriel a new line was forged, their union standing as something more than a marriage. Indeed, if Silfren's bloodline was the symbol of prosperity, then theirs was the symbol of constancy and hope. And what could have been a stronger testimony of it than the love they held for their children and grandchildren? There were a thousand things she cherished: dinners in the royal chambers and laughter of their offspring, watching Éomer tell stories to the little ones on his knees, Silfren carrying a bunch of children shrieking with joy, their games in the Golden Hall and its courtyard... there was receiving Elfhild and her Gondorian family, seeing Éomer deep in conversation with his sons, weddings and feasts and new babes born. On the days Elfwine insisted his parents to take some time off, they would sit together in the garden of Meduseld, hand in hand, and savour the quiet hours of peace.

However, even the most glorious day must eventually come to an end. And when the night came Éomer set Silfren free, Lothíriel knew that soon she would have to say goodbye to the great love of her life.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update at last! I must admit writing these last chapters is not being easy at all, what with my muse's lower drive these days and the fact I need to wrap this up. So I keep wondering if I've said everything I want to, and to be honest finishing a story is never easy for me. But I am trying to do that, because I really want to work on ALWR more, and most of my inspiration is currently there. But we'll finish this, even if it's the last thing I do!

In case you're wondering, Eadric is Elfwine's son and heir.

As always, thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Tibblets - **Yes, stories can't go on forever. But I'm glad you've liked it! And you are right, this one has taken a life of its own. It's been enjoyable to write as well, though these last few chapters have been more difficult in making. English isn't the easiest language indeed, and I feel like I'm constantly learning new stuff about it. :)

**Jo - **Thank you! :)

**Rinarwen - **I do think Rohan and Gondor will be safe in the hands of their children. :) Hopefully my last chapters will deliver indeed! Sometimes I kinda feel like I wish I could go back to writing ALTE. I don't know why, but it was incredibly rewarding and I had such good time when I planned and wrote it. Oh well, a writer eventually has to move on!

**brandibuckeye - **I feel the same! But I'm glad you've remained on this ride until the end. :)


	74. Chapter 74

After ruling the Riddermark for 63 long and blessed years, Éomer could feel his mortal life was close to its end.

It was one of those things he just knew, and he became more and more aware of it as days passed. There was weariness now, the kind which he had never known in his life – it was deep, deeper even than his bones, beckoning him to sleep. But letting go was not so simple when he still had so much to live for. And if he were to surrender, then who would be there for his dear queen? Who would comfort her, make her smile again? The loss would strike her hard and cruel. He had seen how deeply Ceolwen had mourned when Elfhelm had passed away, and only a year ago they had buried her next to the man she had been ready to start a war for. If nothing else then that surely would have made him wonder. It was not that Éomer knew exactly how these things were handled on the other side, but how could he expect to be able to move on without the other half of his soul?

Yet even though his will would have him stay, if only until his beloved could join him, his mortal body was growing weak and old. He was fighting against inevitable... and a part of him, the most scarred portion of his soul, yearned for rest. He was king, mighty among the Children of Men, but before this he was no more powerful than any other man.

And so Éomer sent for the brave Halflings Meriadoc and Peregrin, who had often come and gone during the years to meet their friends in the realms of Men. Naturally, Lothíriel knew right away what was the reason behind him summoning them to visit Edoras once more. With solemn, sad eyes she'd look at him, and the unspoken words shined in her gaze: _you are saying goodbye, aren't you? _

Oh, he was so tired. But she still lived bright and strong, perhaps not so young anymore, but neither did her gaze or her step imply the weariness that was growing on him. In the quiet of his thoughts, Éomer wondered if this too had been inevitable all along – that after loving so passionately as they had loved each other, the breaking of their hearts would have to go just as deep.

Lothiriel seemed to think so too. He knew she was bracing for it, trying to prepare herself for the day they would be parted. Most of her waking hours, she remained by his side, her hand never far from his own. The worst thing was he did not know how to make it easier for her... how he could lessen the pain that was in store for her.

His beloved wife was not the only one who dreaded what was to come. His children and grandchildren seemed uneasy as well, though they kept up cheerful faces when they bustled about him. At times, Elfwine would look at him with a slightly worried expression; he was a man full grown now, and yet the uncertainty on his face made him younger by decades. Though Éomer had always known he was beloved by his family, now he truly saw how important he was to them. And he knew once the time came, it would not make letting go any easier.

His son sought him out one day at the end of June, when Éomer had just settled down in his chair to read Éowyn's letter; she too was now a matriarch of a large family, dearly loved by both her children and her new people. It was strange, knowing this could very well be the last letter he ever got from her... she had promised to make it to the Mark this summer; his sister was one of the few people he had actually told he did not expect to have much longer. Be it as may, Éomer had a feeling most people knew, anyway.

After knocking and being invited inside, Elfwine entered the royal chambers. The Lord of the Mark looked up at his heir with a slight smile and laid aside Éowyn's letter. Though the Prince looked unsure and somewhat diminished, the old king knew he would do just fine.

_He is ready. At least, readier than I was._

"Father", Elfwine spoke, approaching him slowly, "how do you feel today?"

A lot of people were asking him that precise question these days. At times, it almost felt like his folk were just waiting for him to drop dead any moment. Though he knew there was only love and care behind that question, there were moments when Éomer wished he could have vanished out of knowledge of Men with Silfren... ride with the stallion into the unknown, and then at last lay himself to rest on some green hill where he could see the sky and the plains he had so loved. In that image, Lothíriel was by his side.

"Don't worry, son. I am as well as I can be", Éomer said with a gentle little smile. His son tried to return the smile, but he could not hide the look in his eyes. So the King of Rohan asked, though it was not really out of need, "What is it, Elfwine?"

"I was just..." started the Crown Prince, but his words failed him. He frowned and shifted his gaze away. Despite all, Éomer could not help but feel fondly at the younger man's behaviour. It was years since he had last seen Elfwine being so unsure of anything.

The Prince cleared his throat and met his eyes once more. His expression made him look like a young lad.

"Father, I'm afraid", Elfwine spoke, reaching for the hand of his sire.

"Why should you be, son? I have taught you everything I know, and not once have you failed my trust. You are ready to be king", Éomer pointed out.

"I don't feel ready", said his son quietly, lowering his face.

"Few people ever do. Even then, you should not hold back when the fates call your name", said the old king. squeezing the hand of his heir gently. "As a king, I know the Mark will be in good hands when you sit on the throne. But as your father, I ask you to take care of your mother when I'm gone. She tries to be brave but I know it will break her heart."

"Don't worry about it, Father. I will be there for her", Elfwine reassured him in a quiet little voice. Éomer smiled slightly, though his heart was not without care. He knew he would have been inconsolable had it been him to watch his beloved die. Would that he had known how to comfort her!

The Crown Prince looked up once more, his eyes glistening with tears. Strangely enough, Éomer knew all too well what his son was feeling – he too had watched his mother fade away. He too had wished he could alter the course of time and stop the inevitable. And yet, he was an old man at the end of a long, full life. No work of his would be left unfinished with his passing.

"Father... what will we do without you? How can our people live without their very soul? How can I lead them without your guidance and wisdom?" Elfwine asked, his voice resonating with the faint echo of fear.

Éomer had to hide his smile. How like him his son sounded! Wasn't this exactly what he had felt when his uncle had fallen? And yet it was why he knew Elfwine would do just fine. The Mark had peace and Elfwine knew all that he needed. On the top of it all, he would have the support and care of his mother. Under Lothíriel's vigilance, Eorlingas had always thrived.

When he met the gaze of his son, he kept his face solemn but gentle.

"It runs in you, Elfwine, just as it runs in me. Don't be afraid of using what you have got in you. It's now your time to teach your son and grandson. Our House lives on in you and them now, and I must step aside and let you shine", he told his heir.

His son stared at him hard, as though the younger man could simply will him to live.

"But what if I need your help and advice?" Elfwine spoke, his voice faint and quiet.

"Ask your mother. Sometimes I think she knows my mind better than I do... she is the rock I rebuilt my kingdom on, and even in grief she is one of the strongest people I have ever known. Trust your mother, as I have trusted her through all these years", Eomer said to his son. Indeed, with Lothíriel watching over him and the Mark, Elfwine would find his own way.

And then, perhaps, she would be able to follow him... he was certain he would be waiting for her. For if the years had taught him something, it was this: there was no peaceful rest for him without his Lioness.

* * *

Éowyn and her family arrived in Edoras towards the end of July. They had made way slowly, because the White Lady was not quite so young anymore, though one could not have guessed so when she had climbed down from the back of her horse with the help of Elboron, and she came striding for her brother. Her long, silver-gold hair was in a thick braid and her back was still straight, just as Éomer's was even at the end of his life. Strangely her expression reminded Lothíriel of something she had seen on her sister-in-law's face during the time they had presumed Éomer was dead.

The two siblings spoke no words. His arms were open for her when she came, and she hugged him tight and long. Though she had her Gondorian family now, and nephews and niece by Éomer, in this reunion there lived an undeniable, sorrowful truth.

Decades had passed since she and Éomer had lost the rest of their family: their parents, their uncle who had been their second father, and Théodred who had been more their brother than a cousin. When Éomer passed away, she would be the last of their House who had seen the days of the Ring Lothíriel could only imagine how much grief and pain it was already causing to Éowyn, especially when her own brothers still lived.

With her, Éowyn brought one rather surprising thing from Gondor. That something was an artist she had hired in Minas Tirith with the sole purpose of making sketches of family and friends gathered in the Golden Hall of the King. He even had Éomer sit for a portrait; the end product was so lifelike, the old queen knew it would be a treasured piece in times to come. Somehow, the artist was able to capture so much that made up her beloved husband, the grief and the joy and wisdom and warmth, even that passion for living that had sustained him through his long, remarkable life.

"He is good at what he does, sister. I assure you there will be many sketches for you as well", Éowyn promised to Lothíriel, much to the bittersweet joy of the latter.

