Disclaimers: All canon material from The Lord of the Rings trilogy belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, New Line Cinema, Warner Brothers, Turbine and Standing Stones. All other canon material belongs to their respected owners. All original material belongs to me, the authoress of this fanfiction story.

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We're getting closer to the end of the cliché romance stories for my Cliché with a Twist series, or at least this portion in the series. Also, we know very little about Lothíriel, so once again it's a challenge bringing someone who is known little in the books and bring her onto the page.

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Éomer's heart sank inside his chest. Even in the stone walls of the Houses of Healing, complete with beds for the patients to lay on, the last thing he wanted or needed right now was to see his golden-haired sister Éowyn, battle ready, wounded with the Black Breath, the Witch-king's poison that he instilled on his victims. He only knew little about the hobbit's fate, the same brown-haired hobbit that traveled into the battle. Éomer knew it was a risk sending a hobbit into the heat of battle. How could his sister and the Halfling manage to sneak their way into the fray?

He did not know. But now he was responsible for helping his sister heal… or not. What was he to do? He was dreadfully worried about his sister. If only… there was a few taps on his shoulder. He looked up into the grey eyes of a dark-haired lady, wearing a blue dress.

"Excuse me," the lady said with great concern. "Are you all right?"

"My sister. She's in here. Lord Aragorn is about to tend to her injuries," Éomer said, hotly.

"Let me know if you need anything," the lady said, tending to a green plant. "Although, what brings you this far? From the look of your armor, you're from Rohan."

"Yes," Éomer nodded. "Where might you hail from?"

"I live in Dol Amroth. I'm Lothíriel," the lady introduced herself.

"You're a princess?" Éomer was stunned.

Lothíriel shrugged. "It's not that exciting. Dol Amroth is a place of wonder, true, but it has its perks only so far. I'm bored. I came here in the effort to find myself."

"Are you sure that is not the only deed you have to play," Éomer said, curious.

"Why might you ask about my business? I just told you who I am," Lothíriel asked, uncertainty in her eyes.

"I'm only curious." Éomer answered.

There was a pause in the conversation. Lothíriel broke it, nearly leaving the house. "I must go. I fear I've troubled you too much…" Éomer stood up, shocking her. "Please sir, there are other houses I need to tend to, to give them more plants."

"Meet me tonight… wherever is best," Éomer said, curtly. "I dare hope I'm not frightening you. I'm sorry."

"You're fine. I'll meet you at the garden," Lothíriel said, taking off.

Éomer grinned remorsefully. Good. Something turned up all right. Now he had a woman who he could court… he was thinking ahead of himself. What was he doing?

…

One meeting turned into many. Éomer found himself falling in love with Lothíriel. His sister Éowyn was long since healed, and married to Faramir, the new Steward of Gondor. Éomer received many letters from his sister, but also from Lothíriel. He couldn't wait to meet the Princess from Dol Amroth again. He received his answer very quickly.

Meet me at the bell tower. – Lothíriel

Éomer grinned with satisfaction. Edoras, with its thatched roofs and its wooden fences and sentry towers, even had its own bell tower. Normally the footman was guarding the bell tower, but he was overlooking the pass. Éomer looked onwards. The sun had not yet risen. Maybe she wouldn't come. A tap on his shoulder spun him around, right into the face of Lothíriel.

"My lady," Éomer said, embracing the woman. "You know we're free to move about as we please. I am king now. King of Rohan."

"Yes, I know," Lothíriel said, crossing her arms.

"What's wrong?" Éomer asked her, concern in his eyes.

"It's been three years." Lothíriel exclaimed, softly. "Three years since we first met. Aren't you going to ask me something? Or do we just stand around, waiting for…"

Éomer cracked a grin. "Yes. Lady Lothíriel, we have courted now for the past three years. Now it comes a time to ask if we will wed. As you can see, I have no father to give our blessing to. But your father, I hope to reconnect with him and ask for his blessing."

"Well, my father's coming here in a few minutes," Lothíriel said. "We can ask him then."

"Wait. He doesn't know."

"He knows we're courting. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"Lothíriel!" approached a middle-aged man wearing armor with a swan insignia in the center. It was Imrahil, the king of Dol Amroth. He approached Éomer with candor. "I trust, Lord Éomer, you aren't giving my daughter a hard time."

"I came for your blessing. I love Lothíriel and I intend to marry her," Éomer said, bravely.

Imrahil laughed. "Any man who has helped in the War of the Ring is welcome on my doorstep. Congratulations. You have my blessing. Let us hope a wedding comes quickly." He asked next, "Now, where shall my men and I find lodging."

"This way," Éomer said, heading up to the golden hall of Meduseld.

Lothíriel took Éomer's hand. "Well done."

"Your father knows me, Lothíriel," Éomer said, whispering in her ear.

"Yes, I know," Lothíriel said, smiling to herself.

And so a wedding was held in Éomer and Lothíriel's honor, for it was their wedding. The ceremony was garnished in white Simbelmynë flowers, while at the party afterwards, there was an assortment of food, drink, and dancing. The couple could not be happier. Even Imrahil was pleased to see further peace spread throughout Middle-earth. It truly was a pleasant day in Rohan.

…

"And so, the War of the Ring was won by the Free Peoples' of Middle-earth," Lothíriel finished the story to little Elfwine. The boy was two years old, but was strong enough for any kind of mess he could pick up on. Lothíriel smiled affectionately as her husband scooped up Elfwine in his arms.

"Would you like to fight a real battle?" Éomer asked his son, handing to him a wooden sword. He set Elfwine down gently, as the lad rushed off, flaying his sword in the air. Éomer nestled in the chair, next to Lothíriel. "Another hard day's work."

"Yes, my king," Lothíriel said, her face glowing. "I wonder if in Elfwine's time, there will still be peace in Middle-earth." She turned to Éomer. "Will he see hope, in spite of the fact that orcs…"

Éomer planted a kiss on her lips. "Don't worry. This land is already at peace. It will be so in Elfwine's time. I'm sure of it. For now, let us live in this moment." He added, last, "For this moment is all we need."

"For what, Éomer?" Lothíriel asked him, curious.

"To see to it that our son is in good hands and ready for any battle he faces. At least, we can cherish this moment, for as long as we have it." Éomer knew it to be true, even as he scooped up his son once more, allowing him to flay his wooden sword in the air.

Yes, even Lothíriel had to admit, there was this moment. And this moment was all that counted: they had a family that loved and cherished each other. What more could they ask for? What more was ever needed in a time of peace? For now, this was right and that's all that counted. It's was all they needed to count on in these peaceful days, surrounding Middle-earth and all its peoples. Nothing more needed to be said.

The End.

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Thanks for reading. :)