Chapter One:

The first time Eomer set his eyes upon the White Lady of Minas Tirith he had been stopped in his tracks. He knew the woman who sat beside one of his closest friends. Her dark eyes reflected the grandeur of the celebrations; like a mirror they gleamed with a sadness that no one else could understand except him. After all it was him that her eyes lingered on and not her new husband.

In the months before the coronation, the king of Rohan had written ahead, telling Elessar that he would be unable to attend the ceremonies of the winter months because he was securing the borders of his own kingdom. He now wished that he had indeed kept to his word and remained in the Golden Hall at Edoras. After all, there he could remain in solitude away from the people who cried for him to marry and have an issue.

"Are you not well, brother?" Eowyn generously offered her melancholic brother a silver cup of mead.

With little hesitation, Eomer took the cup, offering a mutter of thank you, "Well met sister." Falling into a brooding silence he let his eyes wander back to the pale beauty who sat on a wooden throne, next to the ranger from the North. Placing the cool metal to his lips he drank deeply. Somehow, the honey liquid did not quench the thirst that thundered in his throat.

"Are you not well brother?" her voice grew with motherly concern, as her eyes attempted to follow the line of her brother's gaze.

"Oh I am well enough," he turned for a moment to observe her. Her previously flat stomach had swelled much since the last time he had seen her. Bulging outwards, he watched her cradle it adoringly as if the baby was with her. "Motherhood seems to agree with you," he caressed her cheek dearly, brushing past her golden curtain of hair.

There had been many difficulties with his sister but now she was at peace with the Steward of Gondor- Faramir. Turning away he thought deeply. Much had changed and yet some things had remained the same. The White Lady was ever as terrifyingly beautiful as the elf kind were. Lost in thought he did not notice the worry that was growing in his sister's transparent blue eyes.

Devotedly she asked her kin, "Are you not concerned with finding yourself a wife soon?"

"A wife would bore me," he answered automatically, "I have much yet to achieve before I can begin to comprehend a family. Women have a way of complicating things."

For that was true. The White Lady had been his before she had been Elessar's. A love that could transcend years and still remain the same; they could not see each other for twenty years and still their love would be unchanged like the Misty Mountains, it was as constant. Yet his answer did not silence the steward's wife's persistence. Again, she repeated herself bluntly, "You need a wife."

"What I need to do is to go congratulate our friend and his wife on their celebrations," he warned her from tackling him with such a subject.

Politely, she curtseyed, offering her well wishes, "Come to the House of the Stewards whilst you are in the city. If not I understand, as a king you have many responsibilities, and wish you well, your majesty."

Before he could answer her she skirted away from him. Her emerald dress from her homeland trailing behind her as she went. Eomer knew that he would apologise and she would forgive him: he would go see her in the morning. Right now he would go to the thrones and kneel before the new queen with a perfect smile. All to hide away the pain and suffering that ached his heart, cutting deeper than any weapon into his chest.

His heart was pierced. With every step forward to the raise platform in the Throne Room of the ancient city it twisted its way deeper into his skin. The king wanted to cry out in agony; but the thing was. He was screaming at the tops of his lungs and nobody could hear him. No one was looking at the man who was reluctantly crawling forward. Eomer admitted to himself, there and then, I would rather face a thousand orcs alone than be placed before such a scene. To pretend that I am happy for them, when in reality I would slit my best friend's throat for a chance to be with this woman. I would give up Rohan if I thought that she would come away with me!

Straightening himself up, he presented himself, "Eomer, King of Rohan, and Rider of the Mark, at your service, my lord and lady."

"Well met, old friend," Aragorn waved his hand obligingly. A large smile spread from his lips at the new found happiness. Gesturing to his queen, he announced proudly, "May I present my wife, Arwen of Rivendell."

Swooping down he avoided their eyes thinking back to their last full day alone. Painfully recognising the necklace worn by the White Lady, a silver entwined necklace given to her by a different king to the man she had married. Fighting with himself, he tried to push the memory from his mind, and yet he froze.

"How can you offer me so much peace?" Eomer began to light the fire.

The trees sheltered them from the cool breeze of summer; they wound themselves around each other. Fangorn Forest was their protection, as it was Rohan's curse. No one would come into the forest so they were guaranteed not to be disturbed. It was a far cry from the luxuries that they both knew. It was a blessing away from the plotting troubles of the courts of elves and men. Soon the flames licked their way through the broken bits of wood they had collected from the forest floor.

"I think when you find peace in yourself, that's love," Arwen smiled at him considering his words, her voice softly reached him. Radiating warmth she held him in her arms. This particular summer she had diverted herself away from the other elves travelling to Lothlorien just to be with him. It had been a long time since a man had brought her to do something out of the ordinary.