The reunions in Edoras, accompanied by members from each side of the family, held the aching knowledge this was a time to end an era. Yet there was still laughter and joy in meetings of so many friends and loved ones. Elfhild and Eldarion had come from Gondor along with Amrothos and Nehir, and she was going to stay at least a few months in her birth country; Aragorn and Arwen would arrive as well in a few weeks. It was a time of saying goodbye for all of them.

But even with all the guests and spending time with them, nights Éomer stayed alone with his wife. They spoke of many things together, of the shared years of their lives and their children. Lothíriel wished she could have just drowned in these moments and live in them forever, so that the sound of his voice would never fade and he would always be there by her side, looking at her with warm, loving eyes. But eventually his eyelids would begin to droop and then he was asleep; the precious moment was gone and she wondered how many more were still left. He was so tired these days... almost as though each breath, each step and each word took extraordinary effort. And she knew he was still fighting only because he did not want to leave her.

Lothíriel knew she needed to let him go. But how to give up her very life's blood and the rock she had been standing on all these years? She had spent her life battling by his side, being his companion in peace and war – during their years and the struggles they had faced, giving up had never been an option, not even in the darkest of times. To surrender now would seem like surrendering her very purpose... and when Éomer died, a part of her would be buried with him.

For her he kept going, willing his life to continue for a little while more. Yet they both knew what moments could be bought by such struggle would eventually have to be paid for.

Aragorn and Arwen arrived at last at the start of August. The long, prosperous alliance of Éomer and Elessar was at an end, though through their children it would go on until the world of Men was changed. The moment two kings met each other and embraced as brothers on the steps of Meduseld was a kind of moment when the world seemed to shift slightly – as though this was some kind of a fixed point in time, a place where echoes of their voices might still be heard decades and decades from now.

And then Éomer stepped back and lifted his hand on the shoulder of his first-born son. No words were exchanged, but actions spoke loudly enough. The old king was giving up his mantle for the new one... introducing him as the one who would soon hold the other end of the alliance between the Mark and Gondor.

King Elessar looked at the Crown Prince with a slight smile and bowed at him. Then, as he had many times with Elfwine's father, he reached for the younger man's shoulder in a gesture of brotherhood.

"House of Telcontar will always consider Eorl's heirs their friends and allies. As Éomer's son you are as good to me as my own brother", Aragorn spoke with the dignity that years of kingship had brought him.

"And the Mark will stand with the Stoningland now and always", answered Elfwine, speaking as the king he would soon be. With a bittersweet smile, Lothíriel wondered if her son knew how much like his father he sounded just then.

It hit her in that moment, as she stood listening to the voices of her husband and son as they welcomed Aragorn to Edoras: Éomer would never be truly gone from her. He existed in so many things – the eyes of her son, the smiles of her children and grandchildren, the golden hair flowing down Eadric's back, Elred's very form – that where his life ended, his likeness and his spirit would linger. In their hearts, they would always carry his love and his wisdom, and all the things he had given to the people to whom he was most dear in the world.

And she, the one who had known his love, sensed his thoughts, healed his mind and carried his children, would hold him within her until the day she died.

* * *

About a week after Aragorn and Arwen had arrived in Edoras, Lothíriel emerged from the washing chamber, only to find her king seated on the edge of their bed, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed.

"Beloved? Is something wrong?" she asked, trying to ignore the cold stab somewhere behind her heart. _Is it now? Is now the time?_

Quickly she made her way to his side, reaching for his shoulder.

"I... I do not feel so good", he muttered under his breath, not lifting his eyes to meet hers. Her concern increasing, Lothiriel reached to touch his forehead. It did feel warmer than normal to her.

"I think you might have fever. Just lie down and I'll send for a healer", she told him, fighting to keep her voice calm and controlled. But behind it, panic was threatening to take a hold of her. _I'm not ready, don't leave me yet, I need more time..._

Éomer complied quietly, stiffly settling back on the bed. She arranged blankets on his feet before heading for the door that lead to the royal chambers, where guards were posted at all times. When she emerged, they looked at her quizzically, straightening up as they waited for her orders.

"Go and get the healer, and be quick about it", she spoke, somewhat surprised to hear her voice coming out so strong.

"Yes, my lady", said one of the guards and hurried along, while the remaining two exchanged a glance between themselves. She knew they were wondering too... after all, it was not a secret Éomer did not have much time left. Were they feeling as afraid as herself? For these men, Éomer was _the _king – they had not known a time when he had not ruled the Riddermark.

The weight on her chest was growing heavy when she returned to the side of her king. He lay quietly with his eyes closed, his hands resting on his chest. Bright sunlight made his white hair shine in a way that was somehow unreal, as though he were basking in a glow not of this world. It almost seemed like he was only half here, and already half on the other side. Quickly she grabbed for his hand, feeling like he might just fade away before her eyes if she did not hold on to him.

Éomer opened his eyes and smiled slightly at her. How could he be so unafraid? Then again, he was one of the bravest people she had ever known.

"It's all right", he murmured softly, knowing exactly what was on her mind. She wanted to believe him, that everything would be fine, that she could get through this. But how could she, when _he _had been the source of her strength and will to go on for so many years? Where would she draw her faith when he was not here anymore? And yet she was still deeply rooted here, life coursing through her veins as vital as ever. Would that she could have given at least some of it to him!

"I love you so much", she whispered, bringing the back of his hand to her lips. "And I'm so afraid."

"I know you are", he spoke gently, holding her hand tightly. "But I will never be farther from you than a dream. You know how to find me. Lothíriel, you still have the life we built together. You have our children and grandchildren. They will look to you to guide them... be strong for them, just as you once were strong for me. You still have so much to give. my dear heart."

Swallowing the sob that had been building up at the back of her throat, the Queen of the Mark leaned her cheek into the hand of her king and closed her eyes.

* * *

Though Lothíriel demanded the services of all the healers to be found near Edoras, none of them could tell much about what was ailing her husband. She knew what they thought, however – they simply perceived Éomer was dying. And they were not wrong.

In a moment of desperation, she even proposed they should ask Aragorn's advice. But her beloved just gave her a small smile and shook his head.

"While Aragorn is a mighty king and he has gifts not many men have, even he cannot stop the natural course of things", he said calmly. Lothiriel would have liked to disagree with him, but she knew he was right. As much as she wanted to fight this, there was nothing she could do... except for accepting what could not be changed. But how could she accept this surrender, when it was not in her nature to give in?

She was not the only one who had hard time letting go. A few days after Éomer had fallen ill, she was returning to the royal chambers when she came across her son. He was leaning his back against the wall of the corridor and he had bowed his head; his heavy, ragged breathing revealed his emotional turmoil. It was all too easy to guess what was the reason for it.

"Elfwine? What is it?" she asked anyway, approaching her son. When he lifted his face, tears were streaming down his cheeks.

"He gave me this", he replied, lifting up the palm of his hand. There lay the silver ring she had once given to Éomer to pledge their troth, but she knew for him it had come to signify more than just their marriage. The ring was the symbol of how he had regained his throne, and how their union was tangled in the fates of the House of Eorl. Though it was bittersweet to see this ring in the hand of someone else than Éomer himself, she could see why he had given it to Elfwine – and why he would wish it to become an heirloom for the Kings of the Riddermark. In giving it to his son, Lothíriel knew he had also given his successor the very last lesson before Elfwine officially became the Lord of Eorlingas.

Lothíriel lay her hand on his, closing his fingers around the ring.

"Yes, I think you should have it", she said softly, looking straight into the eyes of her son. Like with her husband, she had to tilt her head upwards in order to meet Elfwine's gaze directly. With a sorrowing little smile, she continued, "It went south with him, remained in his hand through his ordeal. And he had it when he came home and rode Silfren for the first time. It is no magic ring, surely, but I think some things go deeper than any art of wizards ever could. Perhaps it will help you to remember how important it is never to give in."

Her son made a small sobbing sound and reached for her. Gently she wrapped her arms about his form; she held him as though they were both decades younger, and he was just a child needing his mother's comfort. Her mind filling with so many dear memories, she remembered how it had felt like to bear him under her heart – how she had struggled to bring him into the world. But she also remembered the light in the Elven wood of Lothlórien and how much love and how much hope there had been in conceiving the heir of the Riddermark. And with his mere existence, he had healed some of the deepest wounds left by the south and Kin-strife... not only for his parents, but also for his people.

It was fitting indeed, that he should be the one to follow Éomer Éadig as the King of the Mark. And when he did, nothing would ever be the same again.

* * *

The days that followed passed by quickly, though Lothíriel did not do much else than stay by the side of her beloved. She guessed time seemed so fleeting because of what was becoming closer and closer with each day. Helplessly she watched as her husband grew weaker, until he could not rise from the bed by himself; a flash of fire, something to remind her of times past, appeared in Éomer's eyes when he could not lift himself. However, the last glow of the glory of his manhood was not enough against the decay of time.

It was rarely now that the king and queen were left alone. Most times, at least one of their children or grandchildren was about, and often the royal bedchamber was crowded with different generations of the family, including Éowyn – up until Lothíriel sent them out, so that Éomer could get some rest. Aragorn was a frequent visitor and so was Legolas and the Halflings; together they would speak of many things, perhaps most frequently of the time of the Ring War. Their gatherings would often attract the two kings' offspring, and there would sometimes be quite an audience. It was a rare occurrence that so many of the heroes who fought against Sauron were together, talking about the great and terrible things they had seen.

Everything must come to an end – even a life as full as Éomer's had been. On an early morning of late August Lothíriel was awakened by a hand seeking for her own, and as she lifted her head from the pillow to look at her king, and on his face there was the kind of expression she had never seen before. Even before he spoke, she already knew.

"Could you go and send for our children? And Éowyn too?" he asked her quietly, his voice very soft, almost frail.

The stone had been resting on her heart for weeks now, growing heavier to bear as she watched her beloved weakening. Now it felt like a mountain sat on her, crushing her with the misery of being left to live without her other half.

