Author's note: I would suggest that you have tissues with you when you read this.
Disclaimer: Don't own them, Tolkien does.
Dedication: To lady scribe of avandell. Your comment made this come to me, and I hope that it does them justice.
They both knew that this would be their last night, that they would not wake to great another day. They knew that whole day, as they said their good-byes, and saw their children, grandchildren, and so on, for the last time. Everything was in order; nothing would go wrong were they to leave, were they to not wake.
For the last time they made themselves ready for bed. Lothíriel had silent tears on her cheeks, though she knew that her time was short as well. She knew that, and yet the thought of leaving Éomer was still too much.
He noticed her tear strained cheeks, and knew why they were like that. He brought his age worn hand to her cheek, brushing away the tears. She moved her face into his hand, wanting to remember every touch, all the memories that came with it. His own eyes began to fill with tears, knowing that he would never feel her face like this again, never wake another day to her beside him.
She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and time had been good to her. Her hair still had some strands of ebony mixed with the gray, while his had turned white long ago. Her smile still made his heart swell, and her tears still tore it in half.
His pent up tears trickled down his cheeks, Lothíriel mirrored his movements and brushed them away with her wrinkled hand. She had only seldom seen him cry. When he remembered his Uncle or his parents, only then would he cry to her. And only her. Not even Éowyn had seen his tears, not since they were children.
With tears upon their faces, they moved to the bed, knowing that tonight was their last together. They held each other, not wanting to let go. Neither wanted to be the first to fall asleep, knowing what the rest would bring.
Memories passed before them, of times long ago. Of their meeting, of their hatred turned love for one another. Of her brothers wanting to keep them apart. Of their wedding, and first night as husband and wife. Of the many more nights to follow. Of arguments that Lothíriel always seemed to win. Of the time spent making up.
Of trips to the sea, that Lothíriel loved so much. Of her going back if she felt homesick, of the new homesickness of being away from Rohan. Of stolen afternoons on the plains, of splashes in the sea instead of in a council meeting. Of whispered words during long meetings, of being late to the same meeting.
Memories of children. Of Elfwine, as their first. Of his birth, Lothíriel holding him for the first time. Of her tears then, of Éomer's look when he saw his son. Of the new worries they felt for him. Of his first attempts of steps. Of his running to them, of his leaving them for a new life. Of their other children. Another son, taking advantage of not having the weight of succession on his head. Of their daughters, practicing with swords, reading and by the sea as well. Of their time with their cousins, and their Aunt gladly watching her nieces practice with swords. Memories of their children, with ebony and fair hair, running through the halls of the Meduseld. Of the servants' worried faces whenever they appeared.
Each one of them brought Éomer and Lothíriel joy, none were a disappointment. They loved them all, and missed then even though they were close at hand.
Memories of illnesses and worries. Of broken bones and thoughts that they never thought possible. Of the worry of seeing a son ride for the first time with an éored, of his safe return. Of the scares of battles that now were upon them, of the sleepless nights they shared at the thoughts of losing a child. Of the pride of a father to see his sons beside him, of his worry when his daughters wished to go as well.
Memories of the wedding of their children, of the heartbreaks and tears it took to make it to them. Of first rejections and first kisses. Of whispered secrets not meant for their ears. Of their arguments over if the love was right for their child. Of Éomer's consenting every time at Lothíriel's promoting. Of the joy on their children's faces at the news, of the tears of joy on Lothíriel's as she saw them leave.
Memories of their grandchildren, of holding Elfwine's son for the first time. Of the joy on his face at his little one. The asking of advice on what to do with the new babe, the looks of worry on their faces when something seemed ill. Of watching their other children have their own little ones. Of seeing the halls once more filled with children with raven and blonde hair. Of their asking for stories of the Great War, now just a legend in books and song, not truly knowing the price paid for their peaceful lives.
With a final kiss, Éomer closed his eyes, holding tight to Lothíriel. She watched him drift to sleep, to the ever-lasting peace that he would find. She looked once more at his sleeping face, seeing the young King she had fallen in love with all those years ago. She laid a final kiss upon his brow, and slowly drifted to sleep as well, finding her own peace.
Thus death comes to the horse lord and his swan princess. Not alone did they go, but together, not leaving the other behind. Elfwine the Fair took up his father's place in the Golden Hall, and lived in many years of peace that had been fought for. And though through the years how they meet has been forgotten, their lives will forever be remember, in songs and legend, in the wind on the plains and the rush of the sea. They will always be remembered.