Holding her face at arm's length, Eomer grinned, "I am much happier with you. I miss you so much when you go away, my lady."

"I've been having these dreams lately," she confessed dreamily. It was not in her nature but now sincerely she was telling him what she wanted. The lord only waited for her to continue, and continue she did, "My love, I give you my heart. It is only you I want...and you always I shall desire no matter what anyone whispers in my ears."

Pulling her to his side they wrapped themselves together in a blanket. Together their bodies wound around each other- each enveloping the other lovingly. Arwen's smile grew a little, "I thought you weren't tired."

Melting into his arms, her body rested firmly against his chest. The elf had taken root to his body, joint together like the trees which protected them. Concentrating on her face, he gazed down upon her, "I want to marry you."

"What?" she whispered speechlessly, slightly pushing herself away from him to see if he meant exactly what she was hearing with her own ears.

Delicately, he kissed her lips. His lips were warm against hers- longing for more. Yet it was the one pleasure that they denied themselves. Physical intimacy was limited because of the delicacy regarding Arwen's predicament. She was a princess, and he was only a lord. He had no desire to be a king—he was only the nephew of one. And that was how it was going to always be despite the orcs and uruk-hai which were amassing in the hills on their borders.

"I want to marry you," he chimed to her. His voice intoxicated by the merry thought of her becoming his wife. It was a dream that he dared not wish before this very night. Arwen had come to him without hesitation, without notice, and they had disappeared from the rest of the world.

"We each have a place—" she began.

"You will be a great leader of your people, and I will support you, my love," he reasoned with her.

"And your people? You are dearly loved by them," she let him cradle her close to him.

Lowering his voice, so she could only hear him, Eomer whispered, "My place is with you...and by your side you will find me. Everyone has a destiny, and I found mine a long time ago."

Much time had passed since she had been a child, her mother ravished by some black disease. Her flesh had rotted from her bones destroying her glorious beauty. She had been sent away from her own protection by her father. Still the memory of the way her father had looked at her mother, even when she was dying, was with the most love a man could love a woman.

Eomer's eyes glittered with the adoration that her father had displayed towards her mother. Acknowledging that she did not even have to think of anything more; the words formed on her lips. Joyously, she said, "And I you, my lord. You are my fate no matter the consequences of me binding myself to you."

"We shall always have each other," he promised her, "We always will."

Descending into a mutual silence, their happiness met by listening to the sounds of the world which surrounded them. Singing them to sleep, the two rested with their bodies becoming one as the twilight eclipsed into darkness.

"My Lord Eomer?" her voice called to him, bringing him back from the recollection of such a happy time to this miserable one. Arwen stared at him with heightened intensity dismissing his fear that he had forgotten him. She was still very much acquainted with him still.

"I am sorry," he apologised hastily, gathering his wits. What happened? Wordlessly he wondered at his stupidity until he realised his friend was watching him hawk-like with wide eyed curiosity. Turning his attention to Arwen, he reassured her, "I was reminiscing about happier times when I believe I had found the happiness that you now possess."

"Eomer—" she was stopped by her husband.

Aragorn rushed to help his friend, worried his wife may question him too far, "And you will find such happiness again, I promise you."

Eomer blankly stared at Arwen, before answering the king dutifully, "Nay, I prefer the company of my men and horses to the emptiness of the marriage bed."

"Maybe you would be happier in a marriage," Arwen leaned forward urgently, "It is not a case of marrying for profit but rather love."

"Love is a fool's dream that women chatter about to make themselves feel of worth, or told as a good tale around the fireplace," Eomer bowed low once more his eyes lingering on the necklace around her neck. Stepping back earnestly, he awkwardly added, "I am at your service, my king. Call on me if you have need of me, for I am to retire."

"Of course, we can talk tomorrow," Aragorn turned to his wife kissing her hand gladly. Dutifully, she waved him off to escort his friend out of the hall.

The two kings walked a similar stride to the opposite side to the hall. Eomer stopped before they reached the side door which would lead off into a maze of corridors in the direction of his chamber. Turning around, he gestured back to the queen, "You should be by her side tonight, friend, for tonight is your union. Your celebration of starting a life together now. Go to her."

"Thank you," Elessar bowed his head humbly. Returning back the way he came, the king hurried back to the woman he loved, for he only had ears and eyes for her tonight. He was utterly devoted to the woman.

However, for a stolen moment Eomer thought to himself that he had caught Arwen glance at him. Looking past the man she should have eyes for, for the man she had once sworn she would be always be with.