In a haze she made her way to the door of the royal chambers, and there gave orders to wake up their family. She barely saw the faces of the guards for the agony that was clouding her vision. Wasting no time, she returned to the side of her king. But before she reached him, she arranged her face into something calm and collected. If now was truly the time... well, she could not let his last moments be burdened with concern that she wouldn't be fine.

She sat down by his side and took his hand in hers. Her mind and heart were numb, as though the pain that was awaiting her was too great to fathom. She could not speak, though a thousand things were running through her mind. Then again, Éomer knew her heart and soul more intimately than anyone else in the world or beyond. He was like to be well aware of the things passing though her mind, just as she had always known what he was thinking.

"It's all right. When one has been given as much as I have received, it is only right to let go when the time comes", Éomer said quietly, holding tight her hand, "Don't be scared, beloved. You know I will love you always, even when I'm not with you."

Knowing she might burst in tears if she tried to speak, Lothíriel just smiled and lifted his hand to her lips for a kiss. Then she leaned her cheek into it and closed her eyes. _In my dreams we are always together. _

"How can you be so calm? Aren't you afraid?" she asked him in a tiny voice. Oh, how she hated that she couldn't be braver than this!

Her beloved king smiled, his fingers gently caressing her face.

"My dearest heart", he murmured, his voice full of warmth, "How could I ever be afraid when you are next to me? I am in my own bed, with you by my side, and my children are coming to me. It has been years, but I never forgot – I still remember what it felt like to stand on that hill in the deserts and think I would die there, far away from you and home. This, Lothíriel... this _is _a gift."

And what could she possibly say to that?

Elfwine was the first to arrive, hurrying inside in shirtsleeves and his hair messily tied back. He had obviously just jumped from his bed when the guard had summoned him. Their son and heir had been waiting and fearing for this call, just as Lothíriel had dreaded it. He was her son: it was only natural that love for Éomer would live in his blood. After him, the rest of them came, and each of their children and grandchildren was wearing that same look of dread on their faces. Éowyn was there as well, her eyes revealing the depth of her grief.

But Éomer himself only looked peaceful – even glad as his family gathered around him. She thought of his earlier words and how strange life was.

She remained there next to him as their children and grandchildren gathered around the large bed, each of them reaching for the hands of the patriarch of their House and leaning down to kiss his brow. Elfhild was not trying to hide her tears as she sat by his feet, Elred hovered by Lothíriel's shoulder, and Elfwine sat quietly next to the dying king. Not many words were spoken, at least by her; her husband knew how much she loved him, how painfully she would miss him, but he could also be content in the knowledge that she would do her best to take care of their offspring.

As day rose to its full glory and the golden light of midday peeked in the royal chamber, Éomer's breathing grew more and more laboured. At that point – and at his request – Elred carefully lifted him so that he could rest in Lothíriel's lap.

"I've got you. I've got you", she mumbled softly, smoothing back his bright white hair. Maybe, if she held him tight enough, he wouldn't slip away from her?

"I know", he answered in a barely audible voice, looking up at her with so much love it nearly broke her heart. "Thank you, Lothíriel. Thank you for everything."

"Shh, just rest. It's fine. It's all fine", she told him, fighting against her tears more fiercely than ever. She could not cry now, not while he was still with her.

"Elfwine", Éomer spoke, searching for his heir with his eyes, looking like it was a struggle for him to concentrate even this much.

"I'm here, Father", said the Crown Prince, reaching to squeeze the hand of Éomer Éadig. His expression was strained, like he too was trying to hold back tears while attempting to smile.

"I leave the Mark with you, son. Lead our people and keep their future safe. Remember the things I've taught you. Pass them on to your children", said the Lord of the Mark, first of the third line and last of the most legendary Riders of the Ring War. His breathing was ragged now and for a moment he lay silent. Then, with a stronger voice than one would have expected from one so near to their end, he spoke, "Hail Elfwine King!"

With a muffled sob, Elfwine buried his hand against the hand of his father, and Éomer closed his eyes. For the briefest second Lothíriel thought he was already gone, but then he looked at her once more.

He drew in breath and stared at her, his eyes full of love and light and gratitude – in that gaze, there was an entire lifetime. He held her with his eyes and the grip of his fingers about hers was tight... but it began to turn loose, and he was...

"I will see you again, Lothíriel", he spoke, his voice not much more than a breath, but she heard it and she knew...

"I love you", she insisted in a trembling voice, holding back tears she could not let him see – could not let them be his last sight of this world.

Éomer smiled, and somehow in that smile she could see an entire lifetime of love, decades of joy and pain and laughter and days fully lived. The response to her final words to him was in his smile, in his eyes, in the final breath he let out. He did not draw in more air – with that last breath, he slipped away from her. And in his eyes light faded and made way to night, and she knew he had left her. This time, she could not go and seek for him. _He was gone. _

He was gone and for her it was the coming of the night.

* * *

**A/N: **... yeah, I'm bawling. It's no wonder it took me this long to write this chapter - it's not easy to write something like this. Or, at least it's a great deal more difficult than it was with _Heart's Desire, _where I also write about Éomer's passing.

I'm thinking there will be two more chapters after this, and then _King and Lioness _is done. Feels weird, doesn't it?

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Irgendwer - **Thank you! I'm glad to hear you have enjoyed this story. :) If it is unbearable for you, I can tell it wasn't pleasant for me either!

**Jo - **I know! It is quite the difficult thing to be writing the death of a beloved character, but a story like this does rather require it.

**Katia0203 - **I'm afraid these last chapters are very tear-inducing. I guess it was inevitable ending KAL would be like this, especially considering how attached I've grown to this storyline. Anyway, I'm glad you like ALWR! :)

**brandibuckeye - **It has been great to have you on board of this ride! :) Hope this chapter satisfies, even if it's something of a sobfest (at least it was for me!).


	75. Chapter 75

The day's light came as cold as the rivers down the snow-clad mountains. Once, it had brought warmth with it, or so Lothíriel remembered. In her memory days were bright and golden as _his _hair had been, and warm as well.

Now there was no warmth left in sunlight – as though _he _had taken the very heat with him. And she was cold, so cold.

Almost a week had passed since the day Éomer had died. Most of that week had gone by in a haze for her, and of the day he had left her she had only the vaguest memories. She had sit next to him, and then she had been holding him. At last – so soon – they had said their goodbyes. After that, all she could recall was holding the dead body of her husband in her arms and refusing to let go of him. Elfwine and Aragorn had been talking to her, but the things they said were lost to her. Not that she would have been able to answer, at any rate.

Eventually, Éowyn had been the one to unfasten her arms from their grip around Éomer. Then there had been people on her both sides – Elfwine and Elred – and someone had given her something to drink. In moments, a blissful darkness had fallen on her and she had known no more.

When she had woken up, _he _was still gone and the realisation had hit her as though a punch to her guts, leaving her breathless and stunned. Oh, what would she have given to go back to that unknowing forgetfulness! And yet she was left with the sad lot of staying behind... here she was, about to bury her king, the father of her children, the love of her life.

Dressed in the blacks of a grieving widow, Lothíriel Queen of the Mark sat next to the body of the man she had loved beyond all reason and tried to prepare. They had clothed him in the regalia of his station, though his crown now rested on Elfwine's brow. Rich green and glimmering gold of his raiment were the finest he had owned in life, and under his head they had folded his long cloak as a pillow. Indeed, he seemed every inch the famous and beloved king he had been. Thus he would remain in the memory of his people... immortal in their tales and songs, riding Silfren tall and proud. If she grieved him, then Eorlingas did too. He was their king and today they would bury him, and one era would come to an end. People from all corners of the Mark had come to Edoras to honour the man who had become a legend already during his lifetime.

Éomer looked like he was sleeping. A peaceful expression lingered on his face, as though he was in some beautiful dream, and light's touch was soft on the lines that age had left along the years. It lent a shine to his hair as well: the snowy white glowed as though in its own light. But if she reached her hand for him, she would only feel cold skin against her own, and her heart would ache so deeply for the memory of the life that had burned in him. Though the likeness of it yet lingered on his face, it was gone... gone forever, and she was left here alone like one suddenly left in the dark, groping their way blindly.

Oh, it was bitter! She could not see a new morning beyond this day, and a part of her would just lay down beside him... never wake up again. Yet the life that still coursed in her veins would not have it so. She knew she must live. She had to go on, hard as that may be.

_You were always a fighter, beloved, _his voice seemed to whisper to her. Whether it was a memory or she had lost it in her grief, Lothíriel did not know... yet she knew he would have said something like that. And he would have been right.

Breathing deeply, she wiped a hand across her eyes and fixed her gaze on the body of her husband. These were the last moments she would have with him before he was carried into his grave. Then it would just be her memories and the pictures drawn by Éowyn's artist from Gondor. Never again would she touch these hands, so strong in life and so cold now that his spirit had passed. How many times she had held them in her own, felt their warmth, their unfaltering steadiness?

Stiffly she lay her head against his shoulder, the way she had each night she had slept by his side. She could still remember what it had felt like to fall asleep, listening to the sound of his heartbeat... feeling the rise and fall of his chest against her cheek.

"I miss you so much, Éomer", she whispered in half a voice, wondering if he could hear her, somehow. "It's so hard to let go. I never was good at letting go, but you know that, don't you? And without you, it's like... it's like I've forgotten how to breathe. It's like I've already died once."

Her voice died in her throat. Lothíriel pulled back again, trying to swallow the lump that had grown in her throat. For one reason or the other, she had not cried after the day he had died. Until now, this grief had defied even tears.

The door was opened and the sound was followed by footsteps approaching her. But the old queen did not stir or move to see who had arrived. She knew what it was, anyway – they wanted to start with the burial. They wanted her to let go. Rationally thinking, she knew why that was. And yet she would have given anything to postpone that moment a little while more.

There was a hand on her shoulder, and then a gentle voice: "Lothíriel."

It was Aragorn. Though she knew he mourned Éomer as well, somehow the King of Arnor and Gondor had kept it hidden – instead, he had not spared his support and comfort for any that might ask for it. As always, she was grateful.

Quietly she looked up at the man by her side. He had changed little from the days of the south; though his hair was now bright silver, there was agelessness about his features which she had already perceived years ago. Lothíriel remembered those fateful days and how much she had depended on his wisdom and knowledge... how desperate all three of them had been to find her beloved. Without him they would never have succeeded.

And where she had lost a husband, Aragorn had lost a brother.

The sob came before she even knew it. Then she was crying, and Aragorn was holding her, telling her soft and sweet nonsense as she wept her loss. Like a child, she cried and gripped him tight, for she had never felt quite as lost as she did now. But Aragorn held on, stroking her hair and speaking gently under his breath in the Sindarin tongue that was native to them both. Whether hours or just minutes passed while she cried, she did not know. He did not tell her to stop or to calm down – he knew she had to get these tears out.

"Everything is wrong without him", she whispered at last when her helpless sobs had somewhat subsided and she could speak again.

"I know. He was of a different Age and with his passing, the world grows a bit more grey", he replied solemnly.

"But how do we live with it, Aragorn? How do we go on in this world where there is so little left of what we know, and so many of our loved ones are gone?" she asked him, trying to hide her desperate tone.

Aragorn's face was grave and joyless when he answered after a silence.

"We just do."

* * *

And so Éomer Éadig was laid to rest under a mound of Simbelmynë and a new time was begun in the Riddermark. Few kings of Eorlingas had been grieved by so many, for guests had arrived from far and wide to pay their respects, and for the night his long and remarkable life was remembered and celebrated. But Lothíriel sat quietly, thinking of all the things that had passed from her life with him, and pondering the words she had sung at his tomb, her voice close to breaking with each word of Rohirric she had lamented. It was a traditional song, delivered by the mistress of the household at the passing of the king. Somehow, it had seemed to hold all that she held in her raw and bleeding heart, and she had wondered if the past queens of Rohan had grieved their kings just as much as she did her own. She thought of the last moments she had spent by his side before they had laid bricks to close the grave, of the kiss she had placed upon his brow, and of the feeling of emptiness there had been when she had rejoined her children. Many things had indeed come to an end.

But where she felt like lingering in the life that was now irretrievably gone, others seemed to move forward. After a week's time, funeral parties made ready for departure: most would travel with Aragorn and Arwen's escort, and then carry on from Minas Tirith. Elfhild seemed reluctant to leave and she was often by Lothíriel's side – the dear woman saw what a struggle it was for her mother to do the simplest things.

But the day before the company was set to leave for Gondor, Éowyn came to see his recently widowed sister-in-law. The White Lady did not step so lightly anymore, but her back was still straight and proud and her eyes were clear and bright. And though her life had been in Gondor for decades now, she still grieved her brother just as deeply as the rest of his family.

Still and all, Éowyn did smile as she approached Lothíriel. The old queen had been sitting with Elfhild and her grandchildren by her only daughter, or perhaps it was rather the other way around – her family did not seem eager to leave her alone these days for very long. Elfhild took her cue right away, herding her offspring towards the door so that the two old women could talk in peace.

When Éowyn was seated, she gave the other woman one of those discerning looks of hers. Strangely enough, it brought Lothíriel a fresh wave of bittersweetness, because she had not realised before now how much Éowyn looked like her brother when she had this expression on her face.

"How are you doing, sister?" Éowyn asked her. The White Lady's voice was soft but it did not hold the kind of gentleness that at times would almost drive Lothíriel mad – even though she knew the care of her family was well-meant. But then, Éowyn had always faced things straightforwardly.

"I live one day at a time", said the old queen with a sad little smile. "I knew it would be hard, but the extent keeps taking me by surprise."

Éowyn's face softened and she reached to touch her hands.

"I miss him too", she said quietly. "Even though I know what he would say. He'd tell us not to mourn him over much... my brother had a wonderful life and he shall be well remembered among his people. I know he was very happy, too. As his sister, I'm thankful for that. It is not a simple thing to find peace after enduring as much as he did... but it wasn't a surprise to me that you two could find a way about it."

"He was the love of my life", Lothíriel simply said and lowered her eyes on her hands. In a softer voice, keeping her voice as steady as she could, she went on, "He still is."

"Which is why I thought you would like to have this", Éowyn said, much to her surprise, and the Queen looked up at other woman. The Princess of Ithilien withdrew her hands and produced a neatly wrapped piece of vellum. Lothíriel accepted it, but she did not open the bundle right away. She gave her sister-in-law a quizzical look.

"It was made around the time Elboron was born, and Éomer travelled to Emyn Arnen to visit us. I have kept it as a memory of my brother all these years... I had copies made before we left Gondor, as it seemed to me you should have the original", she explained. Her words surely raised Lothíriel's curiosity even further, and so she opened the vellum, her fingers trembling slightly as she did.

It was a portrait, but that she had guessed already. Though it bore no colour, the lines and the shadows made in dark coal were so life-like, one might expect the picture to spring alive any moment. And there _he_ was, young and handsome, riding Silfren with wind in his hair. He was smiling slightly and looking straight at the viewer, making her feel like he was just about to tell her something. He was arrayed in simple tunic and breeches, yet somehow the artist had been able to capture the air of kingliness he had worn like a second skin on him. The strong, proud lines of his shoulders spoke of his strength and somehow it was echoed in the powerful neck and long limbs of the stallion bearing him. There was grace about them she had half forgotten, though she had witnessed the friendship between her husband and the _mearh _for decades. Oh, Éomer! Looking at this picture of him, she remembered the dark warmth of his eyes, the glimmer hidden in the depths that had seen so much sadness and pain.

She could not speak for the longest time. She just sat there, staring at the face of the man who was now gone, but remained immortal in this piece of vellum. If this piece should survive into the long years of future generations, then anyone who might see it would know _this _was not a portrait of an ordinary man.

"I remember it like yesterday", Éowyn spoke softly, her voice coming as though somewhere far. "Elboron was just a babe in arms, and my brother came to visit us in Ithilien... you were expecting Elfwine at the time, and Éomer was so glad. It was the first time I saw him smiling like that after the first southern campaign, and I recall how excitedly he talked about you and your unborn child – how much he loved you both. I knew then things would be all right. It is a good thing we had this picture made then. It will preserve his likeness as he truly was."

Lothíriel could remember it too. Though tears were burning her eyes, there was also some laughter, bubbling deep in her chest: she recalled a story of him ranting at an unsuspecting tavern wench about his wife and then passing out under a table in the barracks of the Citadel. And then his return home and waking up to seeing him by her side... oh, the things she would have given if she could just have seen him one more time and tell him how much she loved him!

_But he knew. It was the last thing you told him... _

She looked up at her sister-in-law at last. Éowyn's expression was a knowing one – perhaps the White Lady guessed what thoughts passed in her mind. And somehow, Lothíriel was able to smile.

"Thank you, sister. It was thoughtful of you to give this picture to me. I will make sure it will be kept safe", she said solemnly.

Indeed, among the family and kin of Éomer Éadig, his portrait would surely be a prized possession... as it already was to his widow. Perhaps by it, those descended from him might understand a bit about what kind of a man Éomer King of the Mark had been.

And that night, after Lothíriel had fallen asleep with the picture by her bedside, she had fair dreams where she was with Éomer, and they were riding across the plains in springtime.

In dreams, they would always be young and free of care.

* * *

So began the reign of Elfwine King, though for Lothíriel the passing of those first days was slow and agonising. It was as though she needed to learn all things anew, and in a way it was so. Éomer had been in many ways the most integral part of her everyday life – without his presence, everything was different.

One very tangible way things changed was her moving from the royal chambers. She was still queen, and she could see people still regarded her the Lady of the Mark, but now her son ruled – the rooms which had been the setting of her life were for her son and daughter-in-law to use. It was bittersweet as many things were, for in those chambers so many dear moments had taken place. There she had lived and loved, and surely Éomer's laughter and the deepness of his voice were somehow still living in those walls? Still and all, the servants picked up her belongings and moved them to the southern chambers where she could see the garden and the plains. Falling asleep without him was yet another thing she had to learn again.

Moving back to Gondor had been out of question from the start, though Elphir and Amrothos had suggested it, perhaps thinking she would be happier away from the memories of her old life. However, she quickly refused the offer. Aside from Elfhild, her brothers and Éowyn, her family was in the Mark. Lothíriel had spent so many years of her life in Rohan that she could not imagine living anywhere else... even if Éomer was gone. Then again, his spirit lived _in _the Riddermark. He was the hills, the wind, the green grass of the plains, the great horses of the West. Where else might she feel close to him than this land between mountains and the wild? Where else might she expect to live the last days of her own life, and then at last lay herself down to rest? Their fates were too tightly intertwined.

In the Mark peace had lasted for many years now, and it continued under the rule of Elfwine King – to her it was odd to think of him so, for in her heart he was still her prince. Despite how he had feared and doubted upon the passing of his father, he proved to have Éomer's wisdom and gift for leadership – though often he would sit by the side of his mother and speak of the matters of the realm. He would not say it out loud, but at times she sensed the question on his mind: _what would Father do? _Gently she would answer him, making her best guess as to what Éomer would have done if he still lived.

_If he still lived... _sometimes, it was difficult to believe he truly was gone. Some moments she half expected to see him approaching from somewhere, feel his hand reaching for hers, or see him standing nearby, or hear his laughter in the halls. She would look around and expect to see his figure that had remained tall and straight until the end. And when she would turn her gaze to the plains, she would catch movement in the corner of her eye, and she was certain if she just looked that way, she would see his white horsetail helmet glimmering in the sun as he let Silfren gallop towards the capital... even now, Éomer's spirit was everywhere. Sometimes she wondered if he was still here, bodiless but still very much present, watching over his people although his mortal life had ended.

The spring following Éomer's passing brought more loss to the extended royal family: after so many years of struggle, Erchirion died in his own bed while he slept. His daughter confided her aunt the Queen that he had wished to be buried in the Mark, far away from the sea he had once loved; for in Rohan he had at last come to know a measure of peace. And so, though her heart was not healed from her previous sorrow, Lothíriel buried her second oldest brother under the rich green grass of the Riddermark.

"He has peace now, sister", Amrothos spoke quietly as they stood at the grave of their sibling. "His demons will not find him where he is now."

She knew those words were to comfort, but grief had made home in her heart and afterwards, she wept bitterly for all the pain of letting go that did not seem to grow any lighter to bear.

In these days, her chiefest joy were her grandchildren and great-grandchildren, those living testimonies of her and Éomer's love. From him and her they had sprung, bringing joy and laughter into her life which otherwise would have been grey and long and weary.

And perhaps it was not a strange thing that so often now her mind would turn back to the golden days of her youth.

So, sometimes when she was alone, she would go through her things from many years ago. She found some objects she had not remembered having, and others she had thought long lost. Among many other things there was one of the wooden riders Éomer had once carved for their children, a handkerchief showing Elfhild's first attempt at embroidery, and a piece of clothing which held the dried flowers of _elanor _and _niphredil. _In wonder, Lothíriel gazed at the flowers she had brought back from Lothlórien and thought whether these plants still bloomed there now that the wood had fallen silent. She closed her eyes and it was as though the sights of distant years were before her – she remembered the Golden Wood and the blessed days she had spent with Éomer under the great _mellyrn _trees.

_That was when Elfwine was conceived, _she though fondly and wiped an errant tear from her cheek.

As she went through the things, she eventually came across a tightly wrapped bundle. Upon opening it, she found there something she hadn't seen in years: a neat, thick pile of letters she had hidden away long time ago. As her heart picked up speed, she picked up one of them and began to read.

_"My beloved Lioness,_

_Last night you came to me in my dreams. Though your visit only lasted for a precious short time, I am grateful nonetheless, for I have missed you badly. You were in Meduseld, dear heart, just as the time you travelled here with Amrothos without my knowing. I admit there are often times I wish you would do so again, and these mad desires run through my mind – I'm even thinking of stealing you right from under the nose of your father. Woman, you are as apt as ever at driving a man insane! But truth is I can hardly stop thinking about you, Lothíriel, especially when you come to me in a dream like that... Béma, what would I give to hear you speak my name in the waking world in such a way!"_

There was a rush of warmth in her veins, travelling through her in a way she had not felt since he had died. _I long to hold you in my arms and lose myself in you, my fierce Lioness... _reading the letter, he sounded so... he was so young, so in love. His strong, angular hand filled the page from the very top to bottom, and fondly she remembered the long, passionate letters they had exchanged during their betrothal. How frustrated and needy he had made her! How desperate had been their stolen kisses and embraces...

With loving hands, she smoothed her fingers over the letters as she recalled the things he had written to her, and vice versa. She knew some of their correspondence left very little to the imagination. The intimate things they had shared, their yearning to be together, and the passion they had had for each other... what would happen to these letters once she was gone?

Without a further thought, Lothíriel got up and stirred the embers in her fireplace. Then, soon as the fire was going merrily, she placed the letters in flames. It stung somewhat to see his words burn, but then again they were already burned into her heart. These words were for _her, _no one else. Not even their children.

They had the story. They knew how much she and Éomer had loved each other and what they had conquered by their union. These letters, however... they were too intimate. And now they delved too deep into her grieving heart; this was not a part of her life, her _soul, _that she would wish to share with any other than her beloved king. The details, the passionate words and the intimate little confessions, were not needed. The tales written on these pages... these were some of the deepest, the most private things she and Éomer had shared.

They had the story... but as Lothíriel thought of that, a frown grew eventually on her face. Only Elfwine knew the full version – rest of her and Éomer's children and grandchildren had never heard the true extent of it. And once she passed, no one in the Mark except for Elfwine would know the full truth. But her son had not been there, he had just heard the story from his parents... even if he shared it with his offspring one day, eventually it would fade away. Eventually people would forget it.

For the longest time, Lothíriel sat watching as the old letters burned and withered in the fireplace. The thought in her mind grew with the moments that passed and she deliberated what Éomer would have said had she been able to ask his opinion. In the end she made her decision: she would make sure Eorlingas did not forget this tale. She would give it to them indeed, in exchange for the one tale of love and longing and passion that she had just burned and buried in her heart.

And so, as though some hand of fate was guiding Elsunn's mind, couple of weeks later the young princess asked for the tale of the first southern campaign and the events that had followed, and Lothíriel Queen of the Mark, widow of Éomer Éadig, started her final long labour in telling her the story of King and Lioness.

* * *

**A/N: **Yeah, these last chapters are really difficult for me to write. Dealing with the kind of loss Lothíriel has experienced is not so much fun and giggles, really! I guess it's hard for me to write also because when I finish this story, I'll be also saying my last word on _A Light that Endures. _I know ALTE is not a perfect story, but it is special to me personally.

Anyway, I thought there should be at least one chapter of Lothíriel dealing with her loss. It was tiny bit easier than the previous one, but I have a feeling the last chapter will be even harder... so stay tuned, because we are not yet done.

By the way, someone said in the reviews of ALWR that a line from the last chapter had reminded them of _Vikings _(tv series). The said line would be _"In my dreams we are always together". _For the record, I have watched _Vikings, _but it's been a few years since I saw the first season (where the line is from, apparently). I definitely did not remember such a detail from the show. So any similarity was entirely unconscious on my part.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Irgendwer - **Thank you so much! Don't apologise for a lengthy review - I'm always glad for those! As a writer, I get a kind of pleasure from hearing that something I wrote made someone cry. For me, having reached someone's emotions is proof I did something right.

Anyway, I'm glad you enjoyed it!

**Tibblets - **Thank you! I think everyone are allowed to cry, whether they are men or women or anything between. But yes, this was long coming and hard as it was, I needed to write it.

\- Thank you!

**Hobbitpony1 - **My apologies to your dog! :) Really, I'm glad if my writings made you feel so deeply.

**Simbelia - **Thank you so much! :)

**jjowens301 - **As a writer, I shall take that as a compliment!

**Jo - **Hope you enjoyed it, even if it was painful!

**Thalia - **Thank you. :)

**brandibuckeye - **Oh, I know how that feels! Personally, I'm just as confused at the idea of ending this... but I must end it some time. Glad to have had you stick along!

**Katia0203 - **Hope your husband wasn't too worried! Still, it is hard to believe we're so close to the ending now. It's not going to be easy for me to let go of ALTE.

**Deb - **Sorry for that! ;)


	76. Chapter 76

_Late February 66 Fourth Age, Meduseld_

The book had been bound with soft, supple leather. It felt good in Lothíriel's hands as she examined it – it was sturdily made from fine materials to endure time and use. The book's chief decoration in the centre of the cover was the symbol of Eorl's House, which was the White Horse... yet perhaps, once you had read this book, you might instead see a silver stallion.

Several months had passed as Lothíriel and her granddaughter Elsunn had worked on this now finished piece. They had spent numberless days, the old woman talking and answering whatever question the young maiden made, and the latter writing down everything that was said. Then Elsunn had spent days transcribing her notes, arranging it into a tale that any who had the skill could read. Now, almost a year after Lothíriel had first started to tell her and Éomer's story to their granddaughter, the end product was in her hands.

It was strange, all those events, all the pain and hope and wonder, her memories she had kept tightly, had now become _this. _She could hold it all in her very own hands. Years from now, people who weren't even born yet and whose names she'd never know, would pick up this book... and they would know about her and Éomer, Sapat's cruel madness and Feran's betrayal, Fanara's kindness and mercy, Éothain's suffering and Scýne's long waiting, Varanat's good heart and Gamling's sacrifice... they would know how loyal Elfhelm had been, how much Aragorn and Éowyn had done, and how bravely Ceolwen had stood up for the rightful king. They would know how much Lothíriel had loved Éomer, how brave he had been, and what they had done together. She wondered what they would think about all these events, about her king, about her – if they would deem her foolhardy and reckless. Would they even believe half of it?

All the same, here it was at last. As she held it in her hands and ran her fingers over the horse insignia on the front, Lothíriel knew all was ready now. Finishing this book had finished something else as well... and that knowledge brought her a curious sensation of peace.

Eventually the old queen looked up from the book. Before her Elsunn was standing, her face anxious and slightly worried. Of course the girl would wonder if her grandmother approved of this thing she had worked so hard to achieve.

"It is wonderful. Just as I imagined it would be", Lothíriel said gently, looking down at the book again. What would Éomer say if he were here? Would he be glad to know their story would be preserved and remembered? Without his knowing, he already lived on... in the pages of the book she was holding, her king would never die. And neither would she.

Holding back the tears that had come to burn her eyes without her noticing, the old queen looked up once more, meeting the expecting stare of the maiden before her. Something told her this story was only the first of many things Elsunn would discover and put down for future generations to read.

"It is yours now, Elsunn. Take good care of it", she spoke softly as she gazed at her granddaughter with solemn eyes.

The young woman nodded gravely and accepted the leather-bound book in her hands, and she pressed it against her chest as though it was a precious treasure. The old queen hid her smile, for in that moment her son's daughter looked so much like Éomer it was astounding. She was seeing him everywhere now.

"I will, Grandmother Lothíriel."

* * *

_Mid March 66, Edoras_

Amrothos of Dol Amroth had never really felt the weight of advancing years on his shoulders. Oh, he certainly was not so dashing or quick or strong as he once had been, and even he had to admit his step did not come as lightly anymore, but during his life he had known people who reacted very differently to old age. Some took it bitterly, others grew in wisdom. But Amrothos did not _feel _old in his mind. As a matter of fact, Nehir had often told him he would probably never grow up.

He had decided he could live with that.

It was not the same for his sister. Well, in her spirit there had always been something ever-young, but she had also changed over the years. She had grown wiser than he would ever be, and he knew it was because a number of reasons. Her journey with Éomer, the battles they had fought, and then being a queen for decades had surely left marks on her.

However, none of this could have prepared him for he visited his sister for the last time. In his heart, he had known it could be his final trip to meet her in Rohan, but Amrothos had not allowed that thought to grow. For how could one so strong as his sister die? And yet he had seen how deeply she mourned her husband... how lost she had seemed when Éomer was gone. Grief like that was like a wound that never really healed.

Be it as may, it felt good to be travelling to Rohan, as it always did. He had liked Rohirrim and their down to earth ways from the start, and the courts of Edoras were welcoming to kin and friends. The capital of Rohan had grown much since Amrothos' first trip to this place: now the homesteads and streets had spread to the plains around the great hill and there was no sign of ending to the building. During Éomer's reign, people had thrived and their numbers had grown, just as their herds had multiplied. And growth, trading and new opportunities had brought great wealth and prosperity to the King's City. As Amrothos' company rode through the gates and started for uphill, he wondered how it had felt like to Éomer, to remember how Edoras had once been and see all this life spring from his labours. While the Prince had accepted years ago his life would not be anything remarkable, certainly not in par to those heroes he had fought with, he did feel a kind of longing when he gazed about and knew this was also Lothíriel's doing.

When Amrothos finally arrived in the courtyard of the Golden Hall, his eyes immediately sought for the face of his sister. Before, she had always been there to welcome guests, but now he only saw her daughter-in-law Leofe. _The new queen, _Amrothos thought with some wonder. It was odd to think of anyone else than Lothíriel as the Queen of Rohan, and he pondered to himself if Rohirrim felt so too. No doubt it was difficult for Leofe to exist in the shadow of Lioness of the Mark.

One of the knights accompanying him gave Amrothos a helping hand as he climbed down from saddle. He was proud to have ridden all the way from Dol Amroth, but sadly he was not so quick or agile anymore, and so occasionally even he required assistance.

As Amrothos climbed the stairs of the seat of Eorl, Elfwine appeared from inside to stand by the side of his queen. The Amrothian Prince smiled at the sight of his nephew, who seemed to hold a new kind of solemness about him; the strange thing about Elfwine was he looked so much like his maternal grandfather, yet he had Éomer's exact expressions and mannerisms. Maybe it was because so much of what Éomer had thought and felt had come from his gaze, and Elfwine famously had the eyes of his sire. Be it as may ruling a kingdom, even a prosperous one as Rohan was, did not mean leisure for a lord who was as dedicated as men of Éomer's line were. What held Amrothos' attention, however, was the absence of his sister and the certain look in Elfwine's eyes. For a moment, he already thought he had come too late.

"Welcome to Edoras, Uncle", the King of the Mark greeted him nevertheless, reaching to embrace his kinsman. Amrothos returned it, as it would be impolite to begin shooting questions before even greeting the royal couple.

"Thank you, Elfwine. Good day to you, my lady", Amrothos said, bowing at Queen Leofe. He couldn't say he knew her well, but Elfwine obviously loved her and that made her acceptable in Amrothos' books.

"To you as well, my lord. You are most welcome", she answered with a slight smile. "I trust your lady wife is in good health?"

"Oh, she's well. She would have come as well, but our grandsons are visiting Dol Amroth, and we thought at least one of us should stay behind", Amrothos answered, smiling at the mention of his Easterling wife. As years grew longer, so did his love for her.

Then, feeling too anxious and concerned to keep exchanging pleasantries – and knowing they were unnecessary among family anyway – Amrothos voiced out his thoughts, "Forgive me for being so blunt, but is my sister around? Is she well?"

Elfwine had looked serious before, but now his expression became even more grave.

"Mother has not been feeling so good lately", he said quietly, shaking his head. "She would have come to meet you here, though, but the healers have told her to rest and not move around needlessly."

Amrothos breathed in and out as he fought to keep his emotions under control. Yes, he had known this might be the last he would visit his sister... but hearing his fear so confirmed still felt like someone was turning a knife around in his stomach. Aunt Ivriniel and Father and Erchirion were already gone, as had Mother been for so many years, and now Lothíriel too was going to leave him! She was younger than him, she was supposed to outlive her brothers... if she was dying, then only him and Elphir would remain of their family. In a rare moment of foresight, Amrothos knew he would be burying them all.

"Is she ill?" he asked at last, his voice coming out as more muffled than he had intended.

"She caught cold a few weeks ago and had a fever for many days. She has not been the same since", Elfwine said, looking away with a troubled expression on his face. Amrothos could tell the King of the Mark was already dreading the worst – expecting it, even.

Quietly he reached for the shoulder of his nephew and held it tight. No matter how old they lived, goodbyes were never easy.

"It's all right. I know how you feel", Amrothos spoke quietly, even managed to give a smile to the younger man. Elfwine returned it more or less, and then cleared his throat.

"Please, forgive me for making you stand about. Do come in, Uncle – I will see someone makes sure your knights and steeds are comfortable", he said, ushering Amrothos inside.

Elfwine insisted he get something to eat and freshen up a little bit – because Lothíriel was reportedly sleeping, Amrothos agreed to being fussed over for the time being. Momentarily he even forgot about the stone on his heart when Elfwine's twin grandsons came waddling at him, both laughing in delight when they saw their "Unca Amo". No one had used that name in many years, and there was a warm surge in his chest when he gathered the pair in his arms. It reminded him of when his own daughters had been small girls; now he was a grandfather too, and one of his daughters lived in Arnor and the other in Gondor. Young Elsunn came by as well, carrying around a beautifully-made volume, and she did not let him go before he had promised to have a look at it later. Then there was Eadric, Elfwine's son and heir; the young man had Éomer's eyes and bearing, though in likeness he took after his maternal grandfather Éothain.

Things were in good hands. Éomer had passed on his mantle to Elfwine and his family thrived, as did his people. Perhaps such a calm was a good time for Lothíriel to let go, Amrothos thought to himself, his throat growing tighter with a bittersweet sensation.

About an hour later, when Amrothos and Elfwine had enjoyed a light lunch together and exchanged tidings, a servant came to the Amrothian prince: Lothíriel Queen was awake and she was asking for her brother. At once, two opposing sensations tightened in his chest. Half of him would race to her side, and yet the other was scared of seeing his fierce little sister so weak and frail.

_Even the strongest of us cannot escape the bite of time, _Amrothos reminded himself, took a deep breath, and asked the servant to show him the way.

Lothíriel did not live in the royal chambers anymore. Instead, she had rooms at the south side of the Hall, near to the gardens. In the room, the colours of her two homes were present: there was the White Horse of Rohan, running side by side with the Silver Swan of Dol Amroth. It was very comfortable, though smaller than the rooms she had shared with Éomer. When Amrothos entered, he saw her seated in a large chair next to the window. Her eyes were closed and for a second he thought she was asleep again, but then as she heard him arrive, she shifted and looked at him. Elbereth, how fragile she looked! In times before, her very form had always breathed vitality and strength, but now... now even her smile could not hide the truth.

"Amrothos! You're finally here!" she said happily nevertheless and tried to rise, but he lifted his hand.

"Please, don't wear yourself down, sister", he told her and hurried to her side as swiftly as his own body would allow. She smiled and shook her head slightly, but she did not get up on her feet. Amrothos took himself a seat and reached for her hand, which was already there waiting for his.

"It's so good to see you. I was wondering if you would make it at all", she said fondly as she gazed at him, her eyes bright and delighted. Though she wore the face of an old woman, her gaze was both young and wise at the same time.

"I wouldn't disappoint you, would I?" he asked her warmly, holding her frail hand between his own two. Her fingers felt so cold! Noticing that, he had to fight himself from frowning. Still, he had to inquire, "Elfwine said you've been sick. Are you feeling well, Lothíriel?"

"I've been better, Amrothos. But don't worry about me. I'm just a tired old woman", she said softly, and the way she looked at him then... a sharp, painful thought hit him: was this the way Éomer had been looking at his family on his last days?

"Lothíriel, you _are _younger than me", he said to her softly, not quite capable of telling her all the things running through his mind. For if he did, then he would just end up begging her not to die.

The look in the eyes of his sister became very gentle and sympathetic. Well, she probably knew exactly what he was feeling. She had buried loved ones too... and she had buried the love of her life.

"I'm tired, Amrothos, and I miss him so much. I don't know if that is very strange, but I keep seeing him everywhere now. It's like he's calling for me..." she told him, her voice not far from a whisper. She shook her head again, but it ended with a wry smile, "I haven't told anyone that. They might think grief has finally taken my mind, and I wouldn't want my family to remember me as an old madwoman."

The lump in Amrothos' throat grew larger and harder to ignore. Really, he had not realised... he had thought there would be more time. But it was later now than he had guessed. No wonder Elfwine had looked like that upon his arrival!

Lothíriel saw right through him, and gently she reached her free hand to his two.

"It's all right, brother. I know how it feels", she said, smoothing her thumb across the back of his hand. "It's just... Amrothos, it's getting harder now. And I'm not as strong as I used to be."

"Sister, I..." he spoke, his voice strained with grief. And yet, how could he be so selfish as to ask her to stay? It was not like any labour of hers would be left unfinished. Perhaps what she saw was real: perhaps Éomer was calling her to join him.

So he smiled and kissed her hand.

"Sister, I understand", he told her. _The world will just be lesser without you in it. _

There was a silence between them, though not a meaningless one. Quietly the two siblings sat, remembering the Age that was no more and the things that had passed away, never to be regained. Maybe in such a world death was a gift after all, and to live immortal to mourn things that were no more was the bitterest fate in the end.

Suddenly, Lothíriel spoke again.

"You saw the book Elsunn is carrying around?" she asked him, making Amrothos look up from their joined hands.

"Yes, I did see it, though I didn't yet have a chance to take a closer look", he replied. The object seemed rather important to the young woman, and he wondered what it was about.

His sister answered the question on his mind soon enough.

"Read it, brother. Then you will know the truth about me and _him. _I think... I think I'd like you to know", she said looking away from her brother. Amrothos had noticed she never spoke Éomer's name anymore. It was always just "him", or maybe "my husband". Then again, hadn't Father always called his late wife "your mother"? Perhaps speaking the name of a loved one who was gone just brought back too much memories.

She met his eyes again, "It's our story. The full one, brother."

He sat speechless. He had always known there was something more to what had happened in the south, but Éomer had never shared the full tale with him... he had suspected this was because it was too painful. But Lothíriel knew, of that he was certain. What else would explain the deep connection and the intimacy she and her husband had shared?

"So you will share it with me?" he asked her, his gaze fixed to hers. They had the same eyes, he knew – all four of them had. Now these eyes belonged to some of the House of Eorl, too.

"Yes, I will. I want people to remember... and I want Rohirrim to know what an extraordinary king they once had. Very few ever knew just how brave and strong he was while he lived. Those who come after shall hear about it. Once I am gone, Elfwine will have his bard make a song about it, so everyone, even those who cannot read, will be able to know Éomer the Blessed", she stated with a slight smile.

"Lothíriel, I..." Amrothos started, but he did not find words. He wanted to tell her so much, to say so many things.

She knew that. She smiled at him and reached to hug him, the grip of her arms like a brush compared to the tight ones she had once given. In the hug he hid his tears and the knowledge he would be the last one left.

"I know, brother. Don't be sad for me, dear Amrothos, for when I fall asleep, I will be going _home."_

* * *

One night of spring Elfwine woke up in his bed. The sun had not yet risen – it was that quiet hour before the world wakes up. At first, he sleepily wondered what startled him so. Leofe slept calmly by his side, so it was not her moving about that had reached him through dreams.

The King of the Mark turned to lay on his back. The room was dark and quiet, the Golden Hall still slumbering. Though Elfwine had been living in these chambers for some years now, sometimes he still expected Father to step through the door. In that image he was not the old man but rather the one Elfwine remembered from his childhood: tall as a tree and as mighty as any king of song.

He lay quiet and still for a while, until it came to him: _Mother. Go to Mother._

Elfwine could not say what was the origin of this thought. He did not need to, because he had seen it before: his mother had always just known things. At times, she had looked up and gazed around many minutes before a guard came to tell her that Father was coming home, as though she had sensed his nearing from afar. Then at times she'd be well aware of Elfwine and his siblings' intentions before they themselves were. And she had known Leofe was with child before Elfwine's wife herself did.

Maybe this was something like it. True, he could not say he had her gift., but he was still her son.

As quietly as he could he got up and sought for a pair of trousers and a shirt. Then he headed out, careful not to wake Leofe. There was no sense in waking her up if... well. He did not want to think of that.

The night guards seemed surprised when he appeared from the royal chambers at such an hour, but Elfwine calmed them with a soft word. Another thing he occasionally wondered about was if his people still considered themselves Father's folk. Did they regard him the lesser son of a great king, the place-holder for one who would not return? Truth was, Elfwine had often felt the shadow of his mighty sire, though he knew Father had never meant it to happen.

_"The old ones, those who remember how it really was, are dead or dying, my son. The young only know the songs and wondrous tales, and that is how they see me and those I rode with. Partly it is our own fault. We should have told you about the grief and cruelty and how _horrible _it really was. Yet in the end, we just wanted to make it easier for you. So that you wouldn't have to pay the price we did", _Father had said to him during his second to last Yule. Often Elfwine had thought of those words and with their help, he had started to understand the stories a bit better. Or, at least he hoped so.

He entered Mother's chamber. A candle was burning by her bedside, and in its light he saw she wasn't alone: Uncle Amrothos was asleep in the chair by her bed. He guessed they had been talking late and then his uncle had been too tired to get to his own bed, though at his age sleeping in a chair was sure to leave him with a stiff neck and a back.

Mother's eyes were bright even in the dark, and Elfwine wondered if she had slept at all tonight.

"Elfwine", she spoke softly his name. Had her voice always been so melodious?

"Mother, I was... I thought to check on you", Elfwine said, making way for the bed. She reached her hand for him and he took it, holding her frail fingers inside his own.

"I'm glad you came, son", she whispered softly as he sat down next to her.

And Elfwine looked at his mother, the woman called Lioness of the Mark, and he _knew. _He knew the end was at hand.

"Must you go, Mother?" he asked her, though he knew it was a selfish question. She was weary now and full of sleep, and she missed Father so much. Perhaps Father was missing her, too.

"Elfwine", she said, so gentle and so warm, "don't be afraid."

She held his eyes with her own, until eventually she looked to her own side. Uncle Amrothos was awake now too, and he was reaching for her other hand. Readily she gave it.

Outside, the night was growing old and Elfwine knew the first rays of sunlight would soon grace the earth. No matter who lived or died, whose first day this was and to whom it was last, sun still rose. Another day was to arrive and Edoras would wake up; in the air there would be the smell of smoke and horses and dew, and laughter and songs would be roused once more. Perhaps those would quiet down when the news spread... for in his heart, Elfwine knew this woman he called Mother and his people called Queen would be mourned as deeply as Éomer Éadig.

And still, sun would rise and fall.

"Give Elphir and the rest of the family all my love, brother", Mother said to Uncle Amrothos, who was already nodding. "And please, deliver my letters to Faramir and Éowyn. I wanted to tell them goodbye in person, but... this will have to do. Will you do these things for me, Amrothos?"

"I will, sister. I will", answered the Prince – Elfwine had never heard him sounding so beside himself. But this he could very well understand.

"I wish I could have seen Dol Amroth one more time. But I suppose it's too late now. I will have to take the image of it with me... after all, Rohan is my home. I think it always was", Mother spoke softly, lifting her eyes to the ceiling. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes, and Elfwine guessed she was imagining her childhood home by the sea.

"Do you remember the sea, Lothíriel? The crash of the tide against the shore and seagulls crying and the storms rising from the depths of the ocean? The white shore and all the castles we built there?" Uncle Amrothos asked. Somehow, he was able to keep his voice from cracking.

Mother smiled.

"Oh, I do. And the cave we searched for a treasure... I think I eventually did find a treasure there, for I once took _him _with me to the beach... and I remember how much Ceolwen hated the sea! I have yet to find an Eorling who trusts it", she said, looking at Elfwine now. "Your father did not like it either. Not before or after."

"Dear Ceolwen! I never forgave her for beating me at that tournament. I could never win her in a swordfight. Elbereth, that woman was a wizard with a sword", Uncle Amrothos said, and both him and Mother laughed softly at the memory. Elfwine smiled too, as he had heard a lot about that particular incident. In fact, no less than three songs had been composed of it, much to Uncle Elfhelm's endless pride. Suddenly, he missed them painfully – Ceolwen's sharp wit and Elfhelm's good cheer seemed to echo to him as if through years. No wonder their children were some of his best friends.

"I can't forget the first time I saw her... I had heard about Shieldmaidens but never thought of meeting any except for Éowyn, and there she was – the very embodiment of one. She was yelling at Elfhelm about almost starting a war for him!" Mother chuckled softly. Then her laugh faded and her voice became solemn again, "She was riding next to my husband when he first appeared with Silfren. I think more than half of us believed Eorl had risen again. Men like him don't come anymore."

"Nor women like you, Mother", Elfwine said, holding her hand a bit tighter. She looked at him and he swallowed hard before continuing, "Thank you for everything... for loving us so and teaching us the way you did. Thank you for the life you have given to your children and to Rohan. We all owe you so much."

"Nothing is owed, son, All that I've given was gladly and willingly offered", she murmured, gazing at him with eyes full of love and warmth.

The sun was now rising and the moon and stars made way to a bright day of spring. Elfwine realised he had already sat there for so long, and he shifted, "Mother, do you want me to go and get -"

"No. Don't go", she spoke swiftly, her grip of his hand growing tighter. "Wait just a little while more. Then we can leave at the same time."

"Lothíriel -" Uncle Amrothos half whispered, half sobbed. Elfwine couldn't speak from the stab of pain in his chest, though he wanted to tell her how much he loved her, what she meant to the family and the realm... but none of that came out.

"It's all right. Don't cry for me. I'll be going to _him", _she said, breathing deeply. And she smiled, just the way she had always smiled when she knew she was seeing Father soon.

"Mother, I love you so much", Elfwine stammered, feeling that same knife twisting and turning in his breast which had cut him so deep when Father had died. Oh, Béma! That he should live through this again!

"I love you too, son. Tell your siblings Mother loves you all. Hug Elfhild for me when you see her. Give kisses to my little cubs... and tell Elsunn to remember all that I told her", Mother spoke, her voice falling and rising as she struggled to speak. Uncle Amrothos was weeping openly now, gripping her hand in his own two. And so did Elfwine, agonising in these last moments of his mother's life.

"I will. I will do so, Mother", he promised her as Amrothos mumbled goodbyes in Sindarin tongue. She held her son's eyes with her own and he could see a great light in her gaze.

"Take care of Rohan, Elfwine", she murmured and he could only nod before he showered her hand in kisses. Yes, he would do all that she had told him – all that Father had told him. Generations to come might not remember him as they would remember his parents, but this Elfwine would do: he would keep their promise. He would guard their legacy and, if possible, build it even greater.

After all, he was the son of Éomer Éadig and his wife the Lioness.

Lothíriel Queen smiled. She looked up then, her eyes seeking something only she could perceive.

"It's so beautiful. Can you see it? It's so bright, Éomer..."

* * *

_She saw light. _

It streamed in from the door of the chamber, reminding her of sun's rays; yet it was fuller and softer somehow, and she knew daylight would not reach the shadowy corridor. Gently it swayed, almost as if it were beckoning her... strange, for she did not remember the door being open. Not that it mattered, really – she was glad the light had a way in.

Lothíriel stood up. The movement did not call for effort – her feet were light, her shoulders unburdened. _How odd. _

She followed the light to the door and saw there it was a path, streaming down the corridor. Where would it lead her? Suddenly she felt concerned, and she looked back... her chamber seemed dark now, but she could see _them –_ her son and brother – hovering over something. They were crying and she felt worried – wanted to tell them there was nothing to be sad about... but the light beckoned her, gently whispering, and somehow she _knew _they would be all right. She and her beloved king had given them all they needed to live.

So she smiled and whispered not _"goodbye", _but rather _"I will see you again" – _just as Éomer had said to her with his dying breath.

Lothíriel turned again towards the glimmering path of light, confident in the knowledge life was short and love was great. It was morning now and Meduseld was waking up, getting ready for a new day. Quietly she went, her feet making no sound as she made way outside, past the many faces she had known in her life. The did not appear to see her, but she did not wonder; somehow, she didn't expect them to. Through the Hall, past the throne of the kings, under the many pennants... this was the spot she had stood when she had asked for Éomer's hand in marriage. In that spot she had felt Elfwine kick for the first time, and there at the table she had been sitting when she had felt her waters break, and she had known her daughter was going to be born.

Here she had _lived. _

The path guided her feet as she looked down. _My favourite boots, _Lothíriel thought with a smile, and when she looked at her hand, she saw there her bow. She didn't think she was going to need it, but in it's light, supple wood there was always something reassuring.

The doors of the Hall were open for her. How many times had she walked this way? The guards did not greet her now, but it wasn't really required. It was too early to be acting like a queen and people usually treated her more like a relic than a person, anyway.

Lightly she leaped down the stairs of Meduseld, breathing in the morning's air as she followed the streaming light. Even in this early hour when sun was bright she could see it – feel it, even. It took her through the courtyard and towards the royal stables, the place that housed the finest horses in all of Middle-earth. _Of course. Of course I should be going this way, _she thought idly, striding faster now. The light was tugging her now and she wanted to get more quickly wherever it was taking her.

She entered, smelling the warm, familiar scent of horses. She had spent days here after _he _had passed away, as though somehow he was closer to life in this place. Horses had sensed her grief, especially those descended from Silfren. They had tried to comfort her as well, pushing their heads against her and nuzzling her face as though to wipe away the tears... suddenly, Lothíriel could not remember why she should be comforted, or why she should be crying. There was no grief here, and she was not sad. Not anymore.

Soon enough she saw why that was... and with a sigh of relief, Lothíriel halted as her bow dropped from her hand.

He stood in the middle of a strip of sunlight streaming from outside. The bright light of day gave shine to his long golden mane and painted his tall silhouette against the shadows of the stables... somehow making him more vibrant, more _real,_ than anything around him. Quietly he hummed under is breath as he brushed Silfren's shimmering coat, his hands moving with the ease and skill of a man who has grown up riding. The last she had seen him he had been ancient, wearied by age and struggles and a fully lived life. But now... now there stood a young man, unburdened of cares, and fair like in the green summer of his years. It was Éomer, and he owned all the faces he had ever worn: the smile in the markets of Minas Tirith, the passion on the deck of _Star of Belfalas, _the torment of captivity, the hope of their wedding day... the glory of a king, love of a father and devotion of a husband. But no matter which face he wore, he was the man she loved in life and death... her soul's companion, her true match in the fire of her spirit and the strength of her heart.

"Éomer", she spoke his name, breathless and disbelieving and relieved, for here he was at last, and parting, the very last one, was over.

Hearing his name he looked up and smiled at her, bright and delighted. Oh, the sight of that smile! It seemed to bear its own light, illuminating him, and wrapping her in its shine as well – her heart ached for the beauty of it and for remembering how painfully she had longed even for his smile.

"Lothíriel", he spoke her name, the way only he would utter it, "You come at last."

"I was long in waiting?" she asked in a trembling voice, hardly daring to believe _this. _For if she did, surely it would just turn out another sweet dream of reunion?

Éomer smiled again and left the side of the stallion, approaching her slowly.

"Aye, one could say that. But I was prepared to wait for the one who had such a thirst and fire for life", he said gently, reaching to brush a lock of hair from her face. Though she relished the touch of his fingers against her skin, his words made her frown.

"Am I... are we..." she mumbled, not knowing how to put the idea into words, for even now it was far too great to comprehend. She didn't need to utter it, though; Éomer knew right away. He had always understood her from very few words.

"We are", he replied, his voice very soft. In his eyes there was a gentle look when he asked: "Are you afraid?"

"No", she said at length, "not really. The scary part is over, isn't it? And you are here."

_You are here. And I am with you._

Then, as if the realisation only hit her with those words, she let out a cry, threw her arms about his neck and kissed him hard and long, for it seemed to her that many years had passed since their last kiss, and it had been painful to endure. The taste and feel of him, the response too real to be just a dream, and the solidness of his form... if this were indeed death, she knew now it was not worth the fuss made over it.

"But _how _are you here? I thought you would be... you would have moved on already, and I would have to search far and wide for you", she mumbled the question against his skin when the kiss had ended, and she wouldn't let go of him yet. How could she anyway, when his absence from her arms had been like a wound, throbbing and bleeding with each breath she took?

He spoke then, his voice gentle and low and _so very dear. _Countless nights it had echoed in her dreams, but this was not just an echo – now she knew it would not fade with the morning.

"You once told me you wouldn't let me leave without you. You said you would tail me to the ends of the world... and I believed you. I was simply waiting for you to wake up and follow me", he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And it was, because now she remembered a night long ago in Pelargir and the dim in the stables when she had told him she would not let him go all alone. Much of that choice had defined her road after, and who she had come to be. And now had come a time to make the choice once more.

Lothíriel could only smile. She looked at her horselord and wrapped her fingers about his own, holding them tightly. The reassuring warmth was all she remembered and more, and she never wanted to let go. She realised she didn't have to.

And it made her so glad she wanted to laugh.

Quietly Éomer returned her smile.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked softly as he held her hands.

"Aye. I am", she stated... and overflowing joy filled her, for they would be going now – she didn't know where, but anywhere was home when he was there. She laughed, unable to hold back the sheer happiness of being _free _at last; he laughed as well and lifted her high, twirling her around in the golden shower of light. Then he kissed her once more, holding her tight to him. Not because otherwise she'd disappear, but simply because he _could. _

Silfren chortled softly as though an elderly man at the antics of young lovebirds and Éomer pulled back slightly. He was smiling when he spoke, "Let us go. He thinks we are making everybody wait."

As an answer, Lothíriel grinned. Somehow, his words did not need an explanation. So she picked up her bow from the ground and joined him by Silfren's side. Éomer helped her mount the stallion of _mearas. _She thought to ask how Silfren was here, but decided it could wait for later. Perhaps some bonds just did go longer and deeper than time itself.

Her horselord leaped to ride behind her, wrapping one hand around her midsection more out of use than of need. In one hand Lothíriel held her bow and the other she placed on his fingers on her waist, relishing the warm strength she felt in each sinew. Another thing she would have to tell him was how much she had missed his touch.

And then Éomer urged Silfren to move and the stallion nickered softly as an answer, starting to a gentle trot. Leaning into the steady shape of her husband, Lothíriel let out a breath she hadn't noticed holding, and she lifted a hand to shelter her eyes as they left the stables and rode into the light.

* * *

Life had been long and sometimes bittersweet. Some paths had gone through shadows so deep that it was hard to imagine an end to it. But Lothíriel had endured, and so had her beloved Éomer. The promise of their youth was not quite what came to be and the road had been crooked, but only by that twisted way had she become Lioness of the Mark, and the story of her love for Éomer Éadig was remembered long after they were gone. Yet to herself, and to her husband and King, the greatest legacy of their life were their children and a prosperous realm, healed and renewed.

For all the stories of Arda have their share of weeping... but there are some things stronger than even the shadow, and amidst grief and tears one can still see a light that endures.

**The End.**

* * *

**A/N: **... I swear, those two words never become any easier to write. This time, they were extra hard: with them, I am saying my final goodbye to _A Light that Endures. _No matter what people think of that story, it is and remains my personal favourite. For maximum bawling I recommend listening to the song called _Cloud Atlas Finale, _which you can find on Youtube.

It has not been easy to write these final chapters. All the while, I've known this is the final ending of ALTE, and over the time it has come to mean a great deal to me. I suppose it hasn't be easy for you, my dear readers - especially if you have been sharing the ride from the start of the original story. However, it has to end eventually, and now is as good a time as ever. Maybe I will now be able to concentrate more on ALWR and also update _Her Tattooed Knight _some time soon.

I hope the last part of this chapter doesn't remind you too much of the finale of _Heart's Desire. _I admit I always wanted to write something similar from Lothíriel's point of view, and there was no better place for that than this story. Whether you take it as their real reunion or not is up to you, but personally I'm too much of a romantic to keep them apart at the end.

Hopefully, I was able to wrap up everything sufficiently. There were some issues I'd have liked to write about more, but you can't always get what you want, and I'm satisfied with this story as it is.

Well, here we are. My many thanks to all who have been reading this story, and special gratitude to **Jo **and **brandibuckeye **for always leaving a few words!

See you in the next chapter of _A Long and Winding Road!_

* * *

**Irgendwer - **Oh, I guess the last chapter was a bit misleading on whether it was the ending or not, but I really couldn't finish this story like that!

**Tibblets - **Thank you for favouriting these stories! It is much appreciated. :) I hope you will enjoy ALWR as well!

**brandibuckeye - **Yes, I did not think the story would have been complete without seeing how she deals with her loss. But after that I simply couldn't not let her find Éomer again. :) I'm glad to hear it's been as great for you as it has been for me!

**Jo - **Thank you! And thanks for sticking with me for so long!

**Rinarwen - **Always happy to deliver! :D Yeah, I'm bawling too.

Glad to hear that! Especially because it was painful for me to write, so it's good to know the pain was worth it and it shows. And that totally makes sense, not to mention it feels like one big compliment.

And how could I not bring this back to ALTE in one way or the other? One thing I've enjoyed about this story has been being able to refer to the main story so often. Not to mention it brings both stories to an end, in a way - if you get what I mean.

I've had a nice vacation, but now I got a laptop with me, and you know what my muse thinks about that!

Thanks again!